She turned around to find that Gerbald had not followed her all the way up, only his head and shoulders emerged from the attic's hatch. The big man's face was positively pale and pasty.
"Those are not birds, Pam!" Gerbald hissed.
"I told you they weren't birds, Gerbald."
"Ja, but you didn't say they were Fledermaus!"
Pam gave him a surprised look. Gerbald rarely slipped into his native tongue with her, his pride in his English was too great. It only happened when he was under stress. "Well, I didn't know what they're called in German . . . are you all right Gerbald?"
"I . . . don't like . . . bats." A plaintive whisper.
"I don't think anyone really does much, but as the Reverend, who is notably not up here with us, says: 'They're God's creatures, too.' So we have to be gentle. No katzbalger." Gerbald's pride and joy was the dangerous little katzbalger short sword he wore at his belt. "The trick is, how do we get them out of here?" Pam bit her lower lip in determination as she moved slowly across the creaking floorboards. Stepping gingerly around a pile of debris, the dust enshrouded cardboard props of some circa 1950s Christmas production, she approached a cluster of trembling bats.
"Oh, great. These must be the big brown type. Gerbald, come give me a hand." She looked back to see that he was still barely emerging from the hatchway, in fact he might have crept back down a step. "Gerbald!" she called with a touch of annoyance. The former professional soldier breathed out a puff of resigned air and climbed the rest of the way into the attic. There was plenty of standing room in the center but he still stooped, a study in apprehension. Pam shook her head in exasperation.
"Come on, pal-o-mine, pull yourself together. The sooner we get this done the sooner we are outta here. I'll even pay for all your beer at the Gardens tonight." Gerbald gave an unconvinced nod. She had never seen him act like this and the truth was it was beginning to freak her out; his obvious fear was shaking her own confidence greatly.
"Yes, Pam. But what do we do?" There was none of the usual steel in those tones.
"Ummm. . . ." Actually Pam still had no idea what they were going to do. Let's just get this over with and get out of this church before the damn wedding party shows up! "Well, let's see if we can shoo them out the slats up there." She pointed at the belfry. "Here, take this." Pam indicated a cardboard camel from the nativity play which Gerbald picked up to study with an exceedingly unhappy expression. Pam chose a rather clumsily executed sheep that still had old cotton balls glued haphazardly to its front. Holding the meter long prop in front of her, Pam took a menacing step toward the bats. "BA-A-A-A!" she cried loudly in her best sheep bleat. The bats didn't move. Gerbald looked on with a pathetic mixture of horror and wonder.
"Well, you try it now," Pam urged him impatiently.
"I don't know what sound this creature makes." he mumbled, looking helplessly down at his cardboard one-hump camel.
"Oh, for Chrissakes—oops! Sorry!" She looked nervously up toward the ceiling. Just what I need, pissing off God. Gerbald followed her gaze with an expression of pleading. He was by no means a religious man but any help would be welcome at this point.
"Just say anything, the bats don't know what the hell sound a camel makes, either. Oh, I did it again, ahhh shi—" She managed to stop herself this time before further blaspheming under the Lord's own roof. Gerbald, seeing there was nothing for it but to try took a very small step forward, lifted his camel up to chest height and said in a near whisper: "Boo."
"Oh, yeah. That scared them. Here, watch this." Pam felt a wave of frustration swelling in her, she had to do something and now! She held her sheep out in front of her as if it were a knight's shield and stomped aggressively toward the bats. "ARRRRRRRRRR!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, waving the sheep crazily at the bats. "CLEAR OFF, YOU STINKING BASTARDS!!!" The bats began to make quick nervous movements as she swung the sign nearer to them.
"Pam, please, don't!" Gerbald's plea was barely a whimper, as if he were trying to call out for help in a terrible nightmare but had no voice.
"YARRRR, YOU BUG EATING SHITS, GIT!" This time the cardboard sheep brushed against the bats, knocking several from their perch. All holy hell broke loose.
Pam and Gerbald were swiftly surrounded by a tornado of bats, a swooping, flapping, screeching maelstrom of leather wings and flashing teeth. Gerbald let out a hoarse scream and fell backwards in a heavy crash, flattening the cardboard manger beneath his bulk. He had maintained his grip on the camel which he now held tightly over his face to protect it from the whirl of brown fur. Pam stood for a moment vainly waving her sheep around in what she hoped was the direction of the open slats.
"SHOO! Come on, get out! ARRRGH, ohmygod!" One of the bats had landed on her back and she could feel the little claws digging into her sweatshirt as it made its way up toward her neck. "AAAAA, get off me, get off me!" She performed a crazy little spinning jig while trying to use the cardboard sheep to brush the bat off her back. Another one joined it. Time to run.
"Let's get the hell out of here!" she screeched over the flapping din. Gerbald was already crawling toward the hatch, he had put the broken cardboard manger over his head and upper back so that he looked like some kind of mutant tortoise. He went down head first with an awful series of thumps; leaving the camel lodged in the opening so that Pam found the path to safety blocked by its tan-painted rear end. She gave it a firm kick so that it fell down to add itself to the heap of debris at the stair bottom that included Gerbald somewhere within its wreckage. She started down the stairs and realized she still had two bats on her back. With a vengeful swipe of the sheep over her shoulder Pam managed to dislodge her creepy crawly hitchhikers and then threw the prop after them as they flapped away to join the swirling chaos made by their brethren above. Once on the ground she quickly untied the rope and sent the stairs swinging with a loud creak on its spring back into place, shutting the bats behind it. Pam began to curse, loudly.
"Jesus wept, what the hell was I—oh, hi Reverend."
Al had heard the racket from below and hurried up the stairs to see if his bat removal team was all right. He gave Pam a raised eyebrow and a grin. "Don't worry, I've heard worse. Are you two all right? What happened?!" He saw movement under the pile of broken cardboard and moved to help Gerbald extricate himself. Upon finding that the big man was shaken but unhurt, he listened to Pam tell the story. When she finished, the reverend shook his head regretfully.
"Oh my, I feel terrible. I didn't realize that you were going to try to drive the bats out right now; I thought you were just having a look at them! You see, most of them leave on their own every night to feed."
Pam blinked at him slowly, a chagrined expression growing on her dusty face. "I should have known that. Everyone knows that. Why am I so stupid?" She looked at Gerbald who was pouting beneath his floppy hat—no support was going to come from that quarter.
"Now, now dear, you most certainly are not stupid! You told me yourself that birds are your forte. I just thought that with your love of animals maybe you would be more . . ." He paused to look about at the mess they had brought down the stairs with them. ". . . gentle. It's no bother really. I'm sure I can get someone else."
"No, that's all right. I want to try again. I'll come back after dark when there aren't as many. I'm going to need some stuff though; a ladder, some fine mesh to tack up over the open slots of the belfry—do you think you can get that?"
"I have a certain amount of pull amongst my flock, Pam. I'll get the word out and you'll get what you need. You two look bushed. How about tomorrow night?"
"That's fine. We'll see you tomorrow after sunset."
* * *
The next evening Pam stood at the church's side door waiting for Gerbald. He had been very quiet the night before and had even declined to take her up on the beer offer. Who would have thought a guy like that would have a phobia? Pam grinned a little guiltily at the chink she had found in the mighty Gerbald's armor. The thought was a welcome dis
traction from the increasingly bothersome worry that her son Walt would show up with this fiancée he hadn't bothered to bring by his own mother and, worse yet, the possibility of her ex-husband with them. It was a situation that she just wanted to have go away, and chided herself for slipping into her pre-Ring of Fire hide from the world mentality.
She jumped as she heard someone approaching, hopefully Gerbald on schedule. To her surprise it was Gerbald's wife Dore coming around the corner carrying a variety of mops, brooms and brushes.
"Dore! What are you doing here?"
"I am here to work," the doughty German announced in her usual curt, business-like tones. Pam looked behind her but Gerbald didn't appear.
"Where's Gerbald?"
Dore let loose a tremendous huff of disgust, obviously regarding the subject of the question. "He is not coming. He is sick." She gave Pam a very telling look.
"Oooohhhh, I see. Well, uh, I hope he's all right."
"Not to worry, dearest Pam. He is sick in a place that he has little use for." With a wicked grin, she tapped her forehead. The two of them shared a brief laugh at Gerbald's bat-fearing expense before going to look for the reverend.
* * *
Dore had no compunction against facing the bats, she advanced into the attic spaces with cool determination, broom held firmly at ready like a soldier's pike axe in one hand, kerosene lantern in the other. There was only one lonely light bulb hanging over the hatch door and its forty watt glow didn't push very far into the chaos.
"I will clean," she announced stoically after looking the fantastic mess over.
"That's a good idea, Dore. It will help to have this place orderly so I can find all their hidey holes." Pam had brought a personal treasure, a wall socket rechargeable flashlight—as long as the bulb lasted she had light on demand. She began methodically searching the unobstructed sections of wall first. Most of the bats had indeed left to feed on the night's insects and she and Dore moved carefully so as not to startle the remaining small clusters. We don't want to see that again! She suppressed a shudder. There were a surprising number of small openings leading out to the open air in the very old building, rotted out knots in the pine boards and crumbled away chunks of masonry where the top of the brick walls met the wood above. Pam marked each one she found with a red crayon so they would be easy to find when it was time to start closing the gaps.
The Reverend Green's voice called up through the open hatch. "Hello ladies! I have a volunteer for you! I'm sending her up!"
Pam and Dore looked at each other with surprise. Who would be crazy enough to offer to help them bring order to this reeking disaster area?
New-penny red hair and a smiling freckled face framed by two long pigtails appeared at the top of the steep stairs. "Hi! I'm Crystal!" A tall slender girl with wide shoulders and long legs emerged from the hatchway, dressed in denim bib overalls and a red and black checkered cotton shirt. She was an American girl all right, athletic and emanating an aura of confidence. Pam and Dore gave each other a small shrug and walked over to greet her.
"Hi Crystal, I'm Pam. This is my friend Dore."
Crystal shook their already dust-covered hands readily, obviously unconcerned with the dirt. "Nice to meet you both. The Reverend told me you were up here trying to get rid of these bats, what can I do to help?"
Pam gave her a brief appraising look; she seemed made of tough stuff. "Wow, that's really nice of you! I'm afraid it's a terrible mess up here . . . " Pam paused to see if the young woman would flinch, but the newcomer's copper flecked bright brown eyes met hers with a sure steadiness. All righty then, you we can use!
"Well, to start with you could help Dore move some of the old furniture and junk away from the walls. We need to find every place the bats might be able to crawl in and then we can start sealing them up." Pam fished into her jacket pocket for an extra crayon and handed Crystal a purple one. "If you find an opening, just mark it clearly with this."
Crystal smiled brightly. "Sure thing, Pam! Okay, Dore, where shall we start?"
The older German woman gave the girl a studying look up and down her entire length, approval pending. "Come with me, we start over there." Dore led Crystal to a decaying cabinet, its once polished surface now a modern art splatter of bat droppings and mold. They arranged themselves on either side, then slowly slid the heavy piece away from the wall. Pam gave them a pleased tilt of her head and went back to her own work.
Crystal proved to be a hard worker. She didn't flinch at the dust and guano and her athletic build was a big help in bringing order to the many decades worth of junk. Pam was glad to have her. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner she could disappear into the woods as far away from the Baptist Church and June weddings as she could get. Maybe Norway . . .
After an hour of dirty hard work the three of them paused for a break, sitting on a clean patch of floor around the hatchway.
"Pam, did you grow up in Grantville?" Crystal asked.
"Mostly. I spent some summers with my grandma in Fairmont. How about you?" It was a small town but Pam could hardly claim to know everybody, especially the younger generations. Walt had rarely brought friends home; he had preferred to be "out with the guys." Pam started to wonder why that was but made a mental effort to push the thought aside for now.
"I'm from Fairmont. My folks built a place pretty close to Grantville while I was in high school but by then I could drive myself to school. I used to come to Grantville to visit my aunt, Donna May Blocker, pretty often. I live with her now."
"Oh, I see." The subject of the Ring of Fire was a touchy one in general, especially with those out-of-towners who had just happened to be there and were swept up in the event. It had socially become poor form to ask direct questions about it, but apparently Crystal wasn't the type to have such reservations as she volunteered her story.
"I was working as a flagger with a state road crew just outside of town. I decided to go into Grantville to get some fries instead of going home for lunch—what a decision that was." The girl smiled ruefully. "So, here I am in the year 1634. Crazy, huh?" Pam nodded in full agreement.
"Do you have family here in Grantville, Pam?"
The question took her by surprise, although it shouldn't have. "I'm divorced," she answered flatly, her tone making it clear that further information was not forthcoming.
Crystal got the hint and didn't probe further. She turned her attention to Dore. "Dore, what do you think of these wacko Americans from the future landing in the middle of your country?"
Dore, who no one had ever bothered to ask such a question, took a moment to think. "It is God's will." Dore was a devout Lutheran who had the good sense to practice her faith quietly in the hodgepodge of religious and non-religious that made up the growing population of Grantville. "It is good Americans come, you teach us much. No war here now. My husband and I, we have good life, thanks to our dear Pam here." The dour expression that was Dore's usual front to the world was replaced briefly with a golden gaze of sisterly love to Pam, who blushed. "We think of her as a gift from God." This caused Crystal to look approvingly at Pam who had inspired such loyalty in her down-time friends.
"Well . . ." Pam tried to hide her embarrassment at the praise. "I wouldn't have made it without Dore and Gerbald. They've helped me deal with my new life here, if it wasn't for them I think I really would have gone crazy. And speaking of crazy—" She gestured at the mess they still faced, using it to deflect the course of a discussion that was getting way too personal for her "—we still have a lot of work to do."
With a cheerful groan the three of them got back on their feet. Crystal proved to be tireless, which certainly won Dore's respect; Pam was amazed to see that Dore was even laughing at the little jokes and funny faces Crystal made during the course of the tedious task. Pam found herself taking a liking to this sunny young person, a fellow castaway in space-time. The hours went by quickly.
"Well. ladies, it's getting late." Pam announced at last. We've marked all
the entrances, let's save the patching for tomorrow. I have an idea for a one-way exit I want to tinker with that should allow any stragglers to leave." She turned to Crystal. "Thanks for all the great help, Crystal. We were really glad to have you! Tomorrow—"
"I'll be here, Pam. My pleasure. It's nice to have something positive to do, Reverend Green really appreciates it—and once this godawful smell is gone, you two are going to have a lot of Baptist friends!" They laughed, and the three of them made their way merrily down to the street, proud of the hard work they had accomplished. After saying their good nights, Pam walked home feeling pretty up. It was funny how even the worst things could come around to having some good outcomes.