Epilogue - October 31, 2010
George Parks Highway winds through the wilderness, parallel with the Alaskan railroad. It connects Anchorage to Fairbanks, and is the principal access to the Denali State Park, over three hundred thousand acres of undeveloped wilderness.
Taking a left turn off of the highway, just past the town of Trappers Creek, a road winds along the edge of the mountains. It's an old mining track, paved for the first eleven miles. The remaining eighteen are gravel, and heavy snow makes them impassable during the winter. The majority of the traffic comes through in the spring and summer months for hiking, fishing, and the Aurora Borealis.
That hasn't stopped one family from taking up residence at the top of Cache Creek Road. The people in Petersville have only met a few of them since their arrival in late September. They are quirky, all ridiculously attractive with big SUV's and lots of money. They bought and restored the old mining camp years before, but short of periodic visits over the years, they've never spent much time in the area.
When they'd arrived at the end of September, their cars were loaded down with boxes and provisions. More has made its way up by rail and truck, including a heavy duty Cat so they can get down off the mountain, as well as other electronic and mechanical equipment. To paraphrase the Clement Clarke Moore poem, it appeared they would be settling in for a long winters nap.
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The snow starts early in the day, dropping large fat flakes on the house and gravel paved driveway. The accumulation piles up quickly, and by four in the afternoon there is half a foot of white powder coating the hills, creating a storybook visual for the few around to see.
While the townspeople of Petersville scramble to prepare for the first storm of the year, the family at the top of the old mining road doesn't bat an eye. On the contrary, they go about their lives as if it's any other day, planning, building, and dreaming.
In the main lodge there are three blondes gathered around a large table, a satellite phone connected to a conference speaker broadcasting an eclectic mix of heavily accented voices across the room. Italian, English, American, Egyptian, and Brazilian blend in with other voices, which have taken on a strange, Mid-Atlantic inflection from thousands of years of wandering.
The participants on the call are all passionate and vocal, which is unsurprising after hundreds of years without a voice. This call is a momentous occasion, uniting vampires from all over the world to discuss the first request put forth to the newly formed intervention committee.
An ancient vampire, living in the farthest reaches of South America, has made a discovery, one which can staunch the flow of oil from two distinct rifts in the ocean floor.
If the technology is deemed worthy, a smaller group will be responsible for vetting candidates for taking the technology into production - humans with viable aptitude, who will use the discovery for the right reason. This is the first foray into helping the human world, and the Committee is nervous. They all want to get this right.
A small, dark haired woman slips up behind one of the men to rest her forehead on his back.
"He's the one," she says, "the man in Portugal. He will speak with conviction and they will listen. It will work."
The blonde man smiles, and extends his arm for her to slip under. "You sure about that, Alice?"
"Absolutely."
"I can't think of a better endorsement," he says, placing a kiss on her forehead before turning his attention back to the phone.
In a room upstairs, a large, dark haired man is measuring walls, while a slight woman, her light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, gives him instructions.
"No, Emmett, the shelves need to be deeper. The elephant folios are two feet tall. We either need to create a section that can house them, or build a separate bookshelf."
"You act like we are going to be here forever," the man teases her. He adjusts his measurements, and jots down a few notes on a piece of paper. "We go through this every time we find a new house."
"Yes, and by now you should know better."
The man opens his mouth to tease her back, but a sound claims his attention. He hesitates for a moment, and when he realizes what it is, he quickly leaps to action, rattling tools and paper. If it masks the sounds that are drifting in from the forest, he does not know. All he can do is try.
In the woods just beyond the house, a boy and girl lob snowballs at each other as the snow coats their hair and eyelashes with puffy flakes of white. Periodically the boy will grab the girl around the waist, spinning her as she laughs with delight. They float together, kiss, then drift apart to throw snowballs again; happily oblivious to the epic changes unfolding around them.
When the boy tackles the girl, pinning her in the snow to kiss her, the innocence of their exchange fades away. Kisses go from playful to passionate as lips trace down throats and promises of forever and love and happiness are offered up into the quickly fading afternoon light.
"I love you, Bella," the boy says, his words earnest. "Stay here, stay with me. Be mine. I want you, I always have."
"In the snow?" she asks, laughing with him, not at him. "I don't know how I feel about public displays of affection."
The boy jumps up, pulling the girl after him as they run for the nearest outbuilding, a small storage building that has been turned into a studio. A large iron stove had been lit earlier in the day, and they quickly shed their clothes, kissing and touching as they finally consecrate the vow made five weeks before on a sunny fall afternoon in a forest in Washington.
"You are the vow, Isabella Cullen," the boy says.
They make love for the first of what will no doubt be a thousand times, if not more, as the snow blankets the wilderness around them in a layer of innocence, hiding for a time the ugliness that can exist in the world around them. The girl holds the boy, combing her fingers through his hair as he struggles for breath that is not necessary, a remnant of his human life she has allowed him to rediscover. This is how they bring balance to each other—he gives her life, she makes him human again. Once he stops breathing so heavily; they begin again, slowly kissing and touching as they learn together.
In the house, the large man continues to rattle around to mask the noise coming from the building. The others may be too distracted to hear the sighs and whispers, but when his brother's cries of pleasure become louder, he knocks over a stack of books, giving them the privacy they most desperately deserve.
As the boy and girl lay wrapped in each other's arms, whispering and making promises of what is to come, the small dark haired girl slips from the house to sit on the back steps. The snow falls gently on her, creating a soft veil of white over her short hair. She tilts her face up to stare at the sky. This is a perfect moment; one that her family deserves. The visions have started again, and in time, maybe as early as next summer, they will need to shift into action, for they have merely claimed one battle; they have not won the war. For now, she will keep these things to herself, and allow her family peace, prosperity, and tranquility.
The indeterminate snippets of the future she sees are mixed: eggs being balanced on end to laughter, arguments as the newest member of the family learns her way, chafing at the boys' desire to keep her safe, but always coming back together, stronger for that love. Edward and Bella still have a lot to learn, but learning means growth, and when they do come into their own, they will be a force to be reckoned with.
She smiles as she hears her brother sigh again, happy that he and Bella have found this peace. Theirs will not be an easy life, but the foundation they are building together is deeply embedded, capable of withstanding any attack. They will face their future together, stronger as two halves of the whole rather than as two individuals. These moments are precious, because they are the first, but they are most definitely not the last.
The snow continues to fall as noises filter out from the different buildings. Love, a new world, a home. These are the ideals that are worth fighting for, the ones that give their ageless existence meaning and hope.
Alice tilts her head back and smiles at the sky. The clouds have cleared, and the stars twinkle over her head.
"And at least, for a little while," she says, her words soft, "they all lived happily ever after."