Thunder Road

by Thorne, Tamara

  “So I gather.” The chill left her voice, but she remained reserved. “You’re understaffed?”

  “Very.” He allowed a sheepish smile. “And my lack of sleep is showing. What can I do for you, Doctor?”

  “After all you’ve said, I see I probably shouldn’t even be here.”

  “Dr. Manderley, if you’re referring to my calling you a ‘UFO nut,’ I apologize. I’ve seen the things myself. It’s just sort of a catch phrase.”

  At last she smiled. “I know. I don’t care for the nuts myself. The fanatics give the entire science a bad name with their crazy notions.”

  Relieved, Moss sat back. “Guess it’s the same everywhere. A couple abusive cops can ruin the reputation of an entire department. It’s a question of rotten apples. Now, please, what can I do for you?”

  “Nothing, probably, but I wanted to report a harassment and, if you have a moment, ask you a few questions about Madelyn’s UFOs.”

  “Shoot,” he said, pulling out a report blank. “Who harassed you?”

  “The military, I think.”

  He put down his pencil. “Do tell.”

  “We were filming the UFOs last night. A couple jets came along and chased them off, then three black helicopters invaded our camp.”

  “Invaded? Landed?”

  “No. One flew down so low, I could have grabbed its skids. The wind from its blades virtually destroyed our camp. Some of our lenses have to be reground, and we had to replace some of our camping gear.”

  “You can take up costs with the military, but I don’t think you’ll get anywhere.”

  “No, I’m sure we wouldn’t. That’s not why I’m here. Frankly, Chief Baskerville, I’m a bit concerned about our safety. They were warning us off, and I have no intention of running. But we’re moving our camp, and I want you to know where we are. Just in case.” She took a folded piece of paper from her jacket pocket and opened it, then pushed it across the desk. It was a simple map of Spirit Canyon, taken from a rock hunter’s guide, and she’d marked a spot off the main road. “After we cleaned up at dawn, we found this place. It’s about an eighth of a mile off the canyon road and it won’t be too easy to invade. We’re going to be setting up camp under a large overhang, and we’re hoping they won’t notice us again.”

  Moss nodded. “I know the place. I or another officer will try to check on you once a day.”

  “I know you’re busy—you don’t have to do that. But if we have another UFO event, if someone could make sure we’re still there, I would appreciate it.”

  “You sound like you expect the military to abscond with you.”

  “I lost a colleague that way several years ago. He disappeared off the face of the earth, as did the film he’d taken of a UFO event in southern New Mexico.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  She shook her head. “I know it sounds paranoid—government conspiracy plots and all that. But it isn’t. You see too much, and something happens. Military pilots sometimes disappear, as do civilians.” She paused. “And you’d be surprised at the number of small-town police officers who’ve disappeared or met inexplicable accidents—always fatal.”

  Moss said nothing, just shook his head in disbelief.

  “Tell me something, Chief. Have you ever reported a UFO to the air force?”

  “No. I don’t see much reason to, and I’m not fond of the air force types around here. They . . . kind of . . . lurk. There’s one colonel—”

  “Dole,” she said. “He came to our camp and suggested we were wasting our time.”

  “Did he now? Well, he drives around here like he owns the town, just sort of spying and lurking, and frankly, Doctor, I wish he’d go back to his base and do his lurking there.”

  “Do you know which base he’s from?”

  “No. Tried to strike up a conversation a few times when I’ve seen him in Ray’s Café, but his mouth’s tighter than a puritan’s assh—Excuse me. He doesn’t talk much.”

  The doctor chuckled. “You’re not going to offend me, Chief. One thing’s for sure, he’s here for a reason. How long has he been hanging around?”

  “A couple years. He showed up right after we had some UFOs pass over the hills north of us. He’s been around a lot lately. You suppose the UFOs are some kind of government experiments?”

  “Perhaps. Some of them. The craft we saw last night were so far beyond our technology that I think Dole and his friends are as in the dark about them as everyone else.”

  “Did you get film?”

  She nodded. “We Fedexed it to APRA this morning.”

  “If the military didn’t make the saucers, what do you think did?” He was beginning to really enjoy the conversation. Normally he had to be the voice of sanity, reassure people the things were nothing, but this woman, who didn’t seem flighty at all, took the UFOs as a matter of fact, freeing him to do so as well. “Aliens?”

  “Possibly. But the craft we saw last night took off at speeds that an organic being couldn’t withstand. They’re probably unmanned.” She paused. “They might be other-dimensional. We have folklore describing such craft that dates back thousands and thousands of years. Witch balls and fairy lights or angels, for example.”

  The intercom buzzed. “Yes, Shirl?”

  “Ms. Kellogg is here to see you.”

  “Duty calls,” Moss said, rising. They shook hands once more. “Dr. Manderley, I’d like to hear more. I’ll try to stop by your camp tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

  “You’ll be welcome. It’s nice to talk to someone with an open mind.”

  “Can’t help it. I’ve seen them.”

  He watched her walk briskly across the parking lot, an elegant long-legged figure in a tan linen jacket and blue jeans, and sighed a little. She would have made a great cop. Ah, well.

  41

  Justin Martin

  JUSTIN MARTIN WAS PISSED. HE HADN’T BEEN ABLE TO FIND ALEXANDRA Manderley even though he’d searched until twenty of two. Now, at five minutes after, he pulled into the truck stop lot and parked in front of Ray’s Cafe, curious about what Hannibal Caine had to say, yet simultaneously resenting the summons.

  He got out of the black Mustang and locked the door, surprised at the warmth of the day. At least Old Man Marquay still had a bellyache and had stayed home again today, so Justin was free to lie to him about opening the mine ride at two. Before school, he’d left a note saying it would open at three. That would give him plenty of time to find out what Chrome-Dome Caine wanted.

  Walking into the café, he was assaulted by cool air and the heavenly fragrance of grilled burgers and onions. He glanced around, hoping Christie was back to work, but wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t around: Spelman’s funeral was tomorrow and the blond cheerleader was probably sniveling in the funeral parlor beside his burned-up body.

  “Justin, over here.”

  Outwardly he smiled when Hannibal Caine called his name, while inwardly he cringed in embarrassment. Waving, he walked across the café and joined the Apostle at a booth under an eastern window, glad that the diner was only a quarter full and no one sat within earshot of Caine’s table. Justin slid onto the orange plastic seat opposite the plump man, who was porking down a banana split.

  “You were a little late,” Caine said, pointing at him with his spoon, “so I started without you.” He beckoned to a middle-aged waitress. “This young man would like one of these, too, miss.”

  He would have preferred a double bacon chili cheeseburger, but Justin just smiled like a good little puppy. “Thank you, Elder Caine.”

  “You’re welcome, Justin.”

  The man was hard to take seriously. He could have been the twin of the guy on TV who played “The Commish,” with his twinkly eyes and round baby face, and it was tough to think of him as anything but harmless. But Justin knew from personal experience that looks could be deceiving: After all, everyone thought he himself was an all-American jockstrap, when nothing could be further from the truth. No, Hannibal Cai
ne would never have risen so far in the Apostolic ranks if he were harmless. Still, he couldn’t be as smart as he obviously thought he was.

  “How’s school, Justin?” Caine picked the maraschino cherry off the top of his ice cream and dangled it by the stem before popping the whole thing into his mouth.

  “Fine. Easter vacation’s next week.”

  The cherry stem poked out from between Caine’s lips. Plucking it with his fingers, he laid it on the table by his dish.

  “I’ll bet you’re a good student. Smart.”

  Get to the point. “Straight A’s.” The frowzy waitress set a syrup-drenched split in from of him. “Thanks, miss,” he said sweetly. “Thanks, Elder Caine.”

  “You’re welcome.” Caine sucked fudge sauce off his spoon, then pointed it at Justin again. “You mentioned last night that you’d like to be a doctor.”

  “Yes, sir.” Justin held his cherry by the stem, focusing on it instead of Caine’s intently creepy gaze. “But I guess that’s not going to happen if the world’s ending Sunday.” Caine, he knew, couldn’t possibly believe such nonsense, and he wanted to get him to admit it. He needed to know what game the man was playing.

  “You sound a bit sarcastic, Justin. Perhaps you’re not convinced?”

  “Are you?”

  “I believe in the Prophet.” Caine spread his hands helplessly. “What more can I say?”

  Plenty. “I’d like to believe, sir. I’m praying for God to give me more faith.”

  “You just need more time. I’m sure God understands that.” Caine stared at Justin, the twinkle in his eyes turning to cold blue ice. “But there is a way for you to find faith, and that is to work for the church. For the Prophet.” He folded his hands and the twinkle returned. “And if you’re right, if the Day of Judgment is a little slow in coming, your work would still be rewarded.”

  “You’re admitting the Prophet might be wrong?”

  Fire blazed in Caine’s eyes. “No. I am only saying this because you are still skeptical.”

  Justin nodded, trying to appear humble. It was hard.

  “I’m suggesting that you have nothing to lose and everything to gain by working for me. For the church. Can your parents afford to send you to medical school?”

  “No.” He didn’t bother to mention the scholarships he’d earned, which didn’t amount to that much anyway. “But there are student loans.”

  “The Church of the Prophet’s Apostles might be able to help out the right student in a big way.”

  Yeah, if I sell you my soul. “What’s required of the student?”

  Caine smiled. “Oh, nothing much. We’d have to know that the student is loyal to the church, willing to go that extra mile. We’d want our investment to pay off, of course.”

  “Elder Caine?”

  “Yes?

  “If the world’s ending in a few days,” he began ingenuously, “why are you talking about scholarships?”

  “Because you are unsure.” Irritation showed on Caine’s face but was quickly replaced by his smarmy smile. “What I’m telling you is that by working for us, you earn your rightful place in heaven, even though you are not baptized into our church. The Apostles, as you know, are the chosen rulers of heaven.”

  He sounded so sincere that Justin thought the man should be selling used cars. Get to the point, Chrome-Dome. “And?”

  “I’m going to be blunt with you, young man.”

  It’s about time, Your Assholiness. Justin pushed his ice cream around in the bowl and waited.

  “There’s a possibility it won’t end.”

  No shit, Sherlock. “There is?”

  “Let’s not play games, shall we?” Caine set his spoon down.

  “But your church is centered around the end of the world.”

  “Every church is centered around the Day of Judgment, young man. I think you know that.”

  Justin dropped the cherry, and it splashed into the melting ice cream. “Yes, I know that. Not too many have the date picked out, though.”

  “That’s true. Some seers and prophets, such as our own Prophet Sinclair, can predict future events very accurately, except for one thing: timing.”

  “You’re saying Prophet Sinclair is fallible?” Justin asked in hushed tones.

  “No, no, no,” Caine lied quickly. “It’s just that . . . time is something we, as human beings, don’t comprehend completely.” He spread his hands. “Why, even to you or me, sometimes a few minutes seems like an hour.”

  Guess you’ve smoked a little dope in your time. Justin smiled and nodded. “I know just what you mean.”

  “Good. Then you’ll understand when I tell you that though Prophet Sinclair’s prediction is accurate, the timing could conceivably be off, just as it has been with other great prophets. There is a slim chance that we’ll have a few more years yet, and we need good, strong members. I think you show promise, young man.”

  “What do you want me to do?” He pushed his dish to the center of the narrow table so that it trespassed on Caine’s territory.

  “You weren’t frightened or repulsed by the dead goat,” Caine said, bulldogging his head forward. “Instead you took it and, ah, put it to good use.”

  “So?”

  “Time is short, Justin, and it’s vital that we jolt the sinners into action. Desperate times, as they say, call for desperate measures.”

  “Is that why you’ve got your people out in their robes all over the place?”

  Caine nodded. “But that’s a mere tip of the hat compared to what we must do. We have little time and we must frighten people, make them think, make them realize they need salvation.” His voice rose minutely. “It’s our duty, as handed down by God to the Prophet, to do everything and anything we can to save all the souls we can.”

  “Does the Voice tell you to do it?” Justin ventured.

  “Yes,” Caine said immediately.

  “Who is the Voice?” Justin asked.

  Caine stared at him before replying. “You know. We all know.”

  Justin decided not to go further, but he wondered if others heard the Voice as well. “What do you want me to do?” Justin asked instead.

  “We might be able to use you on our Special Projects Committee, you know, God’s Green Berets.”

  Caine added that last like the mere words would magically lure him into doing his bidding.

  “What kind of special projects?” Nothing was going to get him to wear one of those dumbshit white robes.

  “Well, you took the goat before it could have its desired effect, I’m afraid.”

  “You guys offed it, didn’t you?”

  “The hand of God killed the goat, Justin. It was a message to the town. A sign.”

  “Did you do the Catholic church, too?”

  “No. I can’t answer any questions until you’ve proven yourself to be one of us.”

  “So?”

  “We want you to kill another goat and display it appropriately.”

  Justin almost smiled, then caught himself and made his features solemnly serious. Maybe he and Caine could do a little business after all. “Tell me more.”

  42

  James Robert Sinclair

  ON THE RED EARTH OF OLIVE MESA, HE KNELT BEFORE GOD AND prayed for guidance. James Robert Sinclair, his shirt and hat tossed aside so that he would feel the full impact of the sun, had been kneeling for more than an hour and a half, the rocks digging into his flesh until his knees first screamed with pain, then went blessedly numb.

  Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Dear God,” he prayed aloud, “show me some sign that last night was no dream, that I might know I’m not mad.” His back burned with the heat, but no answer came. Slowly he unclasped his hands, then stretched his arms out and fell forward, prostrating himself before a God he had only begun to believe in half a day before.

  Red dust sifted into his beard. He breathed it and tasted it. He had believed so thoroughly even the night before. For the first time in his life, he had fai
th in something besides himself. For the first time, he had faith in God.

  Faith. I must have faith in what I saw and heard. Heart lifting, he realized God was testing him. If he could only sustain faith for a night, then he was unworthy. Still prostrate, he clasped his hands in the dust. “I will prove my worthiness, Father. I will trust in You.”

  Silently he wept as the sun beat down on him. Slowly his eyes closed.

  You know not yet what you are, my son.

  The Voice exploded in his head, and slowly he opened his eyes to see the Angel of God shimmering before him. Overwhelming love enveloped him as the dark figure with its sunlike corona approached and held out its hand.

  Pushing himself up out of the dirt, Sinclair rose to his knees, head bowed, muddy tears of joy flooding his eyes. “You’re real,” he whispered, coughing on dust.

  You shall lead them to heaven. You shall be the light, and your true nature shall be revealed on the Day of Judgment.

  “What do you mean?” he cried. “I don’t understand.”

  Look at me and you shall see the truth.

  Trembling, he tried to look into the face of the angel, but could not. “I am weak, Lord, forgive me.”

  You are forgiven. The time shall come and you shall know. Abide in your faith, for yours is the greatest of all tasks.

  The angel touched him and he screamed with ecstasy.

  43

  Alexandra Manderley

  “YOU DRIVE LIKE A MANIAC,” ERIC WATSON TOLD ALEX Manderley.

  She grinned at him. “I made friends with the police chief; don’t worry about it.”

  They had picked up ice and a cooler full of fresh food, as well as lanterns and flashlights to replace the ones they’d lost the night before. There was nothing they could do about the scratched lenses on some of their equipment, but fortunately, the telescope with its photographic attachment, the video cam, and one camera had suffered no damage. Alex was feeling energized, and as soon as they’d passed Madland, she’d gunned the Bronco and sent them bouncing up Old Madelyn Highway at a gleeful speed.