Thunder Road

by Thorne, Tamara

  “What?”

  “You’re her replacement. There are two crosses in the church. They tied me to one for a little while, to try it out, I guess, but tomorrow they’re going to use nails.” Tears washed over her bruised cheeks. “I’m sure they are. Marie was here,” she added without pausing for breath. “I saw her twice. Once as a prisoner and later in a robe. Did she get out?”

  “I hope so.” Cassie was near delirium, and Alex did her best to soothe her. “Moss will be here soon. He’s coming for you. He knows you’re here.”

  “It won’t do him any good. They’re all armed.”

  More tears flowed as Alex removed her denim jacket and draped it over Cassie’s bare shoulders.

  “We’re getting out of here, don’t worry. Can you walk?”

  Cassie shook her head. “My ankle’s wrenched or maybe broken.”

  Alex looked at the dark swollen leg and knew there was no way Cassie would be walking out of here. Forcing a smile, she rose and crossed to the door, tried it unsuccessfully.

  “The guards might hear you,” Cassie whispered. “Don’t rattle the knob.”

  Alex nodded, and studied the dead bolt above the knob. Drawing a bobby pin from her hair, she set to work.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” Cassie asked.

  “Haven’t a clue, but it’s all we’ve got.”

  129

  James Robert Sinclair

  HE HAD BROKEN BREAD AND DRUNK WINE WITH HIS MOST TRUSTED Apostles. Sinclair had enjoyed their company, even that of his Judas, and as he made his way toward the church to deliver his final pre-Apocalyptic sermon, he knew that everything was in order, even those things that he dreaded. The course was set.

  “James?”

  He stopped walking and turned to survey Hannibal Caine. “Yes?”

  “After the sermon, I wonder if I might have a word with you in private.”

  And so it begins. Sinclair smiled gently. “Yes, of course. Where?”

  “In the steeple tower, perhaps? It’s a beautiful night. It would be pleasant to look out at the stars one final time.”

  “Very well,” Sinclair said, feeling the faint, fleeting edge of sorrow. “Very well.”

  130

  Tom Abernathy

  THERE WAS A HORSE AND RIDER LEADING A SECOND HORSE ON THE ranch road, and as Tom pulled closer, the rider turned and stared at his lights, then trotted south about twenty yards.

  “Who the hell is that?” Tom murmured as he pulled up parallel with the rider. He stopped, idling the truck in the road, and rolled down his windows. “You’re on private property! Identify yourself!” He squinted into the darkness, unable to see more than vague shadows.

  “Cowboy! It is you!”

  Marie galloped toward him, and he could hardly get the door open fast enough, almost tripping on his own boots as he got out. When she was ten feet away, he saw that she had a child riding in front of her. It can’t be! But it was. “Eve! You two are a sight for sore eyes!”

  Marie swung off Rex and lifted the child down to the ground.

  “Is my mommy here?” she asked as Tom scooped her up.

  “Not yet, honey.” Holding the girl in one arm, he grabbed Marie around the waist and buried his face in her hair. “I was afraid I’d never see you again. I was about out of my mind.”

  She looked up at him, eyes shining. “Thanks, Tom. I like knowing that.”

  Reluctantly he let go of her, peering at the riderless horse. “Tess?”

  “She was grazing in your north field. I found her on my way down here. She throw a rider?”

  “I don’t know. Alex Manderley rode her out this morning and never came back.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “It’s the Apostles, isn’t it?”

  Marie nodded, then reached up and put her finger to his lips, glancing meaningfully at Eve.

  Another set of headlights appeared on Tom’s road. Tensing, he placed Eve in his truck, then walked out to meet the vehicle. Behind him, he heard Marie cock her rifle. His own hand resting on his holstered revolver, he waited.

  “I think it’s got a light bar on top,” Marie announced.

  “Yep.” Tom sighed in relief. “It’s Moss.”

  The chief pulled up and Tom walked to the window. “Marie and Eve just showed up.”

  “Thank God. What happened to them?”

  “Don’t know yet. Let’s get to the house.”

  “And that’s how we got away,” Marie told Tom, Moss, and Davy Styles fifteen minutes later as they sat in flickering lantern light in Tom’s den.

  Moss stroked his sleeping daughter’s hair and she unconsciously snuggled harder against his chest. “So you think Cass is safe until the eclipse?”

  Marie nodded. “Probably. And I think that’s where Alex is too. They probably took her to replace me.” She paused. “Where’s Carlo?”

  “You got me,” Tom replied. “He’s supposed to be back here later; that’s all I know.”

  “Damn fool’s probably trying to rescue Alex by himself,” Moss said. “Maybe I’d better try to get in again.”

  “Fool’s errand,” Marie told him. “They’d shoot you down before you could say boo. That’s what they did to Janet Wister and her friends.”

  Moss nodded. “Dole’s dead too. Looked like an accident, but I don’t think so.”

  “Colonel Dole?” Tom asked in surprise.

  “Car wreck on the desert above Madland.”

  “Daddy?” Eve interrupted sleepily. “Is he an officer? He said he was.”

  “You talked to him?”

  “After the bad people took Mommy, I got lost and he found me. He was gonna bring me to you, then the bad people got him, too.” She paused. “Daddy, he said to tell you he wasn’t a bad man.”

  “Evie,” Moss said gently. “Did you see who took Mommy?”

  “That icky old man with the big nose that we saw at Madland. He had soldier clothes on.” She closed her eyes and snuggled against his chest, thumb corked in her mouth.

  Marie glanced at the others. “When’s the morning serve-ice? We can get in then, if we can’t before.”

  Moss shook his head. “Nope.” He told her about the sign posted on the compound gate.

  “Damn.” Marie pushed a lock of hair from her face. “Then we have to get them out before the service. The sooner the better.”

  “You didn’t find any of those fabled secret passages, did you, Marie?” Tom asked, rubbing his chin.

  “No, but I’m sure they exist. The place is a regular honeycomb, hidden doors all over the place. I did find a room full of weapons—the illegal kind,” she added, glancing at Moss. “And they’re already using them.”

  “Did you ever get a look at Sinclair?” Moss asked:

  She shook her head. “No. I almost think he doesn’t know what Caine and Blandings are up to. It’s just a hunch, though.”

  “Can I put Eve down in the other room?” the chief asked Tom. “She needs to sleep, and I don’t want to chance her having more nightmares than she’s already stuck with.”

  “I’ll take her,” Davy said. Taking a lantern, he carried the child from the room.

  Baskerville leaned forward. “Here’s how it is. Martial law’s in effect. We’ve got a nine-o’clock curfew, and we have some of the townsfolk patrolling the streets. In the morning they’ll start searching for wounded and the dead in earnest. The town’s pretty much a wreck. I’d say fifty percent of the houses are still livable, half the businesses are all right.” He hesitated, then fixed his gaze on Tom. “I’m sorry about Madland. Did you see who torched it?”

  The hollow spot in Tom’s gut returned. There had been nothing he or anyone else could do except stand back and watch it burn. “White van full of Apostles. Didn’t see any faces.”

  Moss shook his head as Davy returned. “I’d love to get my hands on those goddamned murdering bastards. Here’s the problem: We’re cut off. The only radio station back on the air is that strong one in Los Angele
s, and it says we had a seven point one, centered around the Cajon Pass. That’s a good piece south of us, so I guess everything from Riverside County up to Kern County has been affected. Palmdale and Lancaster are messes, and from what the newsman said, nothing’s left in Victorville, and San Bernardino and Barstow are almost as bad.”

  “So we got off easy?” Marie asked.

  “Appears so. Our big problem now is that whatever we do, we’re on our own, probably for some time to come. I’m not going to be able to call in backup from other cities, even when the phones start working again. National Guard’s busy where they really got hit. So what I want to know is this, folks: Now that they’re hot opening the compound up in the morning, how are we going to get into that compound and effect a rescue?”

  “Well, I had me a little idea,” Tom drawled. “It’s kinda crazy, but it might work. Davy, there’re two boxes in the truck bed. Would you mind fetching them?”

  “No problem.” The ranch manager left the room.

  “So what’s in the boxes, cowboy?” Marie was sitting right next to him, and he loved feeling the warmth of her against his shoulder and thigh. Casually he put his arm back, resting it on the couch behind her. He felt like a thirteen-year-old, but that was all right: As soon as he told them what he had in mind, he’d be feeling more like a ten-year-old.

  “Spill the beans, Abernathy,” Moss asked.

  “Well, it’s a way to get into the gates.”

  “Spit it out, Tom,” Marie said.

  “It’ll put at least four of us in a whole lotta danger, and I don’t know if it’ll work.”

  “Look who I found,” Davy said as he entered and set down a large carton marked “Langtry Theater” in front of Tom. Behind him, also carrying a box, was Father Mike Corey. He placed it beside the first carton.

  “Tom, I was hoping you could spare some kerosene for the campground,” said the young priest.

  “Sure. But can you sit a minute, Mike? I’d like your input on my plan.”

  First he brought Corey up-to-date on the kidnappings by the Apostles, then he reluctantly reclaimed his arm and bent forward, fiddling absently with a drift of black fabric topping one crate. “I was checking the theater, and I decided to go inside because it seemed to me there were a bunch of people working on the scenery today. It wasn’t hard to get in—it withstood the quake relatively well. I went poking around, but nobody was there. In back, all the racks of costumes had fallen over, and one item in particular caught my eye.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Moss asked impatiently. “Don’t tell a good story, just give me the facts.”

  “Calm down,” Tom drawled. “We can’t do anything until tomorrow anyway. Not if you want to go with this. I saw this.” Lifting the black material, he pulled out a fancy rubber skull mask.

  “I don’t get it,” Marie said.

  “Well, then, does this give you a clue?” He pulled out a dull copper helmet.

  “You stole a prop from Camelot?” Moss asked dryly.

  “Tom, would you happen to have a crown in there?” Father Mike asked, beginning to smile. “Or maybe a bow and arrow?”

  He grinned. “Everything but a set of balances. One of us will have to raid the drugstore for that.”

  “Did you get a scythe?”

  “Halloween props. Most of the robes came from there. There’s makeup and a couple portable microphones. Even got some smoke bombs.”

  “Me too,” Marie said. “But what’s all this for?”

  “A little self-fulfilling prophecy, I guess. Father Mike, you tell them. You sure as heck know all about this stuff.”

  The priest smiled. “Who are the Apostles expecting tomorrow?”

  “Who will they throw open their gates for?” Tom added.

  “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” Marie said, wonder in her voice. “That’s brilliant, Tom.”

  “You really think those people will buy it? What kind of person honestly takes that stuff literally?” Moss asked, examining the mask.

  “The Apostles do,” Davy said. “Even if their leaders don’t, the followers have bought into it, and they’re going to open the gates when they see the Horsemen. I’d bet my life on it.”

  “We’re betting a lot of lives on it,” Tom said solemnly. “Davy, see if Sinclair’s station is up and running. I’m sure it is. He’s not going to miss out on a captive audience, and the radio tower’s in easy reach. He probably had that thing fixed within an hour after the quake.”

  Davy tuned in, and sure enough, there it was. The choir was singing part of the Hallelujah Chorus.

  “I’ll be damned,” Moss said.

  The music ended, and Sinclair’s voice filled the room, more passionate than usual. “My friends, tomorrow the Horsemen ride. God has told me this and more. The Living Savior is among you, ready to forgive you in the name of God. The Lamb of God is manifest and He has no will of his own, only God’s will. And God’s will shall be done, my friends. No one may stop it, not you, nor I. Tomorrow, as the sun disappears and day turns into night, the Horsemen shall ride down from heaven and across Thunder Road, to the place of the Chosen Apostles. Be here at nine A.M., friends and neighbors, that you, too, shall find salvation. Our final Communion begins at eleven-thirty.”

  “Sounds like Sinclair doesn’t know about that sign saying they’re closed to the public,” Tom said, glancing Moss’s way.

  “Interesting,” Moss said. “Do you really think this plan of yours will work, Tom?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it’s the best we’ve got. We do it just like Sinclair says, except we come out of Spirit Canyon instead of Heaven. We ride, they open the gates, we ride right into that church of theirs and take back our own. By the time they figure out what’s going on, we’re out of there.” He paused, then added, “If we’re lucky.”

  “I wonder if Sinclair plans to do in his congregation,” Mike said. “That’s very common historically, in this sort of situation.”

  “Jim Jones,” Marie said. “David Koresh.”

  “Could be,” Moss grunted. “There’s no way to know.”

  “We’re likely to end up dead if we try this,” Tom said, “so this has got to be a volunteer thing. I’ll supply the horses, and dress as Death. Belle’s a pale horse, just like in the Bible.”

  “Who rides the black horse?” Marie asked.

  “Mike?” Tom asked. “I’m not sure which is which, beyond the pale rider.”

  Marie smiled at him. “Tom got his biblical training from Clint Eastwood.”

  “And I’m proud of it.”

  “Besides the pale rider, there are Famine, who rides a black horse, War, on a red horse, and Pestilence, on a white horse.”

  “Rex and I’ll take Famine, then,” Marie said.

  “Marie,” Tom began. “I can’t have you risking your life—”

  “You’re risking yours, cowboy, and you’re not doing it without me. Besides, I know the place.”

  “I haven’t been on a horse in twenty years,” Moss said, “but I’ll do one.”

  “No offense,” Tom said, “but I think it’d be better if you and Al are waiting in the wings to snag the head honchos if you can. You can create a diversion while we’re leaving, if necessary, too.”

  “I’ll do it,” Davy announced.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thanks, I’ll accept your offer.”

  “I’ll go too,” Father Mike offered.

  “Can you ride?”

  “No, not really.”

  “This might call for some fancy horse work,” Tom explained. “It’d be best if you tended to the community. But I sure do appreciate the offer.”

  Mike looked relieved.

  “We’ll worry about getting the last rider later,” Tom said. “Mad Dog or Henry will be up for it. I’ll supply the right color horses. Tess is a bloodstone chestnut; she can be War. And I’ve got a great white filly, Diamond Lil, for Pestilence.”r />
  “So let’s start strategizing,” Marie said.

  “I’m due to make another pass through town,” Moss said.

  Father Mike rose. “And I should get back to Ray’s.”

  “Come on,” Davy offered. “We’ll get the kerosene.”

  Tom looked at Marie. “I guess it’s just you and me, partner.”

  She smiled softly, but didn’t reply.

  Walking Moss out to his car, Tom stared at the chief. “We’ll get Cass back, Moss. That’s a promise.”

  The chief looked old and tired as he halfheartedly attempted a smile. “You always were a great storyteller, Tom. Now you’re proposing to act one out. Hope you can do that as well.”

  “Believe me, so do I.” Tom looked toward the compound. The cross was glowing dimly. “Generators,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Moss replied. “Hey, get a look at the moon.”

  Tom turned and stared, his neck prickling up as he saw the color of the disk. Except for an infinitesimal crescent of brilliant white, the moon was a dark, dusky red. He knew it was due to the changing weather and dust in the atmosphere from the quake, but it gave him the creeps.

  “Blood on the moon,” Moss murmured.

  “One of the signs of the Apocalypse, if I remember my Sunday schooling correctly,” Tom said, ice in his gut. What if it’s true? He couldn’t believe he was even considering such a thing.

  “You a religious man, Tom?”

  “Not church religious. I go sit in the hills by myself to commune with, well, God, nature, whatever it is that’s behind everything.”

  “I’m an old Presbyterian, I suppose, and, Tom, this is starting to get under my skin. I know Sinclair’s a nutcase, but I wish you could’ve met the guy. I wish I had your take on him.”

  “You will tomorrow. You don’t think he’s legit, do you?”

  “No, but something’s going on here that I don’t understand, and if you tell anybody that, I’ll skin you alive.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tom said slowly. “I feel it, too, but I’m inclined to believe it has more to do with natural things than supernatural.” He paused. “For instance, today’s quake. My skin went up all cold and clammy seconds before it hit. I can’t explain it, but I know it probably has to do with magnetics or air pressure, something someone like Alex could explain.”