The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side

by A. S. Thompson

  “We don’t know these people. They could be friendly or hostile, and believe me, the last thing you want to do is misjudge someone,” Nick whispered back, momentarily reminiscing about Jimmy Sanchez and Los Tres Demonios; the gang who infiltrated Camp under the guise of law enforcement personnel. “I just want to get a closer look. We will go back after, okay?”

  Landon nodded.

  “We need to be very quiet. Keep close behind me and try to follow my movements exactly.”

  Using a rolling heel to toe movement, Nick snuck forward, soundless, but despite the technique, an unforeseen variable presented itself. Two men exited the second room on the right and crossed the hallway.

  Nick grabbed a handful of Landon’s shirt and yanked him into the first room on the left just in time as the man in front turned his head toward the staircase.

  “What is it?” the second man asked, nearly bumping into his companion.

  He continued staring for a moment longer. “Nothing I guess. Place gives me the creeps,” he said, entering the second room on the left.

  Landon removed the hand over his mouth. “That was close, Nick. Hey, what are you doing?”

  Nick was squatting over a bag on the floor. “These must be some of their things,” he whispered as he unzipped the main compartment. “I’m looking to see if they have any antibiotics. Check the other bag but be quiet.”

  Nick’s search was fruitless. The only items found were clothes, knives and makeup. But as he abandoned the search, something in particular captured his interest. As he went to zip up the bag, something was caught in the zipper tracks. He slid out the obstruction and examined it under the flame of the lighter.

  “Monte the Magnificent. Only at the Venetian in fabulous Las Vegas,” he mumbled, reading the promotional card.

  “Find something?”

  “No, nothing really,” Nick whispered, staring at the face. He pocketed the card then turned and handed Landon the lighter. “How about you?”

  “Nothing useful.”

  “I’m going to go in for a closer look. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

  Nick made his way to the fire lit room. Lingering just outside the door, he waited until he could determine how many voices there were and where they were positioned.

  Almost as you thought, three men, one woman. Come on, people. Look this way so I can get a read on you…

  ***

  “Finally this thing is heating up,” one man said, rubbing his hands together in front of the room’s built in fireplace.

  “Stop being a pussy, Justin,” another replied. The tone of his slurred voice indicated the use of heavy narcotics.

  “Says the guy who is too stoned to feel anything.”

  The inebriated man struggled to toss a prescription pill case to Justin. “Just take two and in a few minutes you won’t care about the cold. Hah, you won’t care much about anything at all.”

  Justin looked at the label and immediately tossed the pills back. “Oxycontin? No thanks, Blake. Never been a fan of heroin.”

  “Legal heroin. Your loss, but more for me. I make it rain up in this bitch...num, num, num,” Blake joked, gluttonously pouring the pills over his scarred face. A few bounced off his extended tongue but none landed in his mouth.

  The third man, the one lying on a mound of pillows, held up a bottle of vodka. “You can always stick with the tried and true?”

  Justin blew warm air into his hands as he considered the offer. “Ya alright, give it here, Brad.”

  Justin snatched the neck of the Absolut bottle from Brad’s hand.

  “Don’t drink it all, that’s my last bottle of vod,” Brad said, sitting upright. “And since you’re closest, turn up the radio, I can barely hear it. I love Sublime.”

  “G-yuck, and this is why I hate vodka,” Justin grunted, smacking his lips together to rid his senses of the lingering mandarin orange vapors.

  Brad closed his eyes and began to hum the tune. “Summertime, and the livin’s easy, riders on the microphone…”

  Justin reached over to the portable stereo, but his hand was smacked away before it could twist the volume knob. “Ouch, what’d you do that for?”

  “Because,” sneered a woman with long brown hair. She pulled off the hood of her sweatshirt, revealing dark brown eyes. “Sound bounces off these walls and the townspeople could hear it, that’s why. There’s no rain or storm to cover it up like two days ago. Besides, consider that a small price to pay. If Zach heard it, he wouldn’t be as gentle as me.”

  “You call that gentle?” Justin mumbled, rubbing his reddened hand.

  “Blake’s right,” the woman said ambiguously as she strolled to the bed. She picked up a nail file and resumed her toenail treatment. “Stop being a pussy.”

  Justin retreated to the fire and sat down in between Brad and the flames. Passing the bottle back and forth, he couldn’t help but speak his mind. “Seems to me like music is the least of our worries. I mean what happens if they hearit?” Justin said, nodding to the radio. “The message is still playing in a loop on almost every AM frequency.”

  “Spit it out, kid, what are you gettin’ at?” Brad said, finishing the bottle. Beads from the vodka ran over his black beard.

  “We all heard what the President said. There’s a cure for whatever this virus is. We need to start thinking about an exit plan. If it were up to me, we should just cut tail before the town catches on.”

  “Well good thing it isn’t up to you,” the woman hissed. She laid down the file and picked up a small jar of black nail polish.

  “Then tell me, Jillian, what’s the town gonna do when they find out we’ve been lying all along? Been living the good life while they bust their ass? What then, huh?”

  “They won’t find out. Zach has a plan.”

  “Oh ya? Tell me, sweetheart, what is it?” Justin snapped; the alcohol was giving him confidence. “All he’s told us was to set up for the attack scene.”

  “It does kinda seem like he’s just making it up as he goes along,” Blake said, laboring to rotate his body’s position so the front faced the fire.

  “Thank you! See it’s not just me!” Justin continued, volume rising and not before accepting a freshly opened bottle of Jamaican rum. “Besides, how does Zach expect to get rid of the new people? They know what’s really going on. And fuck, Jason killed their friend! Like actually killed a person, not one of those undead things! Look, I was fine with playing pretend but now we’re accomplices to murder-”

  “So what?” interrupted Jillian. She set down the nail polish and marched barefoot over to Justin. “So some woman got shot. Who gives a shit? Who’s going to do anything about it? There’s no police, no actual authority.”

  “I guess, but-”

  “But nothing. Besides, Zach said he has a plan, and I believe him. Before you start doubting him, remember that he’s gotten us this far. He’s kept you alive since the beginning. And if it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead or slaving your ass away scavenging to make ends meet, but no, you’re living the high life…”

  Justin’s courage diminished along with his sinking posture.

  “Zach has a plan to get rid of the new people without changing anything. That means, Brad, you can keep popping pills. Blake, you can keep drinking until the last case of Tequila is gone, and you,” she said, pointing at Justin, “You can keep enjoying the world Zach’s created, never having to truly work. I agree, these newcomers have messed things up a bit, but Zach has figured out the perfect way to spin it.”

  “I don’t know,” Justin said, though nowhere near as confident as before. “I think he’s losing it. Sometimes, I think he actually believes he’s this prophet for God.”

  “I kinda agree with the kid, Jill,” Brad said, taking a smaller sip of rum. “He has started to kinda creep me out.”

  Jill strolled back to the bed and resumed painting her nails. “I wouldn’t let him hear you say that.”

  "But guys, let’s be real for a sec,” Blake
said, turning to his back. “Is it me or isthe Preacher badass, I mean everything he can do...it’s pretty nuts."

  "You mean everything he thinks of," corrected Justin. “Don’t forget, he’s not reallytouched by God.”

  "Ya, I guess you're right."

  “A show is a show, but fuck me, I miss the Hollywood life,” Brad said, fluffing the pillows underneath him.

  “Hollywood?” Jill snorted. “Vegas was a million times better. Better drugs, better parties, better people. Hands down.”

  “No way,” Blake disagreed, sitting up for the debate. “I did special effects for some of the most famous actors. And Brad did makeup for the hottest girls. Hollywood is where it’s at.”

  Brad lit up a cigarette. “Yup. Best career choice ever. Get loaded whenever you want and fuck as much as you can. Rinse and repeat,” he chuckled, slapping Blake’s hand.

  “I do miss the old life,” Justin said, reminiscing. “Vegas, Hollywood, New York, hell, even Miami. You guys think makeup artists and spec effects are sweet? Being an actor gets you so much pussy it’s not even funny.”

  “We all can’t be pretty boy, Ben Affleck lookalikes, can we? Hey Jill,” Blake said, collecting his pills. “You were with Zach since before all this, right?"

  "I was,” Jill said, blowing on her toes. “I was his manager. He was going to be the next big show. We had contracts from every top hotel. Fuck the Venetian. Zach was going places.”

  “But I remember hearing something about him...didn’t the magician community shun him for stealing secrets?”

  “No!” Jill snapped harshly. “Zach would never do that. He was framed. Those other magicians were jealous of him, because he was better than them all. He didn’t need their cheap tricks. Zach was an illusionist, the best since Copperfield.”

  “He is creative, I’ll give him that,” said Brad, burping. “I mean seriously, how classic was the other night? Levitation was unreal.”

  "Especially in front of people who are so sucked into his ‘demons walking the earth, end of days’ bullshit,” interrupted Justin.

  "And how he thought of using Justin to dress up like a demon and attack him...pretty damn good.”

  "Those were my last blacked out contacts,” said Justin. “Good thing I was on set in Vegas shooting this vampire movie.”

  Jill poured herself a half glass of equal parts whiskey and soda. She stirred with her finger then licked it as she sat down with the others. “Blake, scoot over. Brad, count yourself lucky. Zach was pissed because the adhesive on the fake wound wasn't sticking. It almost came off when the people were looking.”

  "Nothing I could do. Not like I have all my stuff with me. Whatever, even Zach can’t disagree that the wound did look good, though."

  "It really did look real!” Blake declared. He tossed another pill into his mouth and tried chasing it with some of Jill’s drink. “Come on, sis, stop being so stingy. Not like I have herpes or something.”

  “I don’t know what you have or don’t have. We haven’t lived in the same state in years, coulda picked up anything from your L.A. sluts. Get your own drink. And unless you wanna OD again, I suggest water.”

  "I don’t mean to toot my own horn,” Blake began, crawling to the pallet of bottled water near the door. “But I gotta say that the BEST part was sneaking in to Binky's office, taking out his gun and replacing the next round with a blank.”

  Justin spit out the mouthful of rum. "Next round? Only one? You said you were going to do all of em!"

  "Hey, the old drunk was waking up, I could only do one. But don’t worry, I knew which way the revolver spun. Clockwise, or was it counterclockwise-"

  “What the fuck, Blake! You didn’t really know which way, did you?”

  "Calm down, Justin," Jill said, extending her leg to block Justin’s assault on Blake. “Blake knew, didn’t you, brother?”

  “Ya, clockwise,” Blake said, looking away to roll his eyes.

  “And besides,” Jill continued, “you played your part well and the fake head explosion was timed great. Everything went exactly to plan.”

  Blake finally managed to open the small seal on the bottle of water. "Like Brad, that was the last of the stuff I had with me. No more exploding patches or fake blood. Man, I miss the movies.”

  “It still cracks me up how Zach just rufies these people with antibiotics. Hah! What’s her name actually thought Zachhealedher.”

  "I don’t know about you guys, but this has yet to get old,” declared Jill. “I think we all can agree that this is way better than Vegas or Hollywood. And do you know why? Because this isn't a stage, this is real fucking life. And it’s all thanks to Zach. It was his idea and his flawless execution. He has everyone convinced that he is a prophet of God."

  "Except those new people are really fucking things up," Brad grumbled.

  "I know,” agreed Jill. “All their talk about a cure, and that those things really aren't demons. I admit, when they first showed up and started telling the truth about what was happening, I thought some of the people would believe them, but no. Zach has the townspeople so wrapped around his finger it’s not even funny. The premonition of sheep and the angel visiting him was a fantastic touch; spur of the moment but it worked.”

  "And good thing they didn't believe them ‘cause otherwise it'd be back to life on the road and fending for ourselves."

  "And we could say goodbye to all our booze, drugs and meds."

  "The Preacher really did think of it all..."

  ***

  Fake explosions? Fake wounds? Illusions? Using medication to covertly heal people? I knew he was a fraud!

  Nick stared at the flyer again.

  Having a rapist appearance, the magician had a large mustache and in his hands were multiple knives. Monte the Magnificent a.k.a. the Preacher.

  So this is what it was for. The Preacher is using these people to work, feed and serve him. If they were to leave, so would his workforce. It's all an illusion.

  Nick backpedaled to Landon, and whispered, “Look at this. Take away the fancy haircut, mustache, makeup, knives and who do you see?”

  Using his fingers, Landon covered up everything but the face. “Same jawline, same cheeks, same forehead, same smile…that’s the Preacher. But I don’t get it? Who’s Monte the Magnificent?”

  “The Preacher isn’t really a preacher. He’s an imposter, a fraud. Here, take this,” Nick said, folding up the flyer. “Steve won’t be back yet, so get this to Eddy and the girls. Tell them what I’ve told you.”

  “Okay,” Landon said, tucking the paper into his back pocket. “Wait, what are you going to do?”

  “I want to see what else I can learn, but they said something about having medication. I want to try to get some for Eddy, in case Steve isn’t able to find what he needs.”

  Landon nodded then took off down the spiral staircase.

  Nick crept back to the fire room and continued listening.

  ***

  The liquor no longer burned as Justin took another swig. “Hey, I was thinking, how come Zach knows so much about the Bible and stuff?”

  Jill stared into the crackling fire and answered, “His dad, Monte, was a Baptist preacher and faith healer down in Louisiana. That’s where he got the stage name, kind of a slap in the face to his old man...”

  She chuckled, and then took a sip of her cocktail before continuing.

  “Zach never believed in religion, but entertaining was in his blood. As a kid, he got into magic and performed shows for the neighborhood kids. Zach told me that the first time Monte caught him doing card tricks in the middle of the street, he was livid; made Zach get rid of all his magic stuff. Kept yelling at him saying, ‘Magic is the Devil’s work.’ Naturally, Monte continued to go against his dad’s will and because of that, Monte basically shunned Zach until his eighteenth birthday. And on that day, Zach’s birthday present was a boot out the door.”

  “Makes sense why he despises religion,” Justin commented. “I think it’s hyster
ical how he took on the role of Preacher though. Bitter irony.”

  "Speaking of, where is our Preacher?” asked Brad.

  "Why I'm over here, Bradley," came a calm voice from the hallway.

  Nick had been too involved in the story to notice the person sneak up behind him. The last thing he saw was the Preacher's yellow grin before getting his head smashed against the stone wall.

  Donner, Utah

  December 3, 2009

  2104 hours

  Steve paced down Donner’s main street, pointing the flashlight upward, gauging each structure. “Come on, which building is the tallest? They all look the same.”

  Suddenly, reverberations of a metal chain link fence being shook, startled him. Without thinking, Steve sprinted from the sidewalk to the closest building and crouched behind a red emergency services vehicle.

  He turned off the light and shut one eye but kept the other open. Silently, he backed against the brick wall of the Donner Fire Department. He waited a full minute, but the sound did not return.

  Then, just as he stood, a human figure emerged from the shadows. "Keeping one eye closed to maintain night vision. Good work, soldier."

  "Dad?" Steve mumbled, legs nearly giving out. "I saw you earlier, h-how are you here?"

  Dressed in full combat attire including helmet, Tom Brason stood confidently in the middle of the street. He had his right hand casually set on top of a leather pistol hip holster. "Are you going to tell me why you've been dicking around for the last five minutes? Unarmed in enemy territory nonetheless?"

  "I haven't been dicking around!" Steve yelled at first, then caught himself and lowered his volume. "The guys told me Alex said tallest building. I've been checking, but most of these look like the same damn height."

  "At least you're trying to stay close to the buildings, not out in the open," Tom noted, as though grading a performance. He paced toward Steve and continued, "But you should know the easiest way to figure out which building is the tallest."

  "Ask the city engineer?"

  Tom’s cheek muscles tightened. "Stow the attitude, soldier!"