BooksBarbecue
Back Gateways
Chapters (98)
  1. Author’s Note
  2. Tuesday
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. Wednesday
  21. 1
  22. 2
  23. 3
  24. 4
  25. 5
  26. 6
  27. 7
  28. 8
  29. 9
  30. 10
  31. 11
  32. 12
  33. 13
  34. 14
  35. 15
  36. Thursday
  37. 1
  38. 2
  39. 3
  40. 4
  41. 5
  42. 6
  43. 7
  44. 8
  45. 9
  46. 10
  47. 11
  48. 12
  49. 13
  50. 14
  51. 15
  52. 16
  53. Friday
  54. 1
  55. 2
  56. 3
  57. 4
  58. 5
  59. 6
  60. 7
  61. 8
  62. 9
  63. 10
  64. 11
  65. 12
  66. Saturday
  67. 1
  68. 2
  69. 3
  70. 4
  71. 5
  72. 6
  73. 7
  74. 8
  75. 9
  76. 10
  77. 11
  78. 12
  79. 13
  80. 14
  81. 15
  82. Sunday
  83. 1
  84. 2
  85. 3
  86. 4
  87. 5
  88. 6
  89. 7
  90. 8
  91. 9
  92. 10
  93. 11
  94. 12
  95. 13
  96. Tuesday
  97. 1
  98. Afterword

Good Lord, Jack was right. The muscles along the back of his neck tightened, but only for a second. Coincidence. That was all it was, all it could be.

Tom forced a smile. “Is this what you do in your spare time—invent conspiracies?”

Jack looked at him. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in UFOs. Please don’t.”

“The kind with aliens inside? Hardly. But I’ve had to stop believing in coincidences.”

Tom wondered at the bleakness in his son’s tone. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” Jack shook his head. “Maybe I’m reading too much into this. For a minute I had this wild idea that the Gateways honchos might be offing some of their healthier residents in order to have their houses revert to them.”

“That is a wild idea.”

He sighed. “I know. Especially when I realized that the houses would stay with the spouses. So there goes the motive for that scenario.”

“Except…,” Tom said as that tightening sensation crept again into the back of his neck, stronger this time. “Except that Adele was a widow and Joe and Ed were widowers.”

“Oh, Jeez,” Jack said as they stared at each other.

10

In Semelee’s vision, at least in the eye covered by the shell, she moved at a height varyin from one foot to almost two foot above the ground. Clumps of saw grass whipped past at eye level. Then she was splashin’ through a shallow pond, and now back up into the grass again. The goin’ was tougher than it shoulda been. In September of any other year, she—or rather, Devil—woulda been able to stay in the wet for the whole trip. This year, though, was different. Still, the drought wasn’t gonna keep Devil from goin’ where she wanted him to.

The goin’ was rougher for another reason: She had to stay on course and find her landmarks with only one eye.

At last she came to the pond she’d been searchin’ for. The level was down, but not as much as most others. She slid into the water and dove deep. Devil’s underwater vision was good, better than any human could claim, and soon enough she found the mouth of the tunnel.

She entered a dark place, so dark that even Devil’s eyes was no good here. Sometime long ago, when all this land was formed, something happened hereabouts that left a channel through the limestone. Its width was enough to allow Devil to swim through, but just barely. She had to go mostly by feel.