125
Carlo Pelegrine
“WHAT A MESS,” TOM ABERNATHY SAID AS HE AND CARLO walked through the Madland gates.
Carlo nodded, playing his flashlight over the broken buildings. Alex had never shown up at the ranch, and he was becoming very anxious. “I want to talk to the stuntmen first.”
“Sure thing.” They headed for the stables behind the arena, but as they approached, they saw no one around. Tom cupped his hands around his mouth. “Anybody here?”
“Just us chickens.” Shorty Sykes, carrying a bright lantern, appeared from the shadowed recesses of the stable area.
“When did you last see Alex?” Carlo asked, too abruptly.
Sykes raised his eyebrows. “Why? Didn’t she get back?”
“No,” Tom said. “You split up?”
“It wasn’t raining, and she’s a good rider, so we didn’t think much about it when she said she wanted to meander along and do some thinking. Then she was headed for the ranch.” He looked at Carlo. “She said she was looking to hook up with you there.”
“Where did you split up?”
“Just south of Thunder Road. Henry had that boy’s body on his horse and I figured it was bothering her, that was why she hung back. I’m sorry—”
“It’s not your fault,” Carlo said. “Did you pass anyone else on the road after you left her?”
“Not a soul.” He glanced back at the stable as timbers settled, then another flashlight bobbed out of the darkness beyond.
“Heard you found Eric Watson,” Mad Dog called as he approached.
“Sure did,” Tom said.
“We’re happy to hear it,” Mad Dog told him. “Listen, we’ve got the animals together. Would it be all right if we herd them all down to your ranch?”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Any of them hurt?”
“We lost a few chickens, and some have scrapes and cuts, but otherwise, they’re fine. How about you?”
“We fared just fine. The damage is minimal. One of you boys needs to go down to Ray’s and check in for all of you—we’re trying to get a head count.” Tom paused. “After that, if anybody asks, they can camp in Ray’s lot. You folks can stay at my place.”
“Much obliged,” Mad Dog called as he turned and headed back toward the stables.
Tom pulled a wrench from his back pocket. “We’re going in to check for gas leaks and wounded before it gets any darker.”
Shorty nodded. “A few people are already doing that. They started in the middle and are working their way out from there. Well, I better get back to work.”
Carlo watched Shorty disappear. “Tom, why don’t you take Tumbleweed, and I’ll take Main? We’ll work until we run into the others.”
Tom looked surprised. “Well, sure, that sounds fine. Shut off the gas, mark buildings where you can see there are wounded or fatalities, but don’t go inside. It’s too dark to do a thorough search tonight.”
Carlo nodded, then as Tom headed toward Tumbleweed, where Cassie’s theater was located, he turned back toward Main Street. Playing his light over the buildings as he made his way to the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, he cringed at the sight of the lopsided structures, at the window glass, placards, and broken boards and plaster littering the sidewalk and street.
At last he stepped up onto the wooden sidewalk fronting his shop. His green tablecloth was on the ground, along with a few candles, crystal balls, and a scattering of tarot cards. The sight numbed him.
Grimly he moved to the door and inserted his key. It unlocked easily, but he had to put his shoulder to it and shove repeatedly to get the door unstuck.
It opened so suddenly that he stumbled inside and nearly fell on the broken glass. Shining the flashlight through the room, he saw that the glass display cases had shattered and his antique cash register lay on the floor halfway across the room, nearly hidden under mounds of fallen books.
He heard a noise beyond the green drapes and, startled, turned. “Alex?”
No reply, only the uneasy sound of timber cracking somewhere above. Glancing up, he saw the ceiling fan swaying, half-ripped from its moorings. Quickly he stepped out from under it. Tom was right: He shouldn’t be in here, but he had to make sure that Alex wasn’t trapped here.
Another sound, like a chair scraping, floated in from beyond the drapes. Carlo stepped toward the curtains and began to push them aside, pausing to kneel and pick up his favorite deck of tarot cards from among the others on the floor. He slipped the pack in his pocket.
His crystal ball rolled slowly toward him, coming to rest against the toes of his shoes. Without thinking, he scooped it into his hand.
“Heads up, Charlie!”
Carlo looked up into Justin Martin’s smiling face. The boy sat on a wooden chair in the midst of chaos. “Kind of a mess in here, huh? Real pain in the ass!”
“What are you doing here?” Carlo asked.
“I was checking for victims. I found one.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.” He looked up. “She met with a nasty accident.”
Filled with dread, Carlo followed his gaze, gasping as he saw the scalp dangling by long blond hair from the skewed ceiling fixture.
Justin rose, slowly pulling a shining blade from inside his jacket.
“My knife,” Carlo began.
“The knife. You use it to peel your victims.”
“I use it to peel oranges, Justin.” Everything, especially his thoughts, had been moving in slow motion, but his mind suddenly shifted into gear. “Where’s Alex?” he demanded. “What have you done with her?”
The boy waved the knife menacingly. “Nothing. She’s safe.” An oily smile slid across his face. “She’s with friends.”
Carlo stepped closer. “Tell me where she is.”
Another sickening smile. “In the hands of God.”
“You son of a bitch,” Carlo exploded, throwing the crystal ball. Justin sidestepped neatly, and the orb crashed into the wall behind him. Carlo leaped at Justin, tackling him, barely noticing the pain that abruptly sliced into his side. He wrestled, pinning Justin down and forcing his hand open. He tore the knife away, brought it up, and slowly lowered it until the tip rested just beneath Justin’s chin. “Did you kill her?” he managed through clenched teeth. “Did you?”
“No,” Justin whispered, his eyes bright, pupils dilated. “Are you going to kill me?”
He wanted to, wanted to sink the knife to the hilt in Justin’s throat, then yank it back and forth and watch the life drain out of him. He wanted to feel the hot blood gush over his hands, to slice that insane smile off his face.
You’re no different from him! The thought slammed him. The knife wavered, drew a single drop of blood. Justin smiled. “Do it,” he whispered. “The ultimate thrill.”
“Where is she?” Carlo growled.
“I gave her to the Apostles. I get to have her after they’re through with her.” He smirked, despite the knife. “That way, I don’t have to share her with you. But you can help me if you want.”
Carlo’s hand trembled, ready to plunge the blade. He knew doing so would break his vow not to hurt others, would mean that his life had meant nothing, but he didn’t care anymore. He could feel blood drizzling over his rib cage from the fiery wound in his left side. It was the only thing that seemed real. Alex is real! She was the reason he wouldn’t commit murder; if he killed Justin in cold blood, he knew he would eventually be compelled to end his own life. He could never have a life with Alex, and he suddenly knew that he wanted that more than anything.
Hand trembling, he slowly, so slowly, pulled the knife away from Justin’s neck.
“Chicken?” the youth goaded.
“You’re not worth it,” Carlo hissed. He threw the knife across the room, then, feeling Justin’s muscles tense, ready to fight, he made a fist and knocked him cold with a blow to the temple.
It was oddly unsatisfying. Carlo rose, standing over the body. He had to bring the boy to justice,
but he couldn’t let it jeopardize Alex’s life or his own by simply turning him in. His mind reeled and he finally shut off all thoughts but those concerning Alex. He had to get into the compound and rescue her. No doubt the others were imprisoned there as well.
He knew what he had to do, what his purpose was. He grabbed the knife and stuck it in his belt, then left the building, the pain in his side a dull ache, blood oozing sluggishly, sticking his shirt to the wound.
Outdoors, he quickly checked the other buildings on Main Street, impatient to be on his way. It was a miracle that no fires had broken out in Madland, Carlo thought as he walked along behind the buildings and turned off the gas at each one. Even though the buildings didn’t look too bad from the outside, peering into windows revealed the same kind of damage his had sustained. In places, the wooden sidewalks were impassable because of fallen awnings and broken posts and windows, and some of the structures that at first looked sound had slipped off their foundations.
He ran across a half dozen shopkeepers and told them all to go down to Ray’s. Amazingly, he found no wounded: It was fortunate that the day had been too stormy for the park to be full of tourists.
When he met up with some of the stunt people at the end of the street, he asked them to tell Tom he’d meet him back at the ranch later. Then he trotted to his storage shed and carefully extracted his motorcycle from the rubble. Opening the ditty bag behind the seat, he pulled out a wool muffler, took off his leather jacket, and lifted his shirt, cringing as he pulled it away from the gash.
The wound was two inches long, painful and bloody, but not deep—the blade had been deflected by a rib, and it gaped open, needing stitches. Gingerly he pressed the edges together, then tied the muffler tightly around his midsection, hoping that would stop the bleeding. He put his black jacket back on and zipped it up. Grimacing with pain, he climbed onto the Harley and turned the key, listening to the engine’s soothing, powerful thrum.
There was no point in going to the Apostles’ front gate. He knew the stories about the tunnels beneath the compound—one of the books he carried in his shop went into them in great detail, though he suspected it was all fabrication. But finding one was his best bet, at least if the quake hadn’t collapsed them. But where?
He recalled Alex’s story about the UFOs she and Eric had chased on Olive Mesa, about the clothing she had found there. Sinclair sees them as angels. That’s what she’d said. It would be reasonable that a passage led between the compound and the mountain just north of it, if Sinclair spent time there, left his clothes there.
Carlo revved the engine, then rode off, headed for Olive Mesa.
As he slowed to turn onto Thunder Road, he saw the brilliant cross gleaming on the church, the only light in the endless night.
126
Tom Abernathy
WHEN TOM ARRIVED AT THE LANGTRY THEATER, HE FOUND IT virtually intact, except for one of the double front doors, which hung crazily from one hinge. He mounted the steps to try to position the door back in its frame and at least make it appear closed and locked, and that’s when he had a crazy idea, one that might get him and a few others into the Apostles’ compound.
Shining his light inside, he saw that the walls and ceilings appeared stable, so he walked in and found his way backstage, stepping around broken chandeliers and toppled sets. In the costume room, he filled two boxes with clothing and props from the Halloween show, then carried them across Madland and out to his truck. He placed his booty in the bed, then turned and started back into the park, nearly running smack into Justin Martin, his face pale except for a purpling welt on the side of his head.
“You all right, son?”
The boy’s customary smile was gone, replaced by a sullen glare that made the hairs on the back of Tom’s neck get ticklish.
“You all right?” he repeated.
The Martin boy’s lip curled up in a mock smile, and without answering, he pushed past Tom. A moment later, a car door slammed, an engine gunned, and the teen’s black Mustang peeled out across the lot. Tom whistled, low. Something strange is going on there.
“Tom!”
He turned at the sound of Henry Running Deer’s voice. “Hey, Henry.”
“Who was that?”
“Damn fool kid. How’re we doing?”
“The animals should be arriving at your place any minute now, and all the buildings have been checked.” Henry shook his head. “Man, we were lucky. No serious injuries in the park. No deaths; at least we don’t think so.”
“That’s good news,” Tom said as he and Henry began walking down the access road behind Main Street. “Anybody still inside?”
“We’re standing two-man guard all night. Shorty and I are up first. That is, when he gets back from your place.”
“Good planning,” Tom said, his mind mostly on Marie. He wanted to get back to the ranch and give his half-baked plan some thought. “Have you seen Carlo anywhere? He came in with me.”
“Oh, yeah. He left a message for you, said to tell you he’ll meet you at the ranch later. He took off on his motorcycle. I think you just missed him.”
“Where’d he go?”
Henry shook his head. “He didn’t say.”
They stood behind the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, and Tóm glanced at the back door. “Well, I guess there’s no point to looking in there for him.”
“Did you hear that?” Henry cocked his head at the sound of gunfire.
“Come on,” Tom whispered. Hunkering into the shadows, he led the way up the side of Carlo’s building. As they approached the sidewalk, an engine roared and a vehicle’s bright headlights splashed against the broken buildings. Another round fired, closer now. Quickly he and Henry backed into the shadows.
A few seconds passed and the vehicle came into view. It was a white van, and it pulled to a stop two doors down in the middle of the street. White-robed, hooded figures piled out of it, two carrying automatic weapons, six more holding long sticks that Tom mistook momentarily for baseball bats.
He heard the slosh of liquid, caught the sharp tang of gasoline in the air, then one of the sticks flared with fire, followed by another and another. The Apostles fanned out on the street, singing a hymn that sounded vaguely like “Onward Christian Soldiers.”
“Tom!”
Henry’s whisper just about made Tom jump out of his boots. “What?”
“I’m going to get the fire department. You staying here or what?”
Tom stared at the figures, listened to their singing voices, heartsick as he watched the candy store across the street catch fire. “When I settle with the insurance company, you’re a witness, Henry. This fire’s no act of God.”
Henry nodded. “Let’s go!”
He followed Henry into the parking lot. The stuntman hopped in his Four-Runner and was speeding out of the lot before Tom even turned his key. Maybe, he thought, Madland wouldn’t go up since the wooden buildings were rain-soaked. Maybe, but I doubt it.
And as he pulled out of the parking lot, he saw flames dancing in his rearview mirror.
127
Marie Lopez
MARIE AND EVE HAD BEEN READY TO LEAVE AN HOUR EARLIER, BUT just as she was about to set Eve on Rex’s back, a van full of Apostles came down the road and turned on Old Madelyn. It wasn’t long before she heard gunshots, then smelled smoke. Numb, she and Eve listened to distant sirens and watched the flames consume the park. The van soon returned, but she still couldn’t leave because the Apostles were watching the fire too. She didn’t dare make a run for it, not with the weapons they were carrying; they would cut her, Eve, and Rex down instantly.
Now Madland was dark, the Apostles invisible. Leaving Dorsey to mind the sheep, Marie lifted Eve onto Rex, then climbed up herself. “Here we go,” she whispered, as they set off cross-country toward Tom’s place.
128
Alexandra Manderley
SHE AWOKE IN DARKNESS, HER HEAD ACHING, HER BODY STIFF from lying on the cold, hard floor. The only sound was
breathing; her own and someone else’s.
“Hello?” Alex whispered, getting to her feet. There was no reply, only a catch in the soft, ragged breaths. She massaged the numbness out of one arm, then pressed her fingers against her throbbing forehead, a chemical stink still in her nostrils.
“Who’s there?” She waited. “Please, who’s there? I won’t hurt you.”
“Alex?” an uncertain voice asked.
“Cassie? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“Where are we?”
“In the compound,” Cassie managed, her voice tinged with pain. “They’re going to crucify us.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow.”
Alex felt along the walls for a light switch. “Are you sure?” “Yes. Alex, have you seen Eve?”
“No, but don’t worry. Moss is looking for her.” Her fingers found the switch and flipped it. Light bloomed overhead, making her squint.
Cassie was propped in a corner, bruised and battered, her gaze not on Alex but on the opposite corner. “Dear God,” she whispered. “It’s Janet Wister, from the diner.”
Alex saw a plump, middle-aged woman lying on her back, her clothing torn and muddy, her face mottled blue and purple. “The UFO waitress?” she asked, crossing to the woman and kneeling beside her. Two dark bullet holes, one in the shoulder, another in her abdomen, had stopped bleeding. Blood had jelled over the wounds.
“Yes, that’s her.” Cassie watched, her eyes wide. “Is she . . . ?”
Alex felt Janet’s neck for a pulse. Finding none, she nodded.
“I thought so. I heard her breathing for a little while, then she just stopped. Just like that.”
Alex crossed to Cassie, concerned about the dazed tone, the shock in her voice. Only when she squatted beside her did she see the extent of the other woman’s injuries.
“Alex,” Cassie said, staring at the corpse. “That’s why you’re here.”
Thunder Road Page 44
