the corners of his mouth. The Woman stares down, watching him die.
A shout goes up from the villagers. They move forward into the mayhem, swarming over the fallen bodies, finding swords and spears, and finishing off the rest of the army in like fashion.
The images fade from Matt’s mind.
For the rest of the night, he dreams of a massive dark shape that stalks him through a misty forest.
When he wakes in the morning, Matt has one blanket twisted around his legs and another wrapped around his neck. His body is a tight ball of aching muscle, head throbbing, a new bruise on his arm.
“You didn’t sleep much.” Jessica says. “More dreams?”
“Dreams. Visions. I can’t tell the difference anymore.” He tells Jessica about the images of the Woman.
“The Woman and her village didn’t die this time?”
“No. Not in the second version of the dream. She used her Stone to fight back.”
“Strange.” Jessica hands him a hunk of bread from her pack. “Any idea why the dream changed?”
“Nope.” Matt chews slowly on the crust. “No idea at all. But I know where we’re going.”
“The Great Appalachian Trail?”
“New York City.” Matt gathers himself to his feet. “The time for running is over.”
CHAPTER 11
M iyazawa walks from his transport across the deep green lawn on the north side of the White House. Today is the official launch of the US campaign, and he has a busy schedule, starting with a brief meeting and photo-op with the President of the United States.
As the hem of his robes float an inch off the grass, a wall of journalists wave hands and shout at him in the aggressive fashion of the American press. Engaging the inner ear implants, he is enveloped in a bubble of silence and surrounded by the four broad-shouldered men escorting him, two in the front and two in the back.
At the end of the rope walkway, they usher him through a set of open glass doors that close behind him, sealing him off from the outside world.
“This way, Your Holiness.” A man in a dark suit and laser glasses steps forward and bows at precisely the correct angle. “The President is anxious to welcome you.”
They walk down a white corridor and into a high-ceilinged room. Multiple doors hang along the three walls. All but one of them are shut. Following his escort through the only open door, Miyazawa steps off the hardwood floor and onto the deep carpet of the Oval Office.
His eyes are immediately drawn to a man in his early fifties with a white shirt and blue suit. Conservative feather epaulets rest on his shoulders.
Miyazawa’s escort steps to the side. “Mr. President, I present His Holiness, Tomoyuki Miyazawa, High Priest of the Earth United Shinto Alliance.”
“My pleasure,” says the President. “Welcome to the United States of America. We’ve been looking forward to your visit for some time.”
The President steps out from behind his desk and walks forward, hands at his side. Miyazawa bows deeply. When he looks up, the President is still standing, awkward and erect.
“Please sit down. I’d like to talk about your plans.”
The President directs Miyazawa to a set of two chairs against an adjacent wall, set up with the American and Japanese flags behind them. Miyazawa sits in the chair in front of the American flag.
“First of all, let me say that it’s a great honor to have been invited to your country.” Miyazawa’s head drops in an elegant sitting bow.
“After what you did for the American people, and the people of the entire planet, I can assure you that the honor is all mine.” The President casts his glance at the escort, still standing like a sentinel near the open door, hands behind his back. “Jim, would you mind stepping into the hall for a moment. I’d like to have a couple minutes with our esteemed guest alone, before the press stampedes in here.”
The man nods and walks out of the room, pulling the doors shut behind him.
“Now, Mr. Miyazawa, tell me about your
A shout goes up from the villagers. They move forward into the mayhem, swarming over the fallen bodies, finding swords and spears, and finishing off the rest of the army in like fashion.
The images fade from Matt’s mind.
For the rest of the night, he dreams of a massive dark shape that stalks him through a misty forest.
When he wakes in the morning, Matt has one blanket twisted around his legs and another wrapped around his neck. His body is a tight ball of aching muscle, head throbbing, a new bruise on his arm.
“You didn’t sleep much.” Jessica says. “More dreams?”
“Dreams. Visions. I can’t tell the difference anymore.” He tells Jessica about the images of the Woman.
“The Woman and her village didn’t die this time?”
“No. Not in the second version of the dream. She used her Stone to fight back.”
“Strange.” Jessica hands him a hunk of bread from her pack. “Any idea why the dream changed?”
“Nope.” Matt chews slowly on the crust. “No idea at all. But I know where we’re going.”
“The Great Appalachian Trail?”
“New York City.” Matt gathers himself to his feet. “The time for running is over.”
CHAPTER 11
M iyazawa walks from his transport across the deep green lawn on the north side of the White House. Today is the official launch of the US campaign, and he has a busy schedule, starting with a brief meeting and photo-op with the President of the United States.
As the hem of his robes float an inch off the grass, a wall of journalists wave hands and shout at him in the aggressive fashion of the American press. Engaging the inner ear implants, he is enveloped in a bubble of silence and surrounded by the four broad-shouldered men escorting him, two in the front and two in the back.
At the end of the rope walkway, they usher him through a set of open glass doors that close behind him, sealing him off from the outside world.
“This way, Your Holiness.” A man in a dark suit and laser glasses steps forward and bows at precisely the correct angle. “The President is anxious to welcome you.”
They walk down a white corridor and into a high-ceilinged room. Multiple doors hang along the three walls. All but one of them are shut. Following his escort through the only open door, Miyazawa steps off the hardwood floor and onto the deep carpet of the Oval Office.
His eyes are immediately drawn to a man in his early fifties with a white shirt and blue suit. Conservative feather epaulets rest on his shoulders.
Miyazawa’s escort steps to the side. “Mr. President, I present His Holiness, Tomoyuki Miyazawa, High Priest of the Earth United Shinto Alliance.”
“My pleasure,” says the President. “Welcome to the United States of America. We’ve been looking forward to your visit for some time.”
The President steps out from behind his desk and walks forward, hands at his side. Miyazawa bows deeply. When he looks up, the President is still standing, awkward and erect.
“Please sit down. I’d like to talk about your plans.”
The President directs Miyazawa to a set of two chairs against an adjacent wall, set up with the American and Japanese flags behind them. Miyazawa sits in the chair in front of the American flag.
“First of all, let me say that it’s a great honor to have been invited to your country.” Miyazawa’s head drops in an elegant sitting bow.
“After what you did for the American people, and the people of the entire planet, I can assure you that the honor is all mine.” The President casts his glance at the escort, still standing like a sentinel near the open door, hands behind his back. “Jim, would you mind stepping into the hall for a moment. I’d like to have a couple minutes with our esteemed guest alone, before the press stampedes in here.”
The man nods and walks out of the room, pulling the doors shut behind him.
“Now, Mr. Miyazawa, tell me about your
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