“If I knew what happened I’d sure tell you, but I don’t,” Courtenay said. “All I really know is that one minute everything was going great up there, beautiful country, the whole crowd of us were having a ball, and then the next minute it seemed like everything turned to shit.”

  “There were twenty of you?”

  “Twenty-one in all. Bob Comstock had his group all lined up, and then he found out we were thinking of going up a week later, and we knew some of his crowd pretty well, so we decided to go up together. We all took the same flight to Seattle, and then got the bus over the mountains to Leavenworth and started up the trail next morning. We drifted in to Upper Snow Lake above five in the afternoon and decided to call it a day.”

  “You see anybody odd along the way?”

  “Well, there was this lady cop from the Forest Service came into our camp about six-thirty and climbed all over us. Bunch of laws we’d never heard of before … ”

  “It’s a Wilderness Area. You didn’t see the rules posted down at the trailhead?”

  “Well, no. I mean, we’d had a few beers in the morning before we started out, and the kids were all over the place, and we didn’t hardly see anything. Anyway, this girl came over and made us put out our fire and break up our camp and all that stuff. Seems like they coulda put up some bigger signs or something. And hell, the fire was right out on the rocks, it wasn’t gonna start anything burning.”

  Frank nodded patiently. Suddenly, with an agonizing pang, he could see Pam walking over there in her little green hat and taking on this crowd of twenty-one people without a second thought, looking up at them and saying, “Look, folks, these are what the rules are and this is how it’s going to be done,” and then jolly well seeing to it that it was. “Did you notice anything peculiar about the girl?” Frank said.

  “Well, she was just a tiny little thing, kinda risky to be wandering around up there all by herself, I thought, but she wasn’t takin’ any crap, she read the riot act and that was that. We started putting the fire out and she headed back toward her camp. Had a bad cold, though, she did. Got to coughing there by the fire and couldn’t hardly stop. Matter of fact, I remember hearing her coughing all night long, clear across the lake.”

  “You didn’t see her in the morning?”

  “No, she was gone before we even got up.” Courtenay produced two more beers. “We broke our camp around noon and started around the lake and up that steep path toward Lake Vivian. Lousy trail, straight up, you’d of thought we was mountain goats, and it must have been a hundred in the shade by then. I thought I was gonna die with that backpack on, before we got to the top.”

  “You didn’t see any other people that looked — odd?”

  “Hell, yes, there was plenty of them.” Jerry shook his head. “Let me tell you, you got some weird hikers in that part of the country. People came charging up that trail at a dead run, like their lives depended on getting up there in thirty minutes flat. I swear to God, white-haired old ladies were catching up to us and passing us by, going uphill. I don’t know what they were trying to prove. But no, there wasn’t anybody you’d call exactly odd.” The man was silent a moment, ruminating. “Except for one real strange one that we saw. There was this kid coming up the trail while we were resting by the creek and soaking our feet. Just a young kid, was all, but mean-looking, and he was barefoot — I mean, no boots at all — and that trail was nothing but sharp rocks.”

  “This was a boy?” Frank asked.

  “Right. Maybe eight or nine years old. Scruffy little bastard, too, looked like he hadn’t had a bath in a month. He had a long stick with a bandana bag tied to the top. Soon as he saw the creek he flopped down and started drinking like a pig. When he finally got up he gave us all a filthy look and started on up the trail. Didn’t say one word, and we never saw him again.”

  “Well, I guess it takes all kinds,” Frank said. “So what did you do then?”

  “When we finally got to the top? We found a couple of good campsites in a meadow up above the second lake, that place where the creek comes wandering through before it drops off down the rocks, you know? So we set up our camps, and some of the kids went down to the second lake for a swim — we were plenty heated up, by then.”

  “You didn’t see her up there on top?”

  “Not a sign of her. So the kids went swimming and a couple of us started rigging our fly rods — and then all of a sudden everything all fell apart. Bob Comstock and his niece Janie Austin got sick.”

  “Sick,” Frank repeated. “Like how, exactly?”

  “It was like they’d come down with a bad cold and a fever,” Courtenay said, “only it started up all of a sudden like somebody’d thrown a switch. They both crawled into their tents for a nap, and then Bob started chilling, said he felt like he was burning up. Then next thing they were coughing up a storm, the two of them, and aching so bad they could hardly move. By dinnertime two others were coming down with the same damned thing, and a fifth one wasn’t feeling very good.” The man shrugged helplessly. “Hell, we didn’t know what to do, never got sick on a camping trip before. We gave them some aspirin and they just threw it right up. Couldn’t hold any dinner down, either. We figured we’d just let ‘em sweat it out for the night and start back down next day if they didn’t feel any better — but then about midnight Bob started coughing up blood, said he couldn’t hardly breathe, and we could hear Janie bubbling in her chest, and the rest of us began to get scared, decided we’d better get them down to some help then and there without waiting for daylight … ”

  Jerry Courtenay got himself another beer. “I guess you’d say we sort of panicked then,” he went on. “It seemed like I was kind of in charge, with Bob knocked out of it, and all I could think was we needed a doctor. So I told everybody to forget their gear, just get on their boots and jackets and grab their flashlights — and we started down.” He sighed. “Believe me, picking our way down through those rocks in the dark was something else, and the trail down the wall was damn near impossible. Terry Gilman hauled Bob along by draping an arm over his shoulder until Bob’s legs gave out, and then another of the boys took his other arm and they fairly dragged him. Had to do the same thing with Janie before long, and then two other sick ones started to give out. I was the strongest hiker, so when we finally got down to Snow Lakes I took off ahead at a dead run in order to get to the bottom and get an ambulance up to meet the others at the trailhead. I swear I nearly broke my leg three times, falling over windfalls and roots; there wasn’t much moonlight through the trees, and the one or two camps with somebody still up gave me lots of great advice but no help, so I just kept on going. When I finally did get down and found a phone, I tried the Ranger Station first, and finally got somebody, but they were no damned help — ”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, no offense meant, but it was kind of strange. I mean, those guys are usually pretty gung ho when somebody’s in trouble, you take it for granted they’ll help you, but this guy I got on the phone was definitely not gung ho about anything. Said all their vehicles were in service at the moment, and anyway they didn’t have any night crew, and I should just call the ambulance and get these people moved to a hospital when they got down. He didn’t even want to take my name, as if he might have to do something if he wrote it down.”

  Frank nodded sourly. “I suppose I can see it,” he said. “So you called an ambulance?”

  “Finally got one from Wenatchee, packed the five sick ones in as soon as they got down. Terry and Peter Toomey rode along with them, and the rest of us followed in cars.”

  “To Wenatchee General?”

  “No. To Harborview in Seattle. We figured we should be close to Sea-Tac airport, since we figured we’d be shipping those sick ones home just as soon as possible. Well, things don’t always work out the way you figure. Bob was dead by the time we reached the hospital — he must have died about the time they hit Interstate 5 north of Seattle. Janie lasted about three hours after arrival and a third one died twelve hours later. The fourth one, the Edstom kid, went into intensive care and started to rally. He may well still be there, for all I know, his dad came up from Boulder to relieve me so I could get the other kids home. In fact, I didn’t learn much at all, the docs at Harborview were very close-mouthed about everything, said they’d caught a ‘typical pneumonia’ or something like that.”

  “Atypical pneumonia,” Frank murmured.

  “Well, whatever it was. They sure didn’t want any publicity. I started rounding people up to get them home, and then we couldn’t find Terry Gilman, he didn’t show at the airport when he was supposed to. Far as I can tell, he just got on a flight for Denver on his own and took off, Continental had his used ticket — but he never got home to Colorado Springs.”

  “This was the one who had his arm around Comstock all the way down the trail?”

  “Right. I suppose he’ll show, sooner or later. He’s kind of a crazy kid anyway.” The man looked up at Frank. “So that’s all I know, and I don’t understand it. Do you?”

  “I’m not sure,” Frank said. “It looks like you people got hit with a very vicious infection. You may have gotten it from the patrol girl — I happen to know she was very sick when she came over to your camp that night.” Frank looked at the little plumber. “The trouble is, I’m not sure it’s all over yet, as far as your crowd is concerned. The boy you call Peter Toomey is sick in bed at home here in Canon City. If you should happen to turn up with a chest cold or a fever, you should get to the best hospital there is here and do it fast. What I need is more detail about the others — the names, addresses and phone numbers of every one of them that was up there with you — and it might help if you’d call them all before I reach them and tell them to talk to me. So far all I’ve gotten is slammed doors. Then if I find out anything, I’ll try to let you know.”

  Frank pulled a pad and pen from his pocket and started writing as Jerry Courtenay began reciting names.

  Six hours later, with the long summer twilight finally fading to darkness over the mountains, Frank Barrington returned to his little motel room and unloaded his pockets of a dozen scribbled, crumpled note sheets. Though he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, the thought of food turned his stomach. What he did need was a drink, so he pulled a bottle of bourbon out of his suitcase, poured a glassful, cut it with a little cold water and threw himself onto the lumpy bed. As his hand quit shaking and his stomach settled down a little, he sat staring into the gathering darkness of the room, reviewing the results of his fact-finding mission, since he’d left Jerry Courtenay.

  He had made just five contacts from Jerry’s list so far, and already he was appalled. Four dead for sure, from that one party of twenty-one people. That included the missing Terry Gilman, who had died in the emergency room of the Rampart Valley Community Hospital up north of Colorado Springs — Terry’s parents had just gotten word as Frank walked in the door. Three more here in Canon City were actively infected with something. Maybe the one left behind at Harborview in Seattle had made it and maybe he hadn’t — there was no one at his address.

  And how many more were already sick or getting sick? He didn’t know. He wasn’t a doctor, either, and there was no way to guess whether the picture of contagion he was piecing together made medical sense or not. One thing was certain: nobody else in Canon City was piecing that picture together at least not yet — and that was what was really scary …

  He knew he had to talk to somebody, somebody who could help, somebody who knew something. Even if it made him look like a meddling ass, he had to unload what he was thinking to somebody. And the horrible part was that Pam must have been the spark. Whatever it was that hit her, she must have passed it on at least to Comstock and the girl. Maybe they infected others in their party in turn — if whatever it was moved just ungodly fast —

  And then he thought of something else, and sat bolt upright on the bed, sweating. If Pam had infected Comstock, who else had she infected? What was it the Super had said when Frank called him after going through Pam’s diary? Something about Doc Edmonds not feeling well? And the other two who had helped him bring Pam out? With his heart pounding, Frank leaped across the bed to the telephone, got the operator, rang the Super’s home number in Leavenworth …

  It rang ten times before the Super answered. “Oh, Frank? I was wondering when you’d call. Are you okay? Well, that’s something, at least.” His voice sounded strained and distant. “You’re in Canon City, Colorado, you say? Wherever that is. Checking out that camping party.” There was a long, long pause. “Did you know that three of them died at Harborview? Big ruckus up here. Fourth one’s just hanging on by his fingernails. Nobody’s sure what’s doing it, it’s weird. How are those people down there?”

  Frank told him, briefly. Then: “How is Doc Edmonds doing?”

  “Doc? Oh, he’s gone, of course.” The Super sounded very strange, almost out of contact. “Dead. Night before last. So is Fred, the guy who flew the chopper in to get Pam, and Barney, who went along to help bring her down. Both dead. The public-health people called in the Centers for Disease Control, but they kept insisting that it isn’t plague. They say it couldn’t be, it doesn’t act like plague. It’s moving too fast, with too much person-to-person spread, bypassing the fleas altogether — you know what I mean?”

  “Well — sort of,” Frank said.

  “They think it’s some new, unidentified bug, don’t know what it is, exactly, but they think it’s definitely not plague. Plague just doesn’t move that fast …”

  They talked a little more, but the Super was definitely not with it, he sounded half delirious, drifting in and out of coherence, so Frank promised to call back next morning, and then signed off. He got another drink, trying to puzzle out what the Super had said. If not plague, then what else? he thought. Not that it matters much, it’s killing people like plague. And speaking of that, shouldn’t I keep taking those little white capsules? He got up, took two more in the bathroom, then paced the floor.

  It was plague, it had to be, and he needed help, not just incoherence. On impulse, he picked up the telephone again, got long-distance information and then placed a call to Atlanta.

  He got a woman on the line and started to tell her where he was and what he wanted, but she cut him off abruptly and gave him another party. This one, another woman, at least listened; she even asked him to spell his name. “You say you have information on cases of plague in Canon City, Colorado? Are these cases you’re treating, Doctor?”

  “I’m not a doctor. I’m a forester.”

  “A forester?” Vague confusion. “I think you’d better talk to our Chief in the Uncommon Diseases section, Mr. Barrington. One moment … ”

  It was a long moment; he almost thought they’d been cut off. Then a deep voice came on the line. “Ted Bettendorf here. Plague, you say? In Canon City? That’s just south of Springs, isn’t it? Yes, I’ve got it here. And you say you’ve been tracing a party of twenty-odd people who’ve been exposed?” A long pause. Then, very carefully: “That — doesn’t really seem very likely, Mr. Barrington. We haven’t had but two or three confirmed cases of plague in Colorado in the last five years, and to have twenty people suddenly involved out of the blue with a flea-vector disease doesn’t add up — uh, hold it a minute! Did you say that the contacts were made in Washington State? Okay, there has certainly been some puzzling illness going on up there, we are still digging it out — but these people are now in Colorado, you say? And that’s where you are right now?” Another long pause, longer than the last. Then: “Mr. Barrington, I think I’d very much like to have you talk to our Dr. Quintana. He’s had a great deal of field experience with plague.”

  “Fine. Put him on,” Frank said.

  “I can’t. He’s in flight right now to Denver. There’s a case he’s checking out up north of Colorado Springs, and you could contact him while he’s out there. I can reach him and have him call you if you have a number.”

  “Any hour,” Frank said. “I’ll be here.” He gave the motel room number and hung up. It didn’t occur to him right then to wonder what the Chief of the Uncommon Diseases section was doing in his office at two-thirty in the morning, Atlanta time.

  He sat down on a chair, staring at the blank TV screen across the room. First Pam. Then Comstock and his niece. Then Doc Edmonds and the chopper crew. Terry Gilman. Peter Toomey. Two others in Seattle, maybe more, and now Christ alone might know how many more down here. All in four days.

  Something was happening, he reflected. Somthing fast. Something bad. Something big, far bigger than just Pam. And it had to be some sort of plague. It couldn’t be anything else.

  As he sat in the gloom, trying to grapple with the reality of what was happening, his eye fell on a Gideon Bible on the bedside stand. Something stirred then, deep in his mind. He remembered reading something in there once, years before, when they’d had the plague scare with the rabbit hunter. What was it? Something about horsemen. There were four of them — yes, of course. Heralds of the end of the world. He’d seen pictures too; sometimes they were depicted riding wild-eyed, hellish unicorns. The first one was Conquest, riding a white horse. The second was War, on a blood-red horse, the third, Famine, on a black horse …

  And the fourth? He racked his memory. Somewhere there in the Revelation of St. John the Divine, the most hideous horseman of them all …

  He picked up the Bible, searched through the back end of it. Yes. Sixth chapter of Revelation, seventh verse:

  And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the third beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse; and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.

  Death. Pestilence. Plague. Mounting his pale steed, digging in the great spurs, leaping forth at full gallop and sweeping across the land. Two thousand years ago they knew him, and knew what he meant, Frank thought. Long before that, they knew him well. And now, he thought, now, in modern day when it couldn’t happen, it was beginning again.