Thunder Road

by Thorne, Tamara

  “What did you think of Madland’s fortune-teller?” Justin asked after a moment of awkward silence. She’d been glad it was dark because she began blushing the moment the words were out. Eric leaned forward to stir the fire, then asked, amused, “Alex, you got your fortune told?”

  “No, no, of course not,” she said quickly, and explained about the books.

  “What did you think of Carlo Pelegrine?” Justin persisted.

  “That’s the fortune-teller?” she asked, glad to be reminded of his name.

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “He seemed like an interesting person.” “Interesting” didn’t even begin to cover Carlo Pelegrine, but she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone. Ever since she’d met him, he’d been popping back into her mind, making her stomach do a schoolgirlish little flip each time. She’d decided to send Eric into Madland tomorrow to check on the books, under the guise of giving him some free time, so that she wouldn’t run into him again. He was just too interesting for her own good, and she didn’t have time for relationships.

  Her marshmallow caught fire and she quickly blew it out, then looked at Justin Martin, trying to recover her dignity. “You seem very interested in Carlo,” she said in business-like tones. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  He nodded. “I’m hoping he’ll teach me a little about what he does.”

  “A churchgoing young man like you wants to learn how to tell fortunes?” Alex smiled. “That surprises me.”

  Justin smiled back. “I’m full of surprises.” With that, he wished them good luck and started walking back toward the road.

  “Justin,” Eric called.

  The boy turned.

  “How did you find us?”

  “Your lantern light. I saw it from the road. ’Bye.” He trotted into the darkness beyond the campsite.

  After he was gone, Alex asked Eric why he’d been so quiet; usually he was far more outgoing than she.

  “You mean you really don’t know what’s going on with him?” her assistant asked.

  “Don’t be mysterious, Eric.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Your friend Justin has a crush on you. You didn’t notice the daggers he was glaring my way, did you?”

  Alex’s cheeks flushed again. “Don’t be absurd. He was practically forcing me on Carlo—the fortune-teller—this afternoon.”

  “Well . . .” Eric skewered a fresh marshmallow and meticulously began turning it over the coals. “I think he has a thing for this Carlo character, too.” He pointed the marshmallow at Alex like a schoolteacher. “There’s something weird about that kid. I don’t like him.” He paused, then grinned self-deprecatingly at Alex. “I’m being dramatic. I guess the Wild West just brings out the hidden cowboy in me. I’m just feeling protective. Forgive me?”

  “Forgive you?” Alex started another marshmallow. “I appreciate it. We’re out here by ourselves, and we have to depend on each other to keep the wild animals away.”

  Eric laughed. “And don’t forget the coyotes and mountain lions.”

  “Yes,” she chuckled. “Those, too.” She knew that Eric had had something of a crush on her during their first years together, but he’d never declared it, and they slowly developed a close platonic friendship based on mutual respect and interests. The young man was engaged to a medical student up north, and his feelings of protectiveness for her were no different from the ones she felt toward him.

  They had relaxed another hour and were in the midst of deciding who would take first watch when another vehicle approached. This visitor, unlike Justin Martin, who parked roadside and walked to their camp, pulled his CJ-5 up close, sending Eric and Alex scurrying to protect their equipment from the dust.

  “Asshole,” Eric whispered, his hand covering the telescope lens.

  “You’ve got that right,” Alex told him, recognizing the military officer from the diner the night before. He sat in the rear; a grunt in desert cammies was driving.

  The driver stayed at the wheel while the colonel hopped out of the jeep and approached them, a look of distaste smeared on his jowly face.

  “Good evening,” Alex said coolly. Beside her, Eric had drawn himself to his full height and crossed his arms.

  Dole looked around, his eyes finally coming to rest on Alex. “Doing a little stargazing, are you?”

  “I hear this is an excellent place for it,” Alex replied, allowing herself a tiny smirk.

  The officer extended his hand. “Colonel Lawrence Dole, USAF,” he said, crunching the bones in Alex’s hand.

  You son of a bitch. “Jane Smith.” Alex knew her smooth voice and smile betrayed no emotion. “This is my friend, John Jones.” She pushed her nails into Dole’s flesh and he promptly set her hand free.

  Eric kept his arms crossed, pointedly ignoring Dole’s extended hand. “How do you do, Colonel.”

  “Amateur astronomers?” he asked.

  Alex didn’t reply.

  “Fancy equipment,” Dole persisted. “For amateurs.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, Miss, ah, Smith, Mr. Jones, I hope you know better than to interfere with military business during your stay.”

  “What’s your point, Colonel?” Alex asked sharply.

  “Concern for your safety. People get lost up here all the time. They just disappear.” Dole rubbed his five-o’clock shadow thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t wander too far from my campsite if I were you.”

  “Is that a threat, Colonel?” Hiding her fury, Alex stepped closer to Dole, her eyes locked on his.

  “Of course not.” Dole’s tight smile looked like it might crack his face. “Let’s just call it a friendly warning.” His eyes bored into hers with sudden intensity. “People disappear in the desert when they stick their noses where they don’t belong. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

  “We’ll keep it in mind, Colonel.” The barely disguised reference to her last assistant’s disappearance made her stomach turn leadenly. She hid it, wondering if Dole knew what had happened to Jack.

  Dole turned on his heel and returned to the jeep. “Be careful, Dr. Manderley,” he said. “Let’s go, Corporal.”

  The jeep took off in another cloud of dust. “You smug bastard,” Alex said as the taillights disappeared.

  “He knew who you were,” Eric said.

  “If he didn’t, he never would have come up here and done his gangster routine.”

  “Why did you lie about our names, then?”

  “For fun, Eric.” She paused. “You know my feeling on governmental secrecy.”

  “You can’t be too paranoid, right?”

  “Right.” She forced a smile. “The fact that he came out here means one of two things. We’re either so close to something that he’s nervous, or he wants us to think we are so that we don’t go where he doesn’t want us.”

  “That’s confusing.”

  “Of course it is. We’re dealing with the government.” Her smile broadened. “We should be complimented. APRA will be delighted that the military is so concerned.” She chuckled. “We’re a threat, Eric, and I’m betting we’re very close to something they don’t want us to see.”

  “And if we get something, they’ll try to discredit us,” Eric said somberly. “At the very least.”

  “Yes,” she said. Still excited, she grabbed the cellular phone and called APRA, and quickly recounted the encounter, making sure to mention names and to make several references to the press. She hung up. “I’m certain Dole’s people are monitoring our calls, so that should keep us out of harm’s way, at least.”

  “If you say so,” Eric said hesitantly.

  “After my first run-in with the military, I was a basket case, Eric.”

  “You mean when Jack was abducted?”

  She gazed at the young man. His question was asked lightly, but it still hurt. She’d never said much about Jack Matthews’s disappearance, and perhaps she should have, at least to Eric. He was still young enough to feel immortal, and military
threat probably seemed exciting to him. “Yes,” she replied, then forced herself to look him in the eye. “I don’t have any proof—they’re very good at covering their tracks,” she added dryly, “but who else would the black helicopters belong to?”

  He nodded. “Do you think he’s alive?”

  “I don’t know.” She doubted it. Jack had been onto something; something that he didn’t want to discuss. When she’d questioned him, he’d sheepishly told her that his idea was “so far out” that he wanted to do more research before he told even her. Indulgently, she had backed off.

  If she had questioned him, she might have saved him. She still felt guilty, responsible for his disappearance.

  “Eric, if you ever have any ideas or theories that are very bizarre, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

  He looked at her oddly. “Sure. I have no shame.”

  “Good.” Alex allowed a small smile. “Why don’t you go get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. I have some notes to write up and I couldn’t sleep now if my life depended on it.”

  “I don’t know if I can sleep either, but I’d sure like to try.”

  As Eric disappeared into his tent, Alex sat down at the card table and dimmed the lantern. Above, the sky was studded with stars, and the waning crescent moon gleamed white. Elbows on the table, chin resting on her hands, Alex stared into the night. “Where are you, Jack?” she whispered. “Where are you?”

  27

  Justin Martin

  “YOUNG MAN, I’D LIKE TO SPEAK WITH YOU FOR A MOMENT. Would that be possible?”

  Justin, just leaving the stupid, fruitless youth fellowship meeting, turned to see Hannibal Caine’s bald head and candy-apple grin. “Me, Elder Caine?”

  “Yes. You’re Justin Martin, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s talk in my office, please.” He gestured at the corridor adjacent to the meeting room Justin had just exited. “I won’t keep you long.”

  Suspiciously Justin followed him down the hall and into an austerely luxurious office. Caine’s desk was polished oak, simple of line but massive, the vast top devoid of anything but a brass pen set and a blotter. Matching bookcases and file cabinets lined the walls to either side, and a large portrait of Caine and Sinclair hung behind it.

  “Sit down, son.” Caine gestured at one of the chairs facing the desk, then moved to his high-backed desk chair and settled in with a contented grunt.

  “Are you thinking of becoming a full-fledged member of our church when you’re eighteen, Justin?” He smiled smarmily. “Or have your parents given you permission to join us now? We’d love to see them here, too, you know.”

  “They’re not churchgoing types,” Justin said as he settled into the comfortable chair and returned Caine’s steady gaze. Of course, he’d never asked his parents for permission to join the church—he was only there to get to know Jim-Bob Sinclair, and maybe test the waters, but he wasn’t about to tell that to Caine. Instead he gave him a sorrowful smile. “My parents won’t let me join, but I’ll be eighteen in six months.” So what’s your point, Chrome-Dome?

  “According to the Prophet, the Apocalypse will strike long before that. But even though you’re not a member, you can still be saved.”

  “I can?” he asked, filling his voice with hope.

  “Of course, Justin. It’s not your fault that your parents haven’t seen the light.”

  Before you could be saved—getting dunked in water just like every other Christian religion—you had to have a counseling session with old Jim-Bob. Justin didn’t give a rat’s ass about joining the church or being saved, but after trying every other way—such as attending idiotic youth meetings—to get Sinclair’s attention, he knew it was time to resort to this. “I can really be saved?” Don’t lay it on too thick.

  Hannibal Caine studied him intently. “Yes, you can be saved!” he said pulpit-style. “Would you like that, Justin?”

  “Yes, sir, I would.”

  “Good. You seem like an ambitious young man.”

  No shit, Sherlock. “Thank you, sir. I am.”

  “You might be of great help to our cause.”

  “To the Prophet?”

  Caine looked annoyed. “Yes, of course. We’re all working for the same cause.”

  Justin nodded. “And how could I help your cause?”

  “We have little time left before the Apocalypse,” Caine said slowly. “You believe that, don’t you?” He steepled his fingers on the desk, just like Justin had seen Jim-Bob do at the pulpit. Monkey see, monkey do.

  Caine wanted a certain answer, and Justin took his time before responding. When he finally spoke, he watched the Apostle’s reaction to each word. “I believe in everything Prophet Sinclair has to say, sir. I love this church and I think it’s the only true church. I do wonder about the Apocalypse . . .” He trailed off, waiting for a clue.

  Caine nodded almost imperceptibly. “What is it you wonder, Justin?”

  “Well, I don’t know if . . .” He looked at Caine beseechingly. “I don’t want to speak out of turn.” He thought the man wanted to hear that he questioned the date of the Apocalypse, but he wasn’t sure. Caine could also be looking for a comment about the vandalism, and he couldn’t risk a wrong answer. He looked at his hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t . . .”

  “Justin?”

  He looked up, and Caine was beaming at him. “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you believe that great battles will be fought in the last days?”

  “That’s what Prophet Sinclair says,” he replied cautiously.

  “With the Apocalypse so close, do you think that sermons alone are enough to sway others to see the light before it’s too late?”

  “Maybe not.”

  Caine’s smile broadened and Justin knew what to say next. “Maybe we need to have more people on our side before the war against Satan.”

  “Yes, that’s my concern, Justin. We need to bring more sinners into our fold, for their sake and ours, and sometimes it’s necessary to shock people into seeing the truth.”

  “Does the Prophet feel that way?”

  There was the briefest hesitation before Caine said yes, and Justin figured that meant that the Apostle was up to something. “How can I help?” he simply asked.

  “I have to ask you a question first, Justin, and you’re not going to like it.”

  He sat back and smiled, making a show of his serenity. “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”

  Caine sat forward in his chair. “Why did you take the goat?”

  How’s this dickhead know about that? Outwardly he remained calm. “The goat?”

  “You put it in the trunk of your car. Why?”

  “I took it to the police station. I didn’t think it should be where a little kid might see it.”

  “Justin, Justin. You’re an excellent liar. If our lookout hadn’t reported that you were practically dancing for joy when you took it, and if he hadn’t reported that the police chief showed up very shortly thereafter and was obviously looking for the animal, I’d believe your every word. Now, please tell me why you took the goat and what you did with the body. I assure you, your reply won’t leave this room.”

  Jesus fucking Christ. “I’ll answer your question, but then I want you to answer one for me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I dissected the goat and then I buried it,” Justin said easily.

  “May I ask why?”

  “I’m going to be a doctor. I’m already signed up for some premed courses at college next year, and I thought it was an opportunity that would be foolish to pass up.” He paused, then gave Caine a sheepish puppy-dog look. “You won’t tell my parents, will you? My mom wouldn’t understand.”

  Caine smiled. “Of course not, Justin. I told you not a word would leave this room, and I meant it. You can trust me, son.”

  Those words told Justin volumes about the untrustworthiness of
this man. “I’ll remember that, sir. Thanks. Elder Caine?”

  “Yes?”

  “I hope you don’t think what I did is weird or anything.” He applied more sheeps’ eyes.

  Caine steepled his fingers again, his face serious. “Not at all. I think it’s quite commendable. Waste not, want not.” He leaned forward. “You’re a young man who knows what he wants and has the intelligence, ambition, and resourcefulness to succeed. I wish there were more like you in our church. You look like you have a question.”

  “Yes, sir, I do.” Justin sat up straighter. “Who killed the goat?”

  “I don’t know,” Caine said without batting an eye. “God, I suppose. After all, the animal is a symbol of the devil. We see it as a portent of the coming Apocalypse.”

  “Did God vandalize the Catholic church?” Justin asked, just as smoothly.

  Caine’s steepled knuckles looked a little white. “I can’t say, Justin. But maybe you can have the answers after . . .”

  “After baptism?”

  “Well, no, that’s not necessary. What is, is an act of faith toward our church on your behalf.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a courageous young man, and we feel you might be worthy to join a special group who do some specialized work for our cause.”

  “But if the world’s ending next week, what’s the point?” Justin was getting sick of the man’s runaround.

  “There’s much to be done in the coming week.”

  “To spread the word?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does the Prophet oversee this group?”

  “In a manner of speaking, but he’s not directly involved. I’m in charge of our operations.” Caine paused. “It’s a high honor to be considered for membership in our little group, Justin.”

  “I do have other obligations, Elder Caine. School and work, for instance.” And getting to know the Peeler.

  “Of course you do, and our requirements aren’t time-consuming. All we would need from you is an act of faith,” he repeated.