Darkly The Thunder

by William W. Johnstone

  “A killer on the loose. Mass murders. Dead cattle,” Dean said. “You’ve had your share of problems, Sheriff.”

  “More than our share.” Gordie tried a smile that didn’t quite make it.

  “Sheriff Rivera?” Jill said.

  “Yes, Miss Pierce?”

  “Why are you lying to us?”

  Gordie was conscious of the cameras rolling, pointing at him. All of a sudden he had it up to his neck with reporters. To hell with the both of them. He put his hand on the wooden barricade in front of him and pulled it open. “You people just have to push, don’t you? Well, that’s just fine with me, folks. You want a story, Miss Pierce, Mr. Hildreth?”

  “That’s why we’re here, Sheriff,” Dean said.

  “Certainly, we want a story, Sheriff,” Jill told him.

  “And if I don’t let you in, you’re going to run those tapes and try to make me look like either a fool or a villain or both, right?”

  His question was answered by stony stares and silence.

  “All right. Fine. If you people come in here, I have to inform you, in front of witnesses, all of you, that none of you will be allowed to leave until our situation is cleared up. Once in here, if you attempt to leave, or to go past the barricades, I will not be responsible for your lives. Is that understood?”

  “Aren’t you being a bit melodramatic, Sheriff?” Dean asked with a smile, or a smirk—with him it was hard to tell.

  Gordie ignored that and turned to the state patrol lieutenant. “If they try to pass film, confiscate it.”

  “Right, Sheriff.”

  “Now, see here!” Dean opened his mouth.

  Gordie stuck a big finger in the man’s face, at this point not giving a damn whether it was being filmed or taped or whatever the camera crews was using. “No, you see here. Do you accept the terms, or don’t you? And I want to hear everybody say it aloud, for the sound man’s benefit.”

  The crews said it, and it was recorded.

  “Whatever you say, Sheriff,” Dean said with a smile.

  “Miss Pierce? Once you’re in here, I don’t want to hear a bunch of bitching and complaining.”

  “I agree with your terms, Sheriff,” Jill said, then pushed past him and into the town limits. Gordie closed the barricades.

  Sunny whispered to Jill, “I hope you’ve given your heart to God, Jill.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “ ’Cause you just lost your ass!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gordie waved for a deputy to transport the camera crews and their equipment. A trooper handed the luggage over the barricades.

  “We’ll park their vehicles off to one side, Sheriff.”

  “Good deal.”

  When he joined the group, Dean glanced at first the growing mound of supplies, then at Gordie. “Judging by the amount of supplies, you must think we’re going to be in here for sometime, Sheriff?”

  “Until it’s over. You’ve all been exposed now. You can’t leave. It won’t let you.”

  “It?” Jill said, pulling up short. “Are you telling us that you have deliberately exposed us to some deadly virus?”

  “I didn’t ask you to come in here, lady. I’m sure the state patrol told you repeatedly not to come in. If you choose to ignore well-meaning warnings, that’s your problem.”

  “Then you were lying to us?” Jill glared at him.

  “To a degree,” Gordie admitted. “We do have a killer in here, and we are all confined within the perimeters of this town. Why do you think none of us tried to pass the barricades?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Phew! What is that horrible smell, Sheriff?”

  “Death.” Gordie’s reply was very blunt. He walked away, seeing to the loading of the supplies into pickup trucks.

  “Sunny, we were both in Lebanon,” Jill said, turning to her. “It takes a lot of bodies to produce that smell. I . . .” She stopped as she watched a middle-aged man walk toward the curb. He stood there, grinning like a mindless fool.

  Then he unzipped his trousers, took out his penis, and shook it at Jill.

  “How about gettin’ some lipstick on my dipstick, baby?” he called.

  “Why . . . why . . . that bastard!” Jill said. She looked at the sheriff. He was behaving as if perverted acts like the one she had just witnessed went on all the time. She looked at the troopers. The lieutenant merely shrugged his shoulders in a I-told-you-so gesture.

  Gordie rejoined them. “The man is not responsible for the things he does, Jill. His mind is being slowly drained. Get in the car, please.”

  The man was wiggling his tongue at Jill, a rapid in and out snakelike motion. “How about me goin’ to work on you, baby?” he yelled.

  “Jesus!” Jill muttered, quickly getting into the car.

  Gordie cranked up and pulled out, the camera crews behind him.

  “What kind of sorry-ass town are you running here, Sheriff?” Jill demanded, considerable heat in her voice. She ignored the mind-draining bit. All bullshit, she thought.

  Dean had been strangely silent. Gordie cut his eyes at the man, riding in the front seat next to him.

  Dean felt the look and said, “Remember that line about discretion being the better part of valor, Sheriff?”

  “Yes. Henry the Fourth, I think.”

  Dean smiled faintly without a trace of a smirk. “I think Miss Pierce and I just blew that line.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hildreth, I believe you did.”

  “Is that man drunk over there, Sheriff?” Jill asked, pulling herself up close to him and pointing.

  Gordie noticed that she wore a very expensive-smelling perfume. Very subtle and pleasant. He cut the wheel and pulled over to the man who was sprawled face down in the gutter. Gordie noticed the man’s head.

  “No, Jill. He’s dead. You’re going to see a lot of that. Come on, get out. Tell your camera crews to start rolling, or whatever the expression is. I want to show you something.”

  Kneeling down, Gordie thumped the man’s head. It had a hollow sound, just like thumping a dry gourd.

  Dean knelt down. Looked at Gordie. “What in God’s name is going on around here, Sheriff?”

  Gordie ignored that and returned to his car, calling in. “Mack? We have another dead one. Corner of Aspen and Sixth.”

  “Ten-four, Sheriff. But I can’t raise Mark. He’s disappeared.”

  Gordie rehooked the mike. He had a pretty good idea what had happened to the funeral home director. “Back in the cars, folks.” He slid in under the wheel. Sunny had not gotten out of the back seat.

  “Are you just going to leave the man here?” Jill’s question was very nearly a shrill shout.

  “What do you want me to do, Jill?” Gordie asked. “Stuff him in the trunk? Get in.”

  I BELIEVE THAT NEW BROAD HAS THE GREATEST-LOOKING ASS I HAVE EVER SEEN.

  Jill was so startled by the booming voice out of nowhere that she banged her head on the car as she jerked back. She looked around. “Who said that?”

  GREAT BALLS OF FIRE! JUST TAKE A LOOK AT THOSE TITS!

  Dean was visibly shaken. His eyes locked onto the gaze of the sheriff. Gordie smiled at him. “You were all warned. Now get in the car.”

  GOING TO TAKE THEM ON THE GRAND TOUR, PANCHO?

  “I thought I might.”

  I’LL TRY TO ARRANGE A WELCOMING-IN CEREMONY FOR THEM AT THE HOSPITAL.

  “I can hardly wait.”

  FUCKING SPIC. NO SENSE OF HUMOR AT ALL. NO GRATITUDE, EITHER. BOORISH OAF.

  “That’s me, Fury.” Gordie got in the car and rolled out.

  Gordie noticed that Dean’s hands were shaking so badly he had to shove them under his thighs to control the trembling.

  Jill’s face was chalk white, her eyes wide and unbelieving. She found her voice. “What in the hell was that voice? Where . . . I mean, yes, where was it coming from?”

  “It’s coming from all around us, Jill,” Sunny told her.

  “You called it Fury, S
heriff.” She met his eyes in the rearview.

  “Sand told us that was its name.”

  “Sand?”

  “Yes. He’s been dead about thirty years, I believe. You’ll meet the man who killed him.”

  Dean cleared his throat. “How, ah, do you know that is what Sand calls him?”

  “Sand told us.”

  Dean closed his eyes for a moment.

  “A dead man told you?” Jill’s voice was small from the back seat.

  “That’s right. You’ll see.”

  The reporters were silent as Gordie turned into the parking lot of the hospital. All could clearly see the dark row of buzzards perched atop the building, waiting with a million years of built-in patience.

  “I had a chance to take an anchor,” Dean muttered. “Chauffeured limo to and from work. New York City. But no, I wanted the field for one more year.” He sighed. “Well, I sure got it.”

  Gordie parked and got out. The others, including Sunny, reluctantly followed. Sunny knew about the hospital, but had not expressed any flaming desire to view the carnage firsthand.

  Even to those standing outside, several hundred yards from the building, the odor was not pleasant.

  “Fit everyone with masks, Duane,” Gordie ordered.

  Part of the equipment Gordie had requested from the military, with the help of Maj. Jackson.

  The masks on and tested, Gordie waved his little group forward. The masks had built-in mikes and receivers, and that was a pleasant surprise, since Gordie had not requested that.

  “People moving around in there, Sheriff,” Duane spoke.

  “Yeah. I see them.”

  “What is so unusual about that?” Jill asked. “It is a hospital.”

  “It’s very unusual, Miss Pierce. Since I checked out this place yesterday afternoon, and everybody in there was dead.”

  She gasped.

  Gordie did not respond to the gasp. He felt like gasping himself.

  DO BOP DE DO BOP DE DO BOP, DE DO. HOW’S THAT FOR A ONE-MAN BAND, RIVERA?

  “Absolutely takes my breath away, Fury. I can truthfully say that I have never heard anything to compare with it.”

  WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR SOME MORE? PERHAPS A LITTLE BIT OF BE BOP A LULA?

  “Frankly, no.”

  GODDAMN TIN EAR.

  Gordie ignored that. Truthfully, he was tone-deaf. His singing in the shower had been known to drive dogs and cats out of the yard.

  The front doors to the hospital were slowly opening.

  Dean shook his head at the sight. “Who is opening the doors?”

  “Call it black magic,” Gordie said.

  BLACK MAGIC, MY ASS, YOU HICKTOWN GUNSLINGER. HERE I GO OUT OF MY WAY TO DO SOMETHING TO ENTERTAIN YOUR GUESTS, AND ALL YOU CAN DO IS INSULT ME.

  “I shudder to think what the smell would be like if we didn’t have these masks on,” Sunny said.

  WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO STRAP SOME OF THAT PUSSY ON THE SPIC, BABY? I’D LIKE TO WATCH.

  “Neither one of us have been in the mood lately,” she popped back.

  Jill could but walk on in fearful bewilderment.

  The group walked up the steps, past the dead bodies, and entered the gloom of the hospital. Past the reception area, the lights suddenly popped on. Dean took a look at the blood-splattered walls, and the human carnage lying stiffened and bloated on the floor. He ripped off his mask and ran from the building. He just made it past the open front doors when he tossed his cookies.

  Jill fought back sickness and won. But it was with an effort.

  Gordie had wondered what had happened to Mark. Now he knew. Mark lay sprawled in death on the floor, beside the bloated body of the receptionist. The mortician had been sliced open, from throat to groin, the organs and intestines tossed to one side.

  “Now we know,” Duane said.

  “Yeah,” Gordie replied.

  Mark suddenly sat up and opened his eyelids. He had no eyes, only dark empty holes. “Hello, Sheriff,” he said, then toppled back to the floor.

  That’s when Jill started screaming, forcing them all to cut down the volume controls on their masks.

  The camera crews had stood their ground, filming it all.

  Dean walked back into the slaughterhouse, his mask back in place. Gordie turned up his volume.

  “What’d I miss?” Dean asked.

  “Mark just greeted me.”

  “That’s Mark on the floor?”

  “Yes.”

  The reporter had absolutely nothing to add to that.

  COME ON, COME ON! Fury boomed. I HAVE SUCH A FANTASTIC ENTERTAINMENT PROGRAM LINED UP FOR YOU ALL.

  “Can’t you just keep it simple?” Gordie asked.

  ABSOLUTELY NOT. NOTHING BUT THE BEST FOR THE GALLANT PERSONNEL OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

  “You like Tennyson, eh?”

  ONE OF MY FAVORITES. TELL ME IF THIS IS NOT APROPOS:

  DEAR AS REMEMBER’D KISSES AFTER DEATH,

  AND SWEET AS THOSE BY HOPELESS FANCY FEIGN’D

  ON LIPS THAT ARE FOR OTHERS; DEEP AS LOVE,

  DEEP AS FIRST LOVE, AND WILD WITH ALL REGRET;

  OH, DEATH IN LIFE, THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE.

  “That’s great, Fury,” Gordie told him. “I’m almost moved to tears.”

  YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE, SPIC. BUT I DO ADMIRE YOUR COURAGE. TELL THE TRUTH, I RATHER LIKE YOU. SO ... I’LL MAKE YOU A PROPOSAL.

  “You have a captive audience, Fury.”

  OH, THAT’S GOOD, GORDIE. VERY GOOD. HERE IT IS: GO BACK TO YOUR OFFICE AND KILL THE BRATS, HOWIE AND ANGEL. DO THAT, AND I’LL LET YOU AND YOUR SWEET PETUNIA WALK OUT OF HERE. YOU HAVE MY WORD ON THAT.

  “No deal,” Gordie said.

  OKAY, HOW’S THIS: SCREW THE LITTLE BRAT. LET ME HEAR HER SCREAM. THEN YOU AND YOUR CORN MUFFIN CAN LEAVE.

  “You know better than that, Fury.”

  OH, COME ON! JUST POP IT TO THE LITTLE ANGEL FOR A FEW MINUTES, AND THEN YOU AND POOPSIE CAN LIVE.

  “No deal.”

  THEN WALK ON, STUPID.

  “Was he, it, whatever, serious with that offer?” Jill asked.

  “Probably Fury?”

  RIGHT HERE.

  “I have a deal for you.”

  ROLL THE DICE, PONCHO.

  “You let Howie and Angel leave, and then we’ll talk. How about that?”

  YOU JUST THREW SNAKE EYES, PEPPER-BREATH.

  “It was worth a shot.”

  Fury had no reply to that.

  They walked on, deeper into the building – it could no longer be called a hospital.

  “What do you want me to do about Mark, Sheriff?” Duane asked.

  “Nothing. Since he was the only certified mortician in town, I guess we’ll have to handle all the dead ourselves. I know how to use that stuff. You body-bag them, and then pour it on. Zip up the bag, and you’re through.”

  “I’ll help,” Dean said. “I’ve seen it done, too.”

  “You’re on,” Gordie told him. “And thanks.”

  Then they all heard the sounds of music and wild laughter.

  “Everybody brace yourselves,” Gordie told them. “The Fury has a strange sense of humor.”

  A fat, headless, and very bloody and naked man appeared in the hall. He rose up on his toes and slowly pirouetted on the tile, then danced slowly past the men and women; their eyes, behind the bulbous plastic eyes of the masks, watched in undisguised horror as the fat man waltzed on down the hall and gracefully turned the corner.

  “Did you get it all?” Jill asked her cameraman.

  “I got it,” he said.

  They walked on, toward the sounds of music and laughter; a party was in full swing.

  BRING ON THE DANCING GIRLS! Fury howled.

  A line of women, their bodies ripped and torn and mangled, formed in the hall. They were naked, each woman holding her drooping intestines in her hands. They began to slowly sway back and forth, then began a ragged dance step, twirling their guts in time with the beat. They sang in dead voic
es to the tune of Old Gray Bonnet:

  “Put on your brand new bustle,

  Get your ass out and hustle,

  Tomorrow the room rent comes due.

  Lay it down in the clover,

  Let the boys look it over.

  If you can’t get five, take two!”

  Then they all giggled like young schoolgirls and shuffled back into a room, closing the door.

  “Dear God in heaven!” Dean whispered.

  AND THAT’S ONLY THE BEGINNING. I’VE SO MUCH MORE TO SHOW YOU. PARTY TIME, PARTY TIME.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Gordie said.

  OH, NO, DONKEY FACE. YOU’RE GOING TO A PARTY. ALL OF YOU.

  “Shit on you,” Gordie said. “Let’s go, people.”

  They turned around.

  The long corridor was blocked; blocked by grotesquely mangled men. The men held clubs and broken bottles in their bloody hands. They stood with evil grins on their faces, staring at Gordie and the others.

  Gordie recognized them all. There was Simmons, the attorney. Matthews, the grocer. Garrett, the carpenter. Some of them had broken limbs; how they could stand was a mystery to Gordie.

  “Now what?” a cameraman said.

  “We’ll ram through them using these gurneys. Duane, you and me will take the lead. Dean and the rest, follow us and stay close. We’re going to be moving fast.”

  “I hope,” a cameraman said.

  WHAT ARE YOU WHISPERING ABOUT? WHAT ARE YOU PLANING? ANSWER ME, DAMN YOU.

  “Now!” Gordie yelled, grabbing the gurney and running toward the line of living dead.

  Duane grabbed the other gurney and they charged, the men running as fast as they could on the slick, bloody, and body-parts-littered tile floor.

  They crashed into the line of naked, bloody, and bloated standing dead, the force of their charge knocking half a dozen bodies sprawling. The rest of the group, bunched right behind the lawmen, charged through the hole in the line.

  GET THEM! GET THEM! MAKE THEM STAY FOR THE PARTY!

  The glass doors loomed bright with sunshine before them.

  Gordie hit the doors hard and bounced back, bruising his shoulder. The doors had been locked.