Thunder Road

by Thorne, Tamara

  “You got me.” Moss pulled out of the driveway. “At least it makes it less likely that she’s been taken by Madge’s attacker.”

  “Well, that’s something.” Tom held his hands clasped tightly in his lap, afraid they’d shake if he didn’t. He never should have let Marie talk him into leaving her alone.

  “Back in the diner,” Tom began, “I started to tell you that these mutilations were different than the ones in the hills.”

  Moss glanced at him. “How so?”

  “Marie said those were clean and bloodless. These were crude, lots of blood.”

  “Christ. Copycat mutilations. That’s all we need. Damn, look at that.”

  The gates to the compound were closed and two Apostles stood guard. Moss rolled down his windows as one of them, a young woman, approached.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so. I’d like to see Mr. Sinclair, please.”

  She looked troubled. “He’s in retreat and can’t be disturbed.”

  “I need to see him, ma’am. It’s an emergency.”

  “Well, I’ll try.” She walked back inside the gate, locked it behind her, then climbed in a little golf-cart-type contraption and drove through the parking lot, disappearing behind the church.

  Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Just as Tom was running out of any kind of patience, the cart reappeared, carrying a passenger.

  “That’s not Sinclair,” Moss grunted as the cart approached. “He’s tall and thin, with a beard.”

  This guy was a bald dumpling man in a gray suit, the only unrobed Apostle in sight. Moss and Tom got out of the cruiser and walked up to the gate as the man approached, a jack-o’-lantern grin carved on his face.

  “Chief Baskerville, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said from behind the chain link, making no move to unlock the gate. “I’m Elder Apostle Caine. What can I do for you?”

  “We’d like to see James Sinclair,” Baskerville told him.

  “I’m afraid he’s meditating right now. I’m in command today. How can I help you?”

  Tom disliked the butterball in gray from the moment he laid eyes on him. He looked like the kind of man who would sell his own mother a bad insurance policy, the kind that would ask about your health and after you tell him you’re dying of cancer, clap you on the back and say, “That’s just great, Tom! Great! Now, let me tell you about this bridge I can sell you, cheap!”

  “We’d like to come in and have a look around, Mr. Caine,” Baskerville was saying.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible right now. You can come back for the Prophet’s sermon tomorrow night, if you like. Perhaps he can talk to you afterward.”

  “Mr. Caine, yesterday your boss invited me to talk to whomever and go wherever I wanted in the compound. Why aren’t you following his orders?”

  Tom could see the cunning beneath Caine’s helpless smile. “The Prophet told me nothing about inviting you here.”

  “Then call him,” Tom said.

  “I can’t do that. He’s incommunicado.”

  “You’re telling us that he’s here but you can’t disturb him?” Baskerville asked testily.

  “I won’t disturb him, sir. For anyone.”

  “What do you know about the disappearance of Eric Watson from a camp in Spirit Canyon last night?”

  “Nothing. I’ve never heard of the man.”

  Tom thought he was telling the truth, but you could never be sure with sidewinders like him.

  Moss cleared his throat and asked patiently, “What do you know about the disappearance of Marie Lopez?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Who’s she?”

  “You’re lying,” Tom said, stepping forward. “You’re lying, you dirty, low-down—”

  Baskerville firmly grabbed Tom’s arm as the Apostle scurried back from the fence. “Tom, hold it.” He glared at Caine. “You’re forcing me to get a search warrant. It would be much easier if you just let us take a look around. Or speak to your boss.”

  “Easier for you,” Caine said.

  “For both of us. Be sure of that.”

  Caine didn’t reply, but turned and seated himself in the cart. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

  “Son of a bitch,” Moss muttered as they returned to the cruiser.

  “He’s lying,” Tom said, trying to keep the rage he felt from seeping into his voice.

  Baskerville drove towards Marie’s. “I don’t think he knows where Watson is.”

  “No, me either. But he sure as hell knows something about Marie.” He looked toward the mountains. “Maybe they dumped her up there.”

  Baskerville pulled up behind Tom’s truck. “Maybe. You going to take a look?”

  “I’d like to. What about that search warrant?”

  Moss shook his head. “Sky’s clearing up. I can send Shirley, and get my night clerk to take over for her. He can use the overtime. Why don’t you find Alex Manderley and make sure she hasn’t heard from Eric yet, then get your search party together to look for him and Marie. And the kid, too, if he’s in the Madelyns.”

  Tom nodded. “Okay. But when that warrant comes back, I’d like to go with you. Unless I find Marie first.”

  “Check with me in the late afternoon. It’s going to take a while on a Saturday, especially with the mess in Barstow. I’m going to go by Cassie’s and catch a half-hour nap. Then I’ll drop her and Eve at your place, if you don’t mind. There’re just too many of those sheet-wearing buffoons running around.” He smiled slightly. “If some of those Apostles come to her door, she’s likely to do something to ’em. She’s got a temper,” he added fondly.

  “That she does,” Tom agreed, opening his truck door. “See you later.”

  99

  Marie Lopez

  SOMEBODY WAS OPERATING A JACKHAMMER IN MARIE LOPEZ’S head, but she resisted the urge to moan. Vaguely she recalled waking earlier, and when she’d made a sound, some woman with a harsh voice had stuck a chloroformed rag over her face.

  Without raising her head, Marie opened her eyes. She was tied to a straight wooden chair, and in the dim light she saw that nylon rope secured her wrists in her lap, and her ankles below. More of the narrow rope bit painfully into her waist, forcing her back hard against the slats of the chair. For a long moment she listened as she stared at the oak floor.

  Silence. Slowly she lifted her head. What little light there was came from an underpowered fluorescent fixture overhead. No one appeared to be in the room. The walls were white, and the room was bare except for a long coatrack that held white satin gowns with blue trim. Choir robes! She was in a choir room, but it sure as hell wasn’t in the Catholic church.

  What in hell would the Apostles want with me? Not that it mattered now. What did matter was getting loose. She looked at the ropes around her wrists and smiled to herself. The idiots had tied them over the thick cloth of her black sweatshirt.

  Patiently she began to work at freeing herself.

  100

  Alexandra Manderley

  “I THINK THE RAIN’S STOPPED FOR NOW,” ALEX MANDERLEY SAID as she gazed at the Madelyns from Carlo Pelegrine’s upstairs window. Dark clouds still draped the sky and shrouded the tops of the mountains, but a few ragged patches of blue had appeared. “It’s time I get out there and start searching for Eric.”

  “You’re not thinking of driving into the canyon yet?” Carlo stood behind her, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. “It’s not safe.”

  She turned to face him. “I know, but I at least need to drive down to the police station and see about the rescue party.” She paused. “I should have been down there hours ago.”

  “It’s not your fault the electricity went out and the alarm clock didn’t go off.” As he spoke, the overhead light blazed to life.

  Despite her worries, she’d fallen into a deep sleep the minute she’d crawled into bed last night, and except for a few groggy moments during the earthquake, she didn’t wake up until long after the sun came up. Carlo had trie
d to insist she take his bed while he slept on the couch, but despite his confessions, she felt safe with him and insisted they share the bed. When she finally woke up this morning they had been spooned together, his arms protectively around her, and she lay there far too long, relishing the warmth of him, the sound and feel of his soft breath against the back of her neck. It was the first time in her life she’d ever actually slept with another human being, and she loved it. Now she felt guilty for indulging herself while Eric was lost.

  “At least have a little breakfast,” he said. “It’s going to be a long day. You’ll need it.”

  How could this gentle man ever hurt anyone? Looking at him filled her stomach with butterflies again. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe his story—she did—but she also knew that whatever he was now, he was no killer. The killer was dead and gone, and she realized that she loved what remained. She took his hands. “A quick bite would be good, but let me do it.”

  One corner of his mouth crooked up. “Eric said you can’t boil water. Is that true?”

  “I can boil water,” she said.

  “Can you make an omelet?” The smile broadened.

  “Well . . . I can operate a toaster.”

  “Okay, you’re in charge of toast. Why don’t you see if the phone’s working, then go downstairs and get your clothes out of the dryer while I start the omelets?” He paused. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” She turned.

  “Horses. Look.” He had turned and was pointing out the window.

  Tom Abernathy, unmistakable on his silver mare, was leading a saddled chestnut horse. Behind him were five more riders in slickers and western hats. A moment later, they heard the downstairs bell ring. “Excuse me,” Carlo said, and headed for the stairs.

  Alex pulled his terry robe tighter around herself, then followed, remaining out of sight in the shadows of the stairs.

  “Tom, hello,” Carlo said after he opened the door. “You’re wearing a badge,” he added in a startled tone.

  “Moss is hard up for help. He twisted my arm.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I thought maybe Alex was here?” He nodded at her truck.

  Alex stepped into view, mildly amused by the surprise on Tom’s face when he saw her attire. “I’m here.”

  “We’re riding up into the hills to look for Eric and Marie.”

  “Marie?” Carlo asked.

  “She’s missing too.”

  Alex heard the pain in his voice as he explained what had happened. “Tom, I’m sorry.”

  “We’ll find them,” he said stolidly. “You mentioned that you ride. I brought along my gentlest mare in case you want to come along.”

  “Yes, absolutely.” She looked at Carlo.

  “I can manage a nice flat trail,” he said. “But otherwise, I’m hopeless. Tom knows.”

  The cowboy nodded. “Gospel truth. You have any earthquake damage?”

  “Just the mess you see here.” He gestured at some packs of incense, books, and cards scattered on the floor. “Nothing serious.”

  “I’m going to get dressed. I’ll be out in a minute.” Alex went into the laundry room and quickly slipped into her clothes and shoes, then returned. “I’m ready.”

  Carlo handed her a rain poncho and a cowboy hat. She slipped the poncho over her head, then put on the hat. It fit perfectly. “I can’t quite picture you in this,” she told him.

  “I’m afraid I don’t wear it much.”

  “City boy,” Tom chided. “Let’s go.”

  “The keys to the Bronco are on your dresser,” Alex told Carlo after they walked out onto the porch. “If you need to go somewhere, use it, please.”

  “Thanks. I doubt we’ll do any business today, but I’ll probably stick around here anyway. Clean up the place, see if anyone else needs help.” He glanced at Tom. “When do you think you’ll be back?”

  “Barring heavy rain, after we find them. I’ll be back by this afternoon either way. Moss is sending someone for a search warrant to get into the Apostles’ compound, and he should have it by then.”

  Surprised, Alex asked, “The Apostles? Why would they take Eric?”

  “Don’t rightly know, but they’re prime suspects in Marie’s disappearance.”

  Alex turned and kissed Carlo lightly on the lips. “I’ll see you later?”

  “Count on it.”

  101

  Cassie Halloway

  “YOU SURE YOU DON’T WANT TO NAP ANOTHER HOUR?” CASSIE asked, handing Moss his gun belt.

  He took the belt and kissed her. “I’d love to, Cass, but it’ll have to wait. You want me to drop you and Eve off at Tom’s?”

  “You said he’s out with the search party.”

  “He is, but Davy’s there to let you in.”

  Although she knew that going to Tom’s was probably the smart thing to do, she hated deserting her little house. “The rain’s slacked off, and not a single Apostle has come to the door. Do you really think it’s necessary?”

  “I’d sure feel better knowing you were there, Cass. Until the phones are working again, you couldn’t call for help if you did need it.” He folded her in his arms. “You and Marie are the only people living so far from town. Marie’s missing and you’ve been vandalized. That’s why I want you to go. Besides, you know how much Eve loves it at Tom’s.”

  “You’re right. We’ll go, but I’ll take my car.”

  “I thought—”

  “It’s easy to repaint the house, not so easy to repaint the car.”

  “Good.” He kissed her nose. “Love you.”

  “Love you too. Take care of yourself, babe.”

  She stood at the door and watched him drive away before entering Eve’s tiny bedroom. “We’re going to Tom’s as soon as I finish the dishes. Pick out some toys to take along, and get your jacket, boots, and raincoat.”

  “Goody!” Eve trilled. Immediately she began digging in her toy box.

  In the kitchen, Cassie began washing the lunch dishes. As she put away the last glass, Eve came in, carrying her favorite rag doll. “Is that all you’re going to take, sweetheart?”

  “Huh-uh. The rest’s by the front door.”

  “The rest? Did you bring everything in your toy box?”

  Eve giggled. “No, Mommy. Only my ball, and my Candyland, and my Pogs, and my Barbie and her clothes, and my horse models, and three coloring books—”

  “And your crayons,” Cassie finished. “That’s fine, sweetie. Why don’t you color a picture for a few minutes while I finish up and change my clothes.”

  “Okay!” Eve dashed from the room.

  Drying her hands, Cassie stared out the kitchen window. Outside, rain was just beginning to fall again. She sighed. She had hoped that it had stopped for good; her house wasn’t far enough from Old Madelyn Road to be safe if things got really bad.

  Hearing the low roar of an engine as a vehicle pulled up the side of the house, she smiled. “Moss, you old worrywart.” He’d probably come back to see her safely to Tom’s place.

  “Mommy!” Eve called, running into the kitchen. “Somebody’s here.”

  “Not Daddy?”

  “Huh-uh. It’s a bunch of people dressed like ghosts.”

  She laughed. “Ghosts?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Cassie dropped the towel on the counter as someone began pounding on the front door. She went into the living room and peeked out the window overlooking the driveway. “It’s those damned Apostles,” she hissed, seeing a white-clad figure sitting in the driver’s seat of a muddy white van.

  “Open up, whore!” a man yelled. The hammering on the door increased.

  She ran to the phone and snagged it up. Still no dial tone. “Damn! Evie, Eve, come here, baby.”

  The little girl, eyes wide, still holding her rag doll, ran to her, and Cassie scooped her into her arms as the Apostles began breaking the front door down. “Don’t cry, baby,” Cassie soothed. “Be brave for Mommy.”
/>   Frantically she glanced around as the door began to crack. There was nowhere to hide—they had to run.

  “Whore! We know you’re in there!”

  Wood cracked sickeningly as Cassie opened the back door and carried Eve out into the rain. She started running across the dooryard, hearing shouts and heavy footsteps behind her.

  Then she was tackled from behind.

  She fell in the mud, rolling to protect her daughter, then someone was trying to yank Eve from her arms. The girl clung to her neck, screaming and sobbing in her ear.

  “Let go, whore!” A man in white yanked on her wrist. “Let go!”

  Another kicked her in the ribs, once, twice, a third time, so hard that it knocked the breath out of her. The man at her wrist began prying her fingers away. He got one up and yanked it back until she felt the bone snap.

  “No!” she screamed, trying to wrap herself around Eve and roll over to protect her.

  “Listen, Evie,” she whispered urgently, “when I say ‘Go,’ you run as fast as you can. Go to Tom’s house, or Madland, just don’t let them catch you. When I say ‘Go,’ remember.”

  They grabbed her hair, pulled it, yanking her head back, while other hands turned her onto her back. Vaguely she saw horrible distorted faces with bright mad eyes as they wrenched her daughter from her. Cassie felt no pain, only fury, as her arm was twisted behind her and she was yanked to her feet.

  There were a dozen of them circling her, both men and women, poking her with their umbrellas. One man held Eve by her arms as she struggled to get to her mother. In vain Cassie kicked backwards at the man holding her.

  “Stop struggling, whore.” An old man with icy eyes and a hawk nose stepped forward. He was wearing military fatigues, no robe. “You can’t escape us.”

  He turned, looking around the circle of zealous faces. “This is the Whore of Babylon. Look upon the evil!” He came nose to nose with her and she balled her free hand into a fist as he reached out and tore her shirt open. “Look upon the whore, covered with the devil’s calling card. Six six six. This is the devil’s bride.”

  Cassie’s fist shot out so fast that the old bastard barely saw it coming. She socked him in the gut, but not hard enough. She cried out in pain as the one holding her wrenched her arm up.