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A Novel by Dan Nelson

What will it look like when the last one

finally comes up that long road?

Thousands of years of solitude.

A body twisted by isolation.

A soul hardened against grace.

But the gates of the City are never shut.

And the road home lies open to all.

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OPENING LINES—

CHAPTER 1

He had been coming this way for years.

At first, it was only rumors—like yellow scraps of newspaper littering the gutter, or snatches of gossip over coffee growing cold. We resisted the tales; it was simply too horrid to believe. Thus, the rumors faded to legend, and the legends to myth. Surely—no human being could still be out there. In darkness.

The fateful day came. The watchman’s cry sent icy shivers up and down every backbone and boulevard in the bright and busy city. The myth had put on flesh. From our tallest tower he could be felt more than seen; a shadowy figure, bent and furtive, like a panicked beetle caught in sudden light. He would stagger forward a few steps, freeze mid-stride, turn and dive behind a scraggly bush or a slab of stone. After dark, hearing him was worse than seeing him. The echoes of his wailing bent strangely among the hills, punching ragged holes in a landscape that had been so serene merely hours before, when the sun had set in a glorious festival of gold and violet. Wails of grief or pain they were, certainly . . . but much worse. The anguished cry of hope lost. Hope forsaken.

The last sinner was on the road home.

But he sure was taking his time.