Darkly The Thunder

by William W. Johnstone

  “Let’s just say, I think I probably know something that you don’t about this matter,” he said mysteriously.

  She knew from experience that she wasn’t going to get much more out of him. “Okay, Howie. Right. Well, since we’re going to get our butts beat for skipping school, do we have time for a milk shake before we meet with the cops?”

  “No.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” She shifted her gaze and gasped. “Howie!” She gripped his arm. “Look at Mr. Hubbard over there.”

  Howie looked at the man standing in the doorway of his hardware store.

  Hubbard had unzipped his trousers and was exposing his penis to them. He grinned and called out, “You wanna come play with this, Angel?”

  The kids broke into a run, heading for the sheriffs department building.

  They ran into the building and up to the desk. Old Mack grinned at them. “Now, why aren’t you kids in school?”

  “We wanna see the sheriff!” Angel blurted. “Old Man Hubbard just shook his pecker at me!”

  Mack swallowed his chewing tobacco.

  “They won’t start,” Paul told the young women. “The gauges show the batteries at full charge. The radios play – that same weird station – but we can’t crank the engines.”

  “I’m packing up and getting away from this crazy place,” Lynn said.

  The other girls agreed with that, loudly.

  Hillary turned around and felt a hand slip between her legs, rubbing her crotch. She whirled and took a wild swing at Bos.

  “Goddamn you!” she screamed, missing with her swing.

  Bos caught her arms and held on. “Damnit, Hillary, now stop. What’s wrong with you?”

  “I don’t like you trying to feel me up!” She struggled to free herself from his hands.

  Bos shoved her away. She stumbled and almost fell down. “Feel you up? I didn’t put a hand on you.”

  Paul stepped between them and looked at Hillary. “Nobody touched you, Hillary. And that’s the truth.” Paul jumped and yelled as a hard finger goosed him in the butt. “What the hell!”

  “What happened?” Sandy asked, fear on her face.

  “Somebody just goosed me.”

  Leon suddenly found himself flat on his back, on the ground, his jeans and underwear down around his ankles. He struggled to pull them back up, embarrassed by his nakedness.

  Lynn’s shirt was abruptly ripped open, her bra torn from her, exposing her breasts. She screamed and tried to pull together her ruined shirt.

  WHAT A SET OF KNOCKERS!

  The invisibly embattled little group looked wildly around them, fear touching them all.

  Leon was still struggling to pull up his jeans and underwear. Everytime he managed to cover his nakedness, the clothing was jerked back down around his ankles. He rolled on the ground, fighting the unseen hands.

  Paul ran to help his friend. A blow to the back knocked him sprawling, driving the breath from him.

  Pat was tossed to the ground, her jeans torn from her, bruising and cutting her flesh with the savage jerk. She screamed in pain. Leon was picked up and dropped down on top of her.

  POP IT TO HER, LEON!

  “Somebody help us!” Leon cried, blind panic and fear in his voice.

  EVERY PARTY HAS A POOPER, THAT’S WHY WE INVITED YOU, PARTY POOPER, PARTY POOPER!

  They could all feel whatever it was surrounding them, leave. Leon rolled from Pat and lay face down on the ground. He was very close to hysteria, his chest heaving and his flesh clammy to the touch. He was trembling.

  Sandy ran to help Pat, and Bos went to Leon, helping him pull up his clothes and get to his feet. Paul was groaning as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

  “Get the canteens,” Paul finally managed to say. “Leave everything else. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “What if that thing won’t let us?” Hillary asked. “Whatever it is.”

  “We won’t know until we try,” Paul said grimly. “Let’s go.”

  Sunny cut her eyes to Robin. “Robin? That was Sand’s? ...”

  “Wife,” Richard said. “My wife’s older sister. Daughter of Carl and Flora Lee.”

  “Your parents?” Sunny asked the woman.

  “My father died in prison a few years ago. Death freed him. He’s much happier now.”

  The eyes of the women met, held. A beautiful woman, Sunny thought. Just a touch of gray in her dark hair. “Your mother?”

  “Insane. Confined to a nursing home . . . if that is what one wishes to call that dismal place. But all signs point to her ordeal soon being over.”

  Sunny didn’t pursue that last bit. She waited.

  “My mother was driven insane by the events prior to and just after Sand’s death.”

  “I heard the country western song about Sand several years ago,” Sunny said.

  Richard smiled. “Yes, we know.”

  How? Sunny wanted to ask. She didn’t. “A friend of mine, a few years older, was in Vietnam. He worked with a correspondent named Dan Thompson. Dan used to live here in Willowdale.”

  “Yes. Little Dan,” Richard said. “He used to run with us. He’s dead.”

  “The State Department still has him listed as missing,” Sunny corrected.

  “He’s dead,” Richard said flatly.

  Sunny fought back a slight feeling of irritation. The man’s know-it-all attitude was beginning to get next to her. “Whatever, Mr. Jennings. Anyway, Dan used to tell my friend about a young man called Sand. Dan said that Sand was the greatest guy in the whole world. Said he was going to write a book about him; tell the true story about what happened. And why. Ever since I heard that, it’s been on my mind. I was glad to receive that letter from you.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Richard said drily.

  Robin suddenly opened her eyes and sat up straight. “Daddy? Why don’t you show Miss Lockwood that old car you keep out in the shed? It has something to do with all this, doesn’t it?”

  Sunny looked at the father. The man’s face changed. Sunny could not name the emotion.

  “Yes, baby. It has a lot to do with it.”

  “I’d like to see that car, Mr. Jennings.” Sunny punched off the recorder.

  Richard nodded. “All right. That can be ... arranged without too much difficulty. Come on.” He rose from his chair. It was the most graceful and fluid movement Sunny had ever witnessed.

  He escorted her out the back door. But he did not touch her.

  “What song, mother?” Robin asked.

  “It was never played in this part of the state.”

  “Do you have the record?”

  She smiled. “Not anymore. It was destroyed in a fire. But I can probably arrange to get you a copy.

  The doors to the shed were unlocked and opened. Sunny sucked in her breath at the sight.

  The car was classic. A 1950 model Mercury two-door. Chopped and channeled, lowering blocks in the rear. The interior was rolled and pleated leather. White leather. The exterior of the car had been painted a deep blue, and done so with expert hands.

  It was beautiful, and Sunny said as much.

  “Yes, it was, Sunny,” Richard agreed.

  Was? “Your car, Mr. Jennings?”

  “No. It belonged to Sand. He was driving it the night he got killed. Long time ago. Drove it up the side of Thunder Mountain as far as he could push it; car shot all to hell and back.”

  “You restored it?”

  Richard smiled. “No. Get in and turn on the radio, Sunny.”

  Somebody sure restored it, Sunny thought, as she opened the door and slid in behind the wheel. She turned on the radio. Fifties music poured from the rear-mounted hi-fi speakers. She looked out at Richard. He was still smiling at her. She clicked off the radio, not understanding what was taking place. She felt sure he was trying to tell her something. But what?

  “Do you drive it much, Mr. Jennings?”

  A strange light sprang into his eyes. “That would be, ah ... dif
ficult, at best.”

  She walked out of the shed to stand beside him. Even outside, she could still smell that odd odor of charred wood and the sweet smell of flowers, all mingled in with the odor that all funeral homes seem to have.

  “So many people dead,” Richard said, his voice no more than a whisper. “And many, many more to die before this is all over.”

  “Before what is over? I don’t understand.”

  “You will.”

  Richard closed the doors and locked them. Sunny noticed the hasp and lock were very old and terribly rusty. She wondered about that.

  She reached out and touched his arm.

  She felt as though she had time-traveled, and her senses had not yet caught up with her. One instant they had been standing outside by the shed, now they were sitting in the house, back in the den, and Sunny, for the first time, was really frightened.

  “Don’t touch me, Sunny,” Richard told her. “Me or Linda. You were lucky this time. The next time, you might not fare as well.”

  “What the hell happened?” Sunny almost shouted the question.

  Richard ignored that. “Let’s get on with the interview, Sunny. I don’t know how much time we have left.”

  “Lee,” Gordie told his chief deputy, “send a deputy down to Hubbard’s store and find out what the hell is wrong with him.” He looked at the kids. “Howard and Carly Ingram’s kids, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” they both said. Like many kids their age, cops frightened them. The guns and the creaking leather and the Mace holders and the handcuffs, all combined with the TV and movie bullshit to give kids a bad image of cops.

  “How come you kids aren’t in school? You playing hooky?”

  “Don’t blame her,” Howie said, stepping closer to shield his sister – a move that escaped no one’s attention. “Blame me. Actually I like school, but I made her leave and come with me, because of what I perceive to be impending trouble in this community.”

  Bergman looked at Howie and winked and smiled. “You’re really a midget, right? You’re not a kid. I got a sixteen-year-old that can’t speak English yet – at least not where I can understand it.”

  Howie returned the plainclothes cop’s smile. “I’m very advanced for my ten years.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Sheriff Rivera said, not trying to hide his smile. It was nice to have something to smile about. “What sort of trouble are you talking about, son?”

  “It’s very difficult to explain, Sheriff. But I shall try my best. For the last few days, I have been experiencing a very subtle change taking place in this town. The people are behaving, well, oddly.”

  “Gordie,” Watts said, motioning for Gordie to step away from the kids. “Out of the mouths of babes and all that.”

  “That is one brilliant kid. Yeah. I see what you mean. I know from personal experience that kids are very quick to pick up on things. What do you know about the Ingram kids?”

  “The girl is plenty smart, but Howie’s I.Q. is astronomical. Speaks two or three languages. Can make a computer do the diddy wa diddy. And a college professor would be hard-pressed to throw a math question at him that Howie couldn’t work. And that’s just touching the tip of his brainpower.”

  “And the boy is probably shunned by his peers.”

  “Sure. But that comes from the home, Gordie. From stupid parents who place more value on sports than on brilliance. I whipped a coach’s ass years ago, when he made some dick-headed remark because my youngest kid left sports to spend more time with studies.”

  Gordie grinned. “I’m just finding out all sorts of things about you, aren’t I, you feisty old bastard!”

  Watts laughed softly. “That’s why I liked Sand so much. Damn, but that boy was brilliant. Such a waste.”

  “But what did he do with that brilliance, Al? He was a rebel, and that’s all.”

  “Oh, no, Gordie. He was much more than that. As to what he’s doing with it ... he just might be working to get our asses out of a very bad crack.”

  “You still cling to that theory of yours, don’t you,

  “You bet.”

  “What am I going to do with all these military people? What would you do with them, Al?”

  “Keep them around. Bed them down at the best motel in town, compliments of the town. The meeting was okay’d and nobody from the town or county showed up. We owe them something. Besides, if things get tight, I want them on our side.”

  SPEAKING OF WHAT PEOPLE WANT! the voice boomed. I WANT A PIECE OF THAT PRETTY LITTLE GIRL.

  Bergman stepped over and pulled Angel close to him. “Easy, honey. It’s all right.”

  Angel didn’t buy that for one second, but she felt better with his arm around her shoulders.

  The military people looked at each other, all with questions in their eyes. They remained silent.

  Howie cocked his head to one side and waited for the voice to speak again.

  THANK HEAVENS, FOR LITTLE GIRLS, the voice sang.

  Howie listened as the voice sang. It was not unpleasant; not a monotone. And the melody was just about right. Howie enjoyed show tunes and serious music.

  “Ignore it,” Gordie told his deputies. “Go on about your duties.”

  The singing stopped. Maj. Jackson yelped and jumped as what appeared to be an invisible finger gave him a sharp goose in the butt.

  Both Lt. Smith and Sgt. Dixon began slapping at invisible hands that roamed over their bodies, touching and squeezing.

  The sheriff’s secretary, Sarah, began screaming as her clothes were ripped from her, leaving her in only bra and pantyhose. When Deputy Alan Hibler ran to cover her with a coat he’d grabbed from a rack, something clobbered him on the jaw and knocked him to the floor.

  DO BOP DE DO BOP DE DO BOP, DE DO.

  The room fell silent.

  The men and women and kids stood numbed by it all. Hibler struggled to his boots, helped up by the half-naked Sarah, who suddenly realized a lot was exposed that shouldn’t be, and ran toward the ladies room, clutching the coat that Alan had received a sock on the jaw for.

  “What the hell was that?” Major Jackson broke the silence.

  “Whatever it was,” Howie said, “the voice is not real. Not a human voice. It is electronically produced.”

  Sgt. Maj. Christensen said, “What do you mean, son?”

  “It’s like a computer voice, sir. But a highly refined one. Like a voice out of a game. Not natural. It’s very good, but still not human. Not God-given.”

  HOLY, HOLY, HOLY! the voice sang. LORD GOD ALMIGHTY. That was followed by the sound of a long fart.

  Kathy Smith and John Hishon both crossed themselves, as did Gordie.

  YOU’RE A SMART-ASSED LITTLE PUNK, AREN’T YOU, HOWIE BABY?

  Howie did not choose to reply.

  ANSWER ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT-HEAD.

  “You’re not real,” Howie said.

  NOT REAL? THEN EXPLAIN THIS.

  Howie was knocked to the floor, one side of his face red and swelling, a trickle of blood leaked out of one corner of his mouth.

  Angel ran to him and knelt down. She glared up at empty space. “Pick on someone your own size, you creep!” she yelled.

  THE NEXT TIME, BITCH, HUBBARD WON’T JUST SHAKE IT AT YOU.

  “What do you want?” Watts asked, his voice strong and firm.

  HOW INTERESTING! NOT: WHAT ARE YOU? NOT: WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? JUST: WHAT DO YOU WANT?

  “It’s a fair question.”

  PERHAPS.

  “Did you kill Carol Ann and the Branson boy?”

  THE GIRL WAS DELICIOUS.

  “Why them?”

  WHY NOT, OLD COPPER?

  Howie was listening intently.

  “All right. I’ll ask. Who are you?”

  I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER ASK.

  Silence.

  “Are you going to answer the question?”

  The voice sang a few lines from the song Too Old To Cut The Mustard Anymore, then dedicated it to Al Watts
.

  All felt the following silence. Whatever it was, it was gone.

  “What in the hell is that thing?” Norris asked.

  A deputy pushed over the front door and shoved in a redfaced Hubbard. His face turned even redder when he spotted Angel, glaring at him. Gordie had to stifle a laugh when the pretty little girl popped him the bird.

  “You’re a dirty old man!” Angel yelled at him.

  “Take Angel into my office,” Gordie told Lee. “And her brother. See if Howie needs medical attention.”

  The kids gone, Gordie faced the hardware man. “Angel says you exposed yourself to her.”

  “That’s a vicious lie, Sheriff.”

  “Then why did your face turn red, when you spotted her in here?”

  “I want my lawyer!”

  “All right, Hubbard,” Gordie said with a smile. He turned to Mack, who had recovered from swallowing his chewing tobacco. “Contact social services. Have them send a female over here. Alan, read Mr. Hubbard his rights and then lock him up.”

  “Wait a minute!” Hubbard hollered. “I can explain what happened.”

  “Please do,” Gordie said.

  “I’d just gone to the bathroom. I forgot to zip up my pants. That’s all there is to it.”

  Judy had entered the office. She looked at the man with open disgust in her eyes. “You always walk around the store in the middle of the day with your dick hanging out?”

  Hubbard began cursing and screaming insanely. He charged Judy, shouting that he was going to kill her. Judy sidestepped and tripped Hubbard, sending him tumbling to the floor. She pulled a leather slapper out of her back pocket and popped the man on the noggin. Hubbard went to sleep.

  “Toss him in a cell,” Gordie ordered. “Charge him with disturbing the peace, assaulting a peace officer, threatening a peace officer, indecent behavior with a juvenile, and anything else you can think of.”

  Watts rubbed the side of his face with a finger. “I’ve known Hubbard for forty years. I’ve never seen him behave like this.”

  Before anyone could offer any opinions as to the hardware man’s bizarre behavior, Maj. Jackson said, “What in the name of God is producing that voice?”

  Gordie cut his eyes to the man. “We don’t know. Still want to stay in this town?”