Chapter I- The Long Summer

It was June 17th, 1981. Friday. The town of Gatlin, with a population of 5,147 at the last census but probably much less than that now, was dying. Gatlin depended on its vast, endless fields of corn. Its people lived and died off the endless seas of corn surrounding their town, and the corn had been struck by a draught this year, one of the worst in Nebraska history. It lay limp in the wind, tan and dying. The town's few leaders, Father James Abrams and Police Chief John Tyndall among them, tried to keep everyone's spirits up as best they could. But even twelve-year-old Andrew could see they were failing.

When the bell rang for the end of school that day, Andrew stood up and walked out of the hot, dusty classroom, joining the dozens of myriad boys and girls, all dressed in whatever simple garments their parents could afford, in heading off for home. In the school's one main hallway, Andrew sighted one of the high school's tallest boys, the red-haired and grim Craig Boardman. Craig never seemed to laugh or smile much, except when he was causing one of the younger boys pain. Andrew had forked over lunch money to Craig many times. But in some ways, you couldn't help but wonder what Craig might have been like had things been different at home- in a town as small as Gatlin, everybody knew that Craig's father was a drinker. And that when Henry Boardman drank, he got mean, and liked to quite righteously beat the hell out of his oldest son while the younger ones cowered in a corner. But Craig had actually cheered up lately; all the boys with home lives like Craig's had since a few weeks ago.

Since William had come into town, simply walking into school one day with his black preacher's clothes and announcing that he was here to tell Gatlin's children the truth. Many of the kids had laughed, and so had the teachers, who had absolutely no idea what William meant by that.

William had taken the mockery in stride, simply sitting down in an empty seat and making no more remarks that first day. Then on Sunday, a few kids had gone missing at the Grace Baptist Church. That had raised a few eyebrows; in Gatlin, everyone went to church on Sunday. And with the sun beating down on Gatlin without mercy all through the summer of 1981, with the draught seemingly resolved to kill every living thing in the town, church attendance had only gone up. Everyone was turning to God, it seemed; in a small town like Gatlin, God was the only answer.

So when a few kids had not shown up for the Sunday service three weeks ago, a lot of questions got asked. Some adults were very angry, and Father Abrams was very disappointed. But when he learned that William was a deeply devout boy, one who dressed like he was going to church even when he went to school, Father Abrams' disappointment turned to pleasant surprise. He smiled as William told him of his first journey out into a clearing in the cornfield, and how William had found God there. Father Abrams was completely at ease by the time William finished, explaining that he had only led a handful of Gatlin's children into the cornfield to preach to them himself. Taking the boy on as one of the Grace Baptist Church's own, Father Abrams had tenatively encouraged him to see what else he could do.

Having no apparent home of his own, William slept in the church, and on the next Sunday he led nearly a dozen children into the cornfield; their parents had been assured that all was well, and Father Abrams was if anything relieved. Children were often disruptive and direspectful during the services, and in the face of such adversity as the town now faced this summer, Gatlin's children in particular had been losing hope. But three weeks ago William had appeared, and to Father Abrams it was like the boy was a gift from God himself.

Before William Renfrew, Abrams had felt he was losing the children of the town, who any man of God would know where the most precious gift of all. But suddenly, with the arrival of this dark-haired and solemn boy, everything had changed. The children had begun to speak of God with respect and reverence again… and perhaps, if Father Abrams guessed right, even fear. But was that so bad? Abrams shrugged it off, the one time he seriously contemplated that as a potential problem. God was the creator of life, the universe- the all-seeing judge and father. Was it wrong to fear a being of such immense power?

By Isaac's third Sunday in Gatlin, nearly every child in town was there in the clearing in the cornfield, listening as Isaac- for that was his new name, or perhaps his real one- preached hellfire and brimstone, straight from the Old Testament. Isaac began talking of some strange things that day. He talked of fearing Him absolutely, of how only through a lifetime of dutiful servitude could you ever hope to be rewarded on the other side. Really hitting his stride that past Sunday, Isaac had gone on to shout of the damning of unbelievers, of the judgement of the Lord… and sacrifice.

Andrew, sitting there in the circle gathered around Isaac with his legs crossed, suddenly felt cold.

But then Craig, tall and charismatic and by far Isaac's strongest follower now- an irony considering how cruelly he had mocked Isaac weeks ago- had approached him after the service in the cornfield ended. Holding a small cloth bag that clinked from inside when he moved it, Craig solemnly handed it to Andrew. "Isaac wanted me to give you this," Craig said, as Andrew stared at him in disbelief. When Andrew asked why Craig had so suddenly chosen to bring back all the money he'd taken from Andrew in at least the past year, Craig didn't shrug, or laugh, or push Andrew down like he might once have done.

No. Craig actually seemed to wilt a little at the memory of his actions in the past. Bowing his head slightly- and not just because he was taller than Andrew and naturally looked down at him- the boy with red hair that flowed down to his shoulders said, "It was wrong of me. We will all stand before His throne one day, and He does not love an unrepentant thief."

Then Craig had walked away, heading back towards what passed for the centre of town. Andrew had stared after him for some time, seemingly alone in the clearing. Then Isaac had approached him from behind, startling Andrew with how quietly he appeared. "You see how the new ways are, Andrew? Things are changing as we each turn to Him."

"The corn's still dying," Andrew said grimly.

"It won't be," Isaac said with unshakeable confidence. "Not for much longer."

And so it had come to pass that yesterday, Isaac had called for a meeting of all the children in Gatlin in the cornfield after school. They all came, save for two of the younger ones, Sarah and Job. Their parents remained holdouts, some of the only adults in Gatlin still convinced Isaac was up to no good. It would come to reflect badly on them, even after the Rising, that they had never been there in the beginning. That they had not been there the day He Who Walks Behind the Rows made himself known.

And that He had done, that hot, dusty Thursday afternoon. Andrew and the dozens of other children, some as young as nine or ten, had gathered as Isaac told them to. At first, they had wondered why they were here- even as Isaac preached, it was little different from normal. But then suddenly, something had happened. Nobody knew if it was Isaac's doing, or a response to the increasingly-sincere prayer that had been coming from each of Gatlin's children at each of these gatherings. But what Andrew did know was that the sky had gone dark, a deep, throaty rumble had sounded, and the corn all around them had closed up like a wall. The ground shook, and heavy footfalls shook the ground. Over the sound of the rushing wind, Isaac pointed up at the darkened sky, off into the endless seas of corn. Something tall and dark was out there.

Something big.

Andrew had only a moment to notice it had red eyes the size of footballs before he dropped to his knees in terror, crossing himself and bowing so his forehead touched the dry ground. The other children, terrified beyond words, quickly followed his example. Only Isaac remained on his feet, shouting joyously over the sound of the wind, straight up at the darkened sky.

Then a voice had sounded, one so deep it sounded like the heavy rumble of a freight train. It sounded like a thousand voices of a million pitches all speaking at once, and it was not a voice to be ignored. Or disobeyed.

The voice had shouted, "You pray like dutiful followers, yet you sin as shamelessly as the false minister! You still obey the orders of the Blue Man! I am much displeased. You ask that your harvest be saved; there will be no salvation without sacrifice."

Then the wind had stopped, the skies had cleared and the corn reopened again. Even Isaac was shaking as he bid that they all return home, and strangest of all, when Andrew got home and mentioned the storm clouds he'd seen, his parents both looked at him like he was nuts. Clearly none of the people outside the cornfield had seen anything of what happened there. That made Andrew wonder very much what would be happening next.

Craig's hand gripped Andrew on the shoulder as they passed in the hallway; he said only "Isaac wants everyone in the cornfield this Sunday" before going on his way again. Andrew nodded, shifting the books tucked under his arm. How was this unique, or anything but routine? Andrew had struggled to stay awake during most of Father Abrams' services, as sincere as the man was. Isaac would constantly change his approach, shouting one minute and speaking softly the next. He seemed to be in constant communication with the Lord, with the new god- or, Andrew sensed, the terribly old god- called He Who Walks Behind the Rows. It was as if Isaac knew just what the Lord wanted, and what His children were to do next.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened as Andrew went home that day. He was joined for a time by Matt, a stocky boy with freckles and flaming red hair like Craig's. Matt Kemper's house was across the street from the Kingswood's. When they passed Jennifer Creighton's house, Andrew peered hopefully up at her bedroom window and blushed when he realised she wasn't home yet. Walking along Main Street in his home-made leather shoes, Matt elbowed him and grinned. "Maybe when Isaac's the head preacher for the whole town, Jennifer can be your, uh, Beloved Other!"

Andrew's face heated in embarassment; he had hardly talked with Jennifer Creighton. Pretty girls scared him somehow; Andrew could never think of the right thing to say. But he wanted to. He wished he could.

Trying to turn the topic away from himself, Andrew said, "But Isaac's not in charge."

"Not yet," Matt answered, and suddenly Andrew looked sharply to his right as they walked along the road home. Matt stared back, not a bit of levity on his face now. Slowly, Andrew nodded. So Matt really did believe.

Seeming to guess his friend's thoughts, Matt said, "Don't you believe that Isaac's right, Andrew? Isaac says we have too much sinning in Gatlin. Too much sinning and not enough sacrifice. Maybe…" he trailed off briefly, knowing what he wanted to say but not sure of how to say it best. "Maybe we'll have to do some hard things to save the harvest this year."

Andrew didn't know what to make of that. He knew as well as anyone that Gatlin could never survive more than one year's bad harvest in a row; this draught was terrible, but it was only slightly worse than the one Gatlin had experienced last summer. Two summers of draught might very well mean a long, cold and hungry winter the second time around.

"I guess so, Matt." Andrew said, hoping he sounded sure of himself. Then he thought of Craig, how he'd changed- somewhat for the better- since Isaac had arrived in town. He thought of all the other boys and girls. How the teenagers had stopped toying around with their fathers' cigars and alcohol, and how some of the more eager boys- Matt among them- were suddenly being spurned by girls to whom sex before marriage was now a sacrilege. Things were starting to shape up in Gatlin, despite the continued dry, brutal heat of the summer. The children of Gatlin had discovered discipline at last, and their newfound faith was the joy of nearly every adult in town. How could Andrew say this was such a bad thing?

Matt elbowed him again; they'd walked long enough in silence that they were now nearing their homes. "Isaac leads us now, Andrew," Matt said, his voice grave. "I know you'll be with us on Sunday."

What that meant to Andrew when he thought about it later was, You'd better be.