Nightwalker 3

by Frank Roderus

  Wolfe had not expected her to accompany him to begin with, although apparently she felt some obligation to do so.

  “I’ll see all of you later on, then,” he said. He bent to pick up his rucksack and turned to the boy. “Lead on, Billy. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The house was small, an aging frame structure that looked like it might have been built in the 1930’s. There were tangles of weeds and dried up flower plants in beds across the front of the tiny yard and in front of the porch. A rocking chair sat to one side of the front door. A screen door with a ragged tear in the metal screen fabric stood very slightly ajar. The wooden door behind was open.

  Wolfe felt a sadness looking at the house and thinking about what had been before and never would be again.

  “Was the owner of the house one of those who went away after the war?”

  “No, sir, Mrs. Wilcox died. She had the sugar diabetes, and after the war she couldn’t get no more, um…no more of the medicine she needed.”

  “Insulin?”

  “Yeah, somethin’ like that, anyway.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Wolfe before, but people all over the country who were dependent upon medications would have found themselves without the prescriptions they took so casually for granted. Took for granted until that day when artificial suns flashed in so many places, that is. After that, a great many of them must have succumb to their diseases.

  “Thanks for showing me the way,” Wolfe said.

  “Can I ask you somethin’, mister?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is there…I mean, you been over there, you seen those people. Are they like everybody says? A-are they gonna come here and kill us?”

  Wolfe laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We are going to see if we can’t keep them from doing that, Billy.”

  “I guess...” The kid turned his head away and stared off into the distance. “I guess when you think about it, it don’t make much difference if they do or they don’t.”

  Wolfe shuddered. What a horrible thing for a little boy to feel.

  “We’ll all do what we can, son. We’ll do our very best.”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy said, his voice empty of hope.

  He turned and walked away, leaving Wolfe to find his own way indoors.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The inside of the house was almost as dreary as its exterior. There was one great difference Wolfe saw between this little place, though, and all those he’d come across since he’d walked out of that mine tunnel into a world that was upside down: this house had been searched and emptied of all that was valuable—that was only to be expected—but here, there was no vandalism. Elsewhere, it looked like the roving bands of brigands, wanderers and vagabonds picked through the contents of abandoned properties with deliberately malicious intent. Drawers were not simply opened. They were yanked out and spilled onto the floor. Closets were not investigated. They were emptied, with their contents strewn about the room. Beds were stripped of their sheets, mattresses overturned in the hope of finding something, anything, hidden there.

  In this tidy little house, the neighbors who came to pick through Mrs. Wilcox’s belongings did so with a modicum of respect, perhaps even with love for the departed lady. Wolfe liked that. It spoke well of the people of Delaney.

  He looked into the kitchen and the pantry. There was absolutely no point in doing that; he did it anyway. You never knew. The only things still in the pantry were a box of toothpicks, and on the floor some cleaning products. Silver polish, Bon Ami, and a few jars with small amounts of dark liquid pooled in them—these could have been almost anything.

  He knew better than to open the ancient refrigerator; he looked inside it anyway. The shelves were bare. The tiny freezer compartment held only a pair of dry, empty ice cube trays. There was a sour stink from an old spill of some unknown material.

  There were curtains at the kitchen window. The window must once have looked out onto the backyard. Now, the view was of a dark room, a lean-to that had been tacked onto the house where a porch might originally have been. The added room held a daybed, a sewing machine, and a rack where a number of shapeless house dresses were hanging.

  The living room was bright, with drapes pulled over the windows and a mountain of overstuffed pillows arranged on the sofa, and an upholstered easy chair. An old-fashioned television set with a rounded, fishbowl-type screen dominated one wall. Surrounding it were dozens of framed photographs: scrubbed children, picnic scenes, many of a pleasant-looking man. Some of the pictures of the man showed him as a very young soldier; others chronicled his aging.

  “And then there were none,” Wolfe said aloud.

  He went into the one bedroom. The bed was a double, the mattress feather-soft. It might have been a genuine feather mattress, actually. There were braided rugs on the floor, an alarm clock on the bedside table. The clock, an electric model, was stopped at two-seventeen. The time of the nuclear explosions? He could not remember, and anyway, it would have been different bombs that disturbed things down here. Probably the ones that crippled Delaney were the ones targeted to Salt Lake City.

  A clean and very lovely quilt was spread over the bed. Wolfe looked at it and very quickly decided he did not want to disturb the handmade quilt, nor anything else that was here. Not any more than he positively had to. Besides, this room was the brightest and the lightest in the house. If he went into the back and slept in the little add-on sewing room, he would be comfortable on the daybed and would be able to remove his goggles, as well.

  He dropped his rucksack in the living room, this obviously a community where theft would not be a problem, and returned to the dark little lean-to so that he could get some badly-needed sleep. There was no telling when the men from Paradise would come. He wanted to be rested and ready to receive them whenever that proved to be. The dog agreed, jumping onto the daybed before Wolfe could secure his spot.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was not the men from Paradise who came for him. Rather, it was the men from Delaney.

  Wolfe woke to find a half-dozen men crowded into or near the little lean-to where he was sleeping. He sat up, blinking, and pulled the dark goggles over his eyes. The door the men opened was emitting too much light for comfort.

  “What is it? Are they coming?”

  “Why don’t you tell us?” A stalky, middle-aged man demanded.

  Wolfe had met him earlier, but could not recall his name now. He was balding with a round, red-cheeked face. He did not look cherubic in the slightest, and the shotgun in his hand made a Santa Claus impression unlikely. Especially since the gun was pointed at Wolfe’s chest.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Spy!” one of the others snapped, mouthing the word as if it were a curse.

  “Traitor!” another one added.

  “What the devil are you people talking about?” Wolfe asked, a little peevish himself after being dragged out of a sound sleep so he could listen to these rather silly accusations.

  “Come with us.” The bald man, his name was…it began with a ‘C’, Wolfe was fairly sure about that. Not Charlie, though. Carl? Casey? Kent! That was it. Not exactly a ‘C’, then, but the sound was close enough. Kent.

  Kent took Wolfe by the upper arm and pulled. Just because he did not like the man’s attitude, Wolfe resisted the tugging and braced himself. Kent might as well have been pulling on the wall of the house for all the good he accomplished.

  “Would you care to tell me what’s going on here?” Wolfe asked.

  “You’re a spy for them turkeys over in Tifton and we know it! We got you figured, mister. You come in here pretending to be our friend, you find out how many of us there are and what we’re armed with. You even come up with a defensive plan that sounds good, except since you and that redhead both know what it is, you’ll be proposing to us they will be ready for it. Just sweep right around and get behind us and then we’re done for. Isn’t that the way yo
u planned it? Isn’t it?!”

  “Have you been smokin’ somethin’ funny, mister?” Wolfe asked. “You must have been to come up with somethin’ like that. Smokin’ that left-handed tobacco or maybe drinkin’ Sterno? You’re having hallucinations, whatever the cause.”

  “You’re the one in trouble, here,” Kent insisted. But he did not try to pull on Wolfe’s arm again. “Now come along. The council wants to talk to you.”

  Wolfe sighed. He’d been enjoying the sleep. He really was, but it was shattered now, good and proper. Reluctantly, he stood up, yawned, and took time for a good stretch. None of the men from Delaney seemed to realize when he stretched his arms wide that he could have taken hold of a couple of them, and used their bodies to batter the others unconscious before any of them had time to react. Wolfe had not come here to commit mayhem, though. He merely wanted to help Rebecca and get a little back at Mistress Alethia and her bully boys. It was beginning to look, though, like these Delaney boys didn’t want to play nice. If it was going to be like that, there was no reason why Wolfe wouldn’t just pick up his toys, such as they were, and leave. He didn’t owe these people anything.

  He glanced at the dog, another danger these Delaney fellows didn’t seem to recognize as a threat. The animal was beside the foot of the bed where Wolfe had been sleeping. It was in a crouch, the hair on the back of its neck standing stiffly upright. One menacing move toward Wolfe and the dog would be at somebody’s throat.

  “It’s okay, boy.” Wolfe bent and rubbed the dog’s head. It relaxed and began to wag its tail. He straightened and gave the men a cold look. “You said something about the council?”

  He shoved his way through them, the dog close on his heels, and led the way back to the café where the Delaney public gathering seemed to be held.

  Chapter Thirty

  A group of men sat there in chairs arranged so there was one empty table facing them and a chair placed so that it faced the Delaney council. Bill Adams, the Reverend Adams, sat in the center, with Tom Hardesty beside him. An empty chair to Adams’s left was quickly taken by the man whose name Wolfe thought was Kent.

  There were no women in evidence, nor were there any sounds of children coming from the kitchen. He gathered this bunch was serious in their newfound belief that he meant them harm.

  Wolfe sat in the chair that was so obviously intended for him. He sat with his hands on top of the table, fingers laced loosely together. He felt no inclination to make things any easier for them by asking questions or making accusations. This was their idea; they could start the ball rolling if and when they wished.

  After a minute or so, Bill Adams cleared his throat. “We, um, we have some questions to put to you, Mr. Wolfe.”

  “All right.”

  “You say you were taken by Alethia’s people, and subtly questioned to determine if you were spying for us?”

  “That’s right,” Wolfe agreed. “You can ask Rebecca about that. I hadn’t known what they were doing until she told me about it.”

  “And you say you were only passing through when you encountered some of the Paradise men, who took you with them and introduced you to their leader?”

  “Correct again,” Wolfe said. “It was somewhere north of Paradise where they found me. I was on my way down from the Federal Command station at the edge of the clear area up there.”

  “Where you are wanted for murder, among other things,” Kent interjected, his voice sharp and accusing.

  Wolfe nodded. “Among other things. That charge was trumped up by some renegades named Alston. They have their own personal reasons for wanting me taken. The FEDCOM wants me for a murder they genuinely believe I committed. It was the Alstons who did it, not me.”

  “These Alstons also have a reward posted for your capture. Is that correct?” Kent asked.

  “News travels fast, even without telephones and radio, doesn’t it?” Wolfe said.

  “And I suppose you are innocent in these matters?”

  “The killings I’ve done, and there have been several including two Alston brothers, were all done in self-defense. I would do the same things again if given the same choices.”

  “So you claim,” Kent said. There was acid in his voice.

  “That’s right. So I do indeed claim,” Wolfe responded.

  “Ms. Morrison tells us you left a man alive in Paradise.”

  “Did she also tell you that I had to kill another one there?”

  “We questioned her closely. She did not herself examine that man to ascertain that he was dead. The whole thing could have been done for show, just to convince her, and through her, convince us that you are what you claim to be. I find it very curious that you would have left a living enemy behind. One capable of raising an alarm and a pursuit when you could have avoided that danger by dispatching him.”

  Wolfe smiled. Not that there was any mirth in the expression. He shook his head.

  “First you accuse me because I’m said to have killed people, now you accuse me because I didn’t murder someone. Which is it to be, Mr. Kent? You can’t have it both ways.”

  “My name is Laffrey. Kent Laffrey, and I suggest you speak respectfully to this council."

  “Then I, sir, suggest you earn respect. So far, I don’t see any reason to give you any.”

  “Reverend!” Laffrey complained. “This man is not to be trusted. We cannot base our entire defense on ideas he’s given us. I still feel that plan could well have been proposed by Alethia herself. Wolfe is only trying to carry out her desires, perhaps in an attempt to ingratiate himself to her. In any event, I think we should adopt the defense that I suggested to begin with.”

  “You people can come up with any plans that please you,” Wolfe put in. “All I want to do is go home. This is all I’ve been trying to do ever since the war. Why don’t I make us all happy and just walk away from here? You folks can fight it out with that Paradise crowd however you damn well please.”

  “Let you go?” Kent Laffrey said. “What, so you can run back to your leader and tell her she can’t expect us to be lined up in the alleys along Main Street, ready for her killers to pick off from behind? Give you time to warn her so she can prepare a whole new plan to murder us all? I don’t think so, Mr. Wolfe. I really do not think we would be so stupid as to do that!”

  Wolfe sighed. “Mister, I tried to help out. But to tell you the truth, at this point, I don’t care what happens to any of you. Not this Delaney crowd and certainly not those killers over in Paradise.”

  “We will need to consider everything that has been said here,” Reverend Adams said. “We need time to do that. I think it would be best, Mr. Wolfe, if you were to remain in isolation until we reach our conclusions.”

  “In jail, you mean.”

  “We have no jail here.”

  “In isolation, then,” Wolfe corrected himself.

  “Isolation,” Adams repeated. “Yes, that is a rather pleasant way to put it. Would you be willing to do that?”

  “Or would you rather we blow your head off now instead of later?” Laffrey snarled.

  “Let me guess,” Wolfe said, looking calmly into Laffrey’s eyes. “Diplomacy isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

  “Please cooperate,” Adams said. “No harm will come to you, you have my word on that.”

  “I believe you are a man of your word, sir, but will your hot-headed friend honor your word, too?”

  “Kent?”

  Laffrey hesitated for a moment, then dropped his eyes. “All right, Bill. You’ve made a promise on behalf of the council. I won’t be the one to break it.” He glared at Wolfe. “But if he tries anything, we will shoot to kill. I want that understood.”

  Wolfe stood. He did not wait to be herded away like a criminal. He knew good and well he would be going back to that gas station supply room next door. And on the positive side of things, maybe he could finish that good sleep Laffrey and his frightened friends interrupted a little while earlier.

  Chapter Thirty-O
ne

  It was a good hour past dark before he heard voices outside his door. A moment later, there was the sound of a bolt being withdrawn, and Becca came in carrying a basket and a candle burning in a hurricane lamp. Just outside, Wolfe could see a guard seated on a lawn chair. He held a shotgun across his lap. Becca set the lamp on a shelf, and closed the door behind her.

  “I’m sorry. I tried to tell them, but Mr. Laffrey wouldn’t listen to me. Why would they do something like that? Why?”

  Wolfe shrugged. “I don’t suppose it really matters why. If I had to guess, I’d say the real cause is jealousy. Laffrey has some plan of his own. A stranger coming along with a different idea, especially a better idea, makes him look foolish, or anyway, makes him think others will believe him to be foolish. He wouldn’t want to allow that. Heck, this could be the first time in his life he’s ever been in a position where people listen to him. Now he’s on the council, taking charge, defending the town, people looking up to him, and some stranger tries to minimize what he’s done.” Wolfe sighed. “I doubt that it has anything to do with me, really. I suspect it’s a matter of Laffrey and an easily-bruised ego.”

  “I want you to know I really did try.”

  “I believe you.”

  “They will let you out once the danger’s over. I’m sure of that.”

  Wolfe snorted. “Becca, judging from what I’ve seen so far, the danger will be over when the Paradise crowd either kills or captures all the people in Delaney. They will keep the ones they want and execute the rest, just like they did in Tifton. If that happens, girl, you will be back where you were, or worse. There’s no telling what that woman might do to you by way of punishment for having fled her version of Paradise. And, of course, they will kill me on the spot and sell my corpse to the Alstons for whatever they can get, or mess me up and sell me to the Alstons still living. To tell you the truth, I think I’d rather end it here than go through whatever fun and games Ralph and Ed would come up with.”