“I was up in Rattlesnake Canyon with my flock, and I came out with two less sheep than when I went in.”
“They were killed?”
Marie shook her head. “I don’t know. I think I hallucinated or something.”
“The UFOs were over Rattlesnake Canyon for a long time,” Alex said. “You certainly didn’t hallucinate those.”
“Earlier you said something about UFOs taking animals?” Marie began, still loath to admit to what she imagined she’d seen.
“It happens frequently, particularly in conjunction with mutilations. As I mentioned, it’s gone on for centuries.” She paused. “It’s been epidemic in the States since the mid-seventies.”
“It has?” Marie felt better knowing that. “Three of my sheep, two the same night, were mutilated recently. I’ve never told anyone this, but I saw—something—the night before the first two were killed.”
“A UFO?”
“I guess. I was up on the range, near where I was last night. There were four of those little bright disks shooting around, very high in the sky. It wasn’t like last night, though; they were so far away that I thought they might be air force jets on maneuvers.”
“Did they move like the ones last night?”
“Yes.”
“Then they weren’t jets.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Marie shook her head. “I didn’t know anything was wrong until the next morning, when I found them. They were cut up just like the first one. She was killed right on my property.”
“What was done to them?”
“An ear was gone, and the tongue. It looked . . . cauterized. Their abdomens were cut open and some of their organs were gone.”
“Which ones, do you know?”
“The genitalia, both sexes. The stomach on one. Two of them had perfect circles of hide cut away. I know a predator couldn’t have done that . . . But the strangest thing of all was that there was no blood, around the bodies or on the ground, but there were drops of a blue fluid, sort of a gel, on the wounds. Have you ever heard of that?”
“Once,” Alex said excitedly. “The report was in conjunction with UFOs and a Bigfoot sighting, so it’s never been taken seriously.”
“Bigfoot?” Marie asked, disbelieving.
“You’d be surprised how many Bigfoot and UFO sightings occur simultaneously.” She smiled. “It rather stretches credibility, doesn’t it?”
“It all does. I don’t feel very credible myself right now.”
The scientist patted her hand. “You’re very credible, don’t worry. But tell me, do you have any photos of the animals? Or did you take samples of the fluid?”
“I took pictures of the animal at my ranch and gave them to Moss. We both figured it was some sort of horrible practical joke.” She paused. “I took a camera back to the canyon the next day after the two sheep were killed, but the bodies were gone.”
“Any tracks?”
“There’d been a dust storm.”
“Oh, well. Would you ask Moss to let me see the photos you did get?”
“I would, but they disappeared, right out of his files.” She shook her head. “I had the negatives, but they disappeared too. From my trailer.”
“I’m not surprised. That happens frequently too.”
“You know what?” Marie pushed her hair back from her face.
“What?”
“This sounds crazy, but I’ve always suspected that military type who hangs around here is behind it somehow. The mutilations, the missing photos, I’m not sure exactly what. Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely. I’ll lay odds he had the photos and negs taken,” Alex said. “As for the mutilations, occasionally there’s been evidence of military involvement. At one site, an army scalpel was found, and helicopters are often spotted in the vicinity. On the other hand, the military is a victim too.”
“What are you ladies so deep into?”
Marie jumped at Moss’s voice. She’d been so involved in the conversation that she’d forgotten about everyone else. Tom. and Carlo had also approached.
Alex looked surprised as well. “Just this and that,” she said.
“It’s okay, Alex,” Marie said, no longer feeling awkward. Of course, she hadn’t gotten to the part about last night’s floating sheep, but right now she felt like she could handle anything. The three men sat down, Carlo close to Alex on the fireplace steps, while Tom perched his butt on the arm of Marie’s chair. Briefly Marie and Alex brought them up-to-date on the conversation.
“You were saying the military is a victim of mutilations?” Marie prompted at last.
Alex nodded. “The big thing about mutilations is that they don’t make sense. If aliens needed to take animals—and that makes no more sense then them needing to mate with human beings, and I don’t buy that for an instant—but if they did, they could take them from places where they wouldn’t be missed, or even found. Rustlers, same thing. Most of these are taken from small herds, like yours, Marie, and from corrals like yours. Many are in conjunction with UFO sightings, and I think it’s possible that some of these are staged to draw attention away from one thing or the other. At any rate, a good percentage of the mutilations are real, and many can’t be accounted for as the work of cults—or coyotes. In fact, in many cases, carrion eaters won’t touch a mutilated animal.”
Marie nodded. “It’s like they know something’s wrong.”
“Exactly. I don’t know what the purpose of mutilations is, or who or what performs them. There’s evidence of something similar to laser surgery, and often the bodies are entirely drained of blood. All I’m sure of is that mutilations are manipulations.”
“What do you mean?” Moss leaned forward, hands on his knees.
“The mutilations occur where they will be noticed. It’s mass manipulation at its best because there’s very little as effective as a terrorization technique as the mutilation or torture of people or animals. It’s an ingrained terror that goes right to the heart and talks to the caveman within.”
“The Nazis figured that out,” Tom said.
“Along with thousands of other cults and societies,” Alex agreed.
“What about the military?” Moss asked. “You said they’re victims, but it sounds more like they’re behind it.”
“Maybe a little bit of both. There were a lot of mutilations in Colorado right next to Cheyenne Mountain, where NORAD’s Combat Operations Center is housed. The center is inside the mountain, built of steel, and its purpose is to analyze anything in our air space. You can imagine the safeguards on the mountain, and surrounding it. The perimeters of the military land are guarded with everything from motion detectors and cameras, radar and human guards, to sensors that can detect the small amount of ammonia in human skin. You can’t get in there without being noticed.
“But someone or something did. The Cheyenne Mountain Zoo is on the north side of the mountain, on military land. In 1975 a female buffalo was mutilated. She weighed fifteen hundred pounds, and an udder, an ear, and the vagina were removed. Also four square feet of hide. The dissection was done with some sort of very sharp instrument. The hide was removed without puncturing the underlying tissue. The surgery was said to be cleaner than even a coroner could have accomplished.”
“Christ,” Tom said.
“Christ indeed. The next year, right next to a NORAD entry gate, near a road not shown on most maps, a cow about to calve was mutilated. The sex organs were removed, including the calf. It was never found.”
“Why?” Marie asked.
Alex shrugged. “No one knows. I doubt that the military knows, except for whatever mutilations they might indulge in themselves. The first rule of espionage is to always act like you know everything—so they’re not going to admit they don’t. I’m sure that’s a major reason the entire UFO business is so hush-hush with them. They actually know very little about it. I think that mutilations are terrorist tactics by unknown persons meant to deliver some kind of message to our society, or the go
vernment or the CIA or whatever secret government is trying to run the more public one at any given moment.”
“That Cheyenne Mountain business,” Tom began.
“Yes?”
“If no one can get in there, then I’d guess the military did the dirty deeds themselves so they’d look like victims as well.”
Moss pointed at him. “Give that man a cigar. It’s that old Sherlock Holmes thing. You eliminate everything and what you’ve got left, no matter how confounded, that’s your answer. So the government or the intelligence community commits the mutilations and throws in a few on military land to make themselves look innocent.”
“I’d imagine a good deal of what you say is valid,” Alex replied. “But phenomena that occur with some of the mutilations are either the stuff of aliens or folklore. I favor folklore.”
“Like what?” Marie asked.
“Levitations.”
“Ah, come on,” Moss said.
Marie shivered as goose bumps prickled her skin. She looked at Tom, and they locked eyes for an endless instant, then he reached down and touched the back of her hand. He started to withdraw, and without thinking about it, she turned her wrist and entwined her small fingers with his, twice as big. He squeezed very gently and suddenly she felt much safer.
“Marie?” Alex asked. “You’re dead white.”
“That’s what I saw last night. The big UFO came down. There was a blue light and first one sheep, then another, just floated right up into this huge, this huge thing. I thought I was losing my mind.”
“The sheep were still missing in the morning,” Tom added.
Moss looked at Tom. “You’re in on this, aren’t you, cowboy? This is all set up to get my goat.”
“He’s not in on anything,” Alex said, surprisingly stem. “I can show you reports from sheriffs and police officers across the country wherein they recount seeing levitations. For instance, not one, but two officers were in a patrol car in the Midwest, driving in ranch land. They had to slam on the brakes when they realized they were about to hit a cow crossing the road . . . four feet off the ground.”
Moss laughed, then cut it short under the researcher’s glare. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Utterly. If you’d like copies of the reports, I’d be glad to get them to you. I have them in my car outside.”
“Ma’am, I’d love to read those. I believe you because you seem like an intelligent, rational person, and I believe you, Marie, for the same reasons, but at the same time, I’d have to see it for myself.”
“That’s reasonable,” Alex said serenely. “Any intelligent, rational person would say the same.” She stood up. “I’ve left Eric alone long enough, and it’s about the right time of night for, ah, aerial activity. Thanks for a lovely evening, Tom.” She shook his hand, then turned to Marie. “May I come and see you tomorrow or the next day? I’d like to go into the canyon with you and see where it all happened.”
“Can you ride a horse?”
“With the best of them.”
“Good,” Marie said, smiling. “I’ll take you out there, but it has to be Saturday. I’ve got a full day tomorrow.” She looked at Tom. “Can we borrow a horse?”
“I’ve got a quarter horse named Tess who would love some exercise,” Tom said. “She’s a new mama and really needs to get away for a few hours. I’ll bring her up to Marie’s Saturday. Just let me know what time.”
“You inviting yourself along, cowboy?” Marie asked, pleased that his hand still enveloped hers.
“Wish I could, but duty calls.”
Marie tried not to let her disappointment show as she and Tom rose and let their hands part while they waited for Alex to say her good nights.
Outside, Moss cleared his throat. “It’s a long ways up there in the dark. You want an escort?”
“No, I’ll be fine,” Alex said, looking at Carlo instead of the Chief.
“We’ve had some nasty types roaming around lately,” Moss reminded her. “People have disappeared. I’d feel better if you let me lead you up.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“How secure is your new camp?”
“Very. It can’t be seen from the road.”
“Alex,” Carlo said quietly. “You have a motorcycle rack.” He pointed at the back of the Bronco.
“We’d intended to bring a dirt bike for exploratory purposes, but we couldn’t get the funding in time.”
“I’m going home now, too,” he said, slowly. “And I have a motorcycle. I’d feel better knowing you got to your camp safely. I could ride up with you in your truck, then ride my bike home.”
“It’s not necessary,” she said, now sounding regretful. “But if you’d like to see the camp . . .
“Yes, I would.”
They said their good nights, then after Alex and Carlo drove off, the three went back inside. “Penny-ante poker, anyone?” Tom asked. It was the last Thursday night ritual, besides whatever whopper Tom would decide to tell. He never failed, and Marie figured it would be a doozy tonight: He hadn’t spun a windy all evening.
“Poker?” Ray called as he and Rosie helped Davy set up a round card table. “That’s my middle name.”
“Then we got the same middle name,” Tom said, getting the cards out of a drawer in the entertainment center.
57
Justin Martin
“ ‘WE’LL BE IN TOUCH.’ OH, YEAH, WE’LL BE IN TOUCH, YOU fucking asshole!”
Justin Martin repeated Eldo Blandings’s words, relishing the cold rage they brought. That holier-than-shit asshole’s condescending attitude had really pissed him off, and now, as he slouched behind the steering wheel, his car concealed behind a mound of gravel in a turnout in Spirit Canyon, he thought about how fun it would be to kill old Eldo Blandings. He’d sneak up behind him and pull him backward, knocking the old man’s knees with his own to throw him farther off balance. Then, quick as a wink, he’d yank Blandings’s head back to expose his throat and draw a sharp knife across his neck, cutting skin, muscle, tendons, veins, and arteries, hearing the crunch of gristle as he broke the Adam’s apple and severed the windpipe, cutting all the way back to the bone, giving Eldo Blandings a certified flip-top head. Justin grinned in the darkness, imagining the sensation of the old man’s hot blood cascading over his hands, spurting between his fingers—
In the distance, an engine growled—a car was beginning the climb into Spirit Canyon. Justin sat up, rolling the window down farther, the better to hear. He wasn’t sure it was Alexandra Manderley’s Bronco, but he had a hunch that tonight’s wait was about to pay off.
Justin was sure she hadn’t left town—not with all the UFOs doing their thing last night—but he still hadn’t been able to find her camp, even tonight, in the dark, when he’d expected to be able to catch the reflection of camp lights against the hills. That had further pissed him off. He’d decided to sit and wait for a while: He didn’t want to go home—he couldn’t stand the thought of hearing his parents snoring away in their bedroom, or finding his mother’s cutesy little notes to him all over the house. Justin, there’s leftover lasagna in the refrigerator; Justin, please make your bed; Justin, have some milk, it’s good for you; Justin, fuck me up the ass. Christ, who could stand it? He sure as hell couldn’t. He also knew that Christie Fox would still be blubbering over Rick Spelman and wouldn’t want to go out—shit, had that ever backfired—and there just wasn’t anyone else from school that he wanted to fuck: He’d already nailed anything worth screwing.
So, for lack of anything better to do, he’d stayed here for an hour, fueling his anger at Caine, Blandings, and Manderley, occasionally peppering his murderous fantasies with sexual ones as he saw himself on top of Manderley drilling her brains out and slowly squeezing her throat, tighter, tighter. She’d be so turned on that she couldn’t even fight him. He had stayed here, daydreaming, and hoping that Manderley was out and would return. He’d figured chances were good she was down there at that overgrown cowdick’
s house, along with the others, and as he watched the approaching headlights, he was sure he was right.
His smile as he recognized the Bronco turned to a frown when he spied the motorcycle mounted on a rear rack. He didn’t remember seeing it before, and it upset him to think he might have missed it.
Justin pulled onto the road, lights out, staying well back from the truck. About midpoint through the canyon, after the road climbed to its highest point, the Bronco’s taillights disappeared down a narrow road sandwiched between the mountaintops. He drove past and pulled over at the next wide spot in the road and got out.
Sound carried easily here, so he closed the Mustang’s door very quietly, then he walked to the narrow cutoff, which was angled so that it was difficult to see, even in the daytime.
He started down the jeep trail, walking as quietly and quickly as he could in the darkness. After walking perhaps an eighth of a mile or more, he rounded a bend and finally spotted the camp. It was hidden in the shadows of a granite overhang, as was the Bronco, and it all would have been invisible except for a pair of kerosene lanterns. Staring, he made out two tents, a table where one, two, no, three people were sitting around talking.
Who the hell is that? Justin hugged the mountainside and moved closer, edging around a hill, then crawling on his belly to a small mound of rocks no more than fifteen feet from the campers.
Justin recognized Eric Watson as he stood and stretched his long bony arms. Lamplight glossed his red hair. “I’m going to catch a couple hours of sleep,” he announced. “I’m bushed.”
“Go ahead, Eric,” Alex said. “You’ve done more than your share of the work today.”
“Be sure and call me when you’re tired of keeping watch.”
“I will. Good night.”
“Good night,” echoed the stranger. The voice sounded vaguely familiar.
Eric disappeared into a tent, and Alex and the other man sat without saying a word for several minutes. Finally Alex spoke. “Would you like to take a look through the telescope?”
“Very much.”
The Peeler! He should have known when he saw the motorcycle. Excitedly Justin squinted at the couple as they rose and walked toward the cliff. What was Carlo doing here? Was he getting ready to do Alexandra Manderley? To peel her? Suddenly a hard-on pinched painfully in his shorts. Goddammit! He adjusted himself, never taking his eyes off Carlo and Alex as they walked to the cliff and took turns peering into the scope.
Thunder Road Page 24
