by Castle, Jack
Wally did, and he tossed them to her. As she slipped them on Miss Becca studied the body for a moment longer and then asked Mr. Wally, “Looks like he was a mechanic who worked here. You know him?”
Wally studied the dead man’s sunken face. “I think I might’ve seen him in the diner once or twice, but no, not really.”
Then, studying the words painted in blood, Wally asked, speaking more to himself than the other two adults. “Ube-err?What the heck is an Ube-err?”
Mr. Leonard winced, scratched his thick charcoal beard roughly and said, “I think it’s enunciated slowly, Ewww-Bar.” Peyton noted that his face appeared troubled. “The Lost City of Ubar, it’s a city mentioned in the Bible. It’s…”
Mr. Leonard started to say more but then looked straight at her and seemed to remember an adolescent was in the room. Ugh. Adults. Most likely he thought a teenager couldn’t handle it. She decided not to ask him about it for now, but she would definitely ask him more about it later.
Stupid, stupid adults. They’re the worst.
‘I know, right?’ Peyton heartily agreed. ‘Wait. Who said that?’
But before Peyton could figure out who this second voice was in her head was the big lineman surprised her when he answered her question. “The Lost City of Ubar, it’s mentioned both in the Bible and the Qur’an.”
Permanently breaking her cloak of invisibility, Peyton asked, “Que-ran? What’s that?”
“The Islamic Bible,” Miss Becca answered. Now she, too, was elbow deep in the corpse’s melted goo. Her tone seemed to indicate she did not care for the Islamic religion for some reason, but Peyton was now curious.
Mr. Leonard continued. “The Islamists reference the Lost City of Ubar in their Holy Qur’an. Even the Bedouin who live in the empty region of Saudi Arabia passed down to Lawrence of Arabia the story of the Lost City and how wicked people incurred the wrath of God. Sir Lawrence called it the Atlantis of the Sands.”
“You a Muslim, Big Leonard?” Becca asked. This time Peyton was certain she heard an edge in her voice. Maybe something had happened to her overseas.
“No. Like I told ya earlier,” hooking a thumb to his chest, “I’m a Christian. But I always found it easier sharing the word of God by studying all religions.”
Peyton didn’t really want a sermon right now.
Agreed. Because that certainly feels like what we are getting now.Only an idiot believes in that sort of thing. Hello… twenty-first century calling.
That voice again. He was obviously young. His voice was rich, and smooth. Where had she heard it before? Peyton shook it off. What she really wanted to know was, “And what happened to this city, the Atlantis of the Sands?”
The big lineman tilted his head to the side and roughly scratched his beard, as though deciding whether or not she was ready to hear the truth. She was, damn it. She was just as much in this sinking boat as the rest of them.
Tell her!
In the end, Mr. Leonard must’ve thought so too because he said, “It sank beneath the sands. Some claim it was a natural disaster, others believe it was a punishment from God.”
“That makes sense.” Peyton wasn’t sure where that had come from, she just sorta blurted it out. Seeing how everyone had stopped what they were doing and were all now looking at her, she continued. “I mean, maybe with everything that’s what’s going on, the animal attacks, the way my bus went flying through the air, the tin can hitting you in the head. Think about it, thousands of innocent Indians were slaughtered right here, in this area. Maybe this is some kind of retribution from God.”
Geez, Pey-Pey, when are they going to stop treating you like a little kid.
Pey-Pey? No one had called her that in years. Again she dismissed the inner voice. Outwardly, she noticed that for once, the adults had nothing to say. So she said it for them. “Have you thought about… what I mean to say is… what if, like… what if the whole world is like this?”
No one answered, and Mr. Wally and Miss Becca now had their arms fully ensconced beneath the burnt corpse.
Breaking the silence, Wally said, “Almost there.” He gagged, and then groaned. “This is just… awful.”
Miss Becca dry heaved a few times but somehow managed to get her stomach back under control. “Wally, I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.”
“I only need a few more seconds. I’ve got my hand on the pistol’s grip but it’s stuck fast.”
“Just rip it out already,” Miss Becca said, practically shouting, and then she quickly added, “Just keep your finger out of the trigger guard when you do.”
Peyton was close to tears but she swore her heart would break before she’d let any of them see her cry again. “I mean, what’s the point in going on? What if this storm never stops, and we vanish just like the people in the Lost City of Ubar?”
The big lineman rested his big meaty paw on her shoulder.
Hello… inappropriate. That Voice again. Did we go to school together?
“Hey, don’t talk like that. This isn’t the end of the world. So far, all we’ve seen is a few crazed animals and a couple people losing their minds. It’s probably just rabies or something. I’m sure by this time tomorrow we’re all going to be safe and sound in Rapid City and have a good story to tell our friends. We just need to hang on a little longer. If there’s one thing I learned about surviving any situation, it’s that you can never lose hope.”
There was a loud sucking noise and Mr. Wally fell backward clutching a large pistol and exclaimed, “I got it!”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Miss Becca allowed herself to fall away from the burned mound of flesh. “I don’t think I could’ve taken much more.”
Big Leonard nodded and gave her a little smile. “See, Peyton, never give up hope.”
Peyton liked the way Mr. Leonard smiled at her. She had never really had much of a father, so she didn’t know what that was like. And most of the time her mom was too busy working at the hospital. But if she could’ve picked a dad at that moment, it would’ve been someone just like Big Leonard. If for nothing else, he made her feel safe.
Oh please. Once this is all over you’ll never see him again.
For a moment Peyton thought she saw the silhouette standing amongst the back shelves. The person casting it was tall and thin.
Mr. Wally shook some of the melted flesh free from the gun and wiped the rest of it off before handing it to Miss Becca. “Here, you’re the resident gun expert.”
“Thanks a lot,” she managed, but took it from him.
When Peyton checked for Mr. Shadow again, he was gone.
Stripping off his rubber gloves Mr. Wally said, “We probably should be heading back.”
The big lineman looked doubtfully out the small window near the ceiling and at the pelting snow. “Storm’s gotten worse; maybe we should hole up here until it simmers down a bit.”
Mr. Wally seemed to think this over a minute before answering. “Probably would be safer if we did, but the others might worry when they find us missing. Some of them might even go out into the storm looking for us, and we can’t have that.”
Peyton couldn’t imagine the middle-aged nerd with the gray ponytail doing anything of the sort but the old cook and his wife might, and they seemed nice enough and she’d feel pretty bad if they got hurt looking for them.
Miss Becca finished wiping down the pistol with an oily rag like she knew what she was doing. Once she got most of the goo off it she held it up, with her trigger finger pointed along the side, and said matter-of-factly, “This is my gun.”
“See, I told you I didn’t take it,” Peyton barked.
Miss Becca’s eyes flicked over to hers. Peyton could tell the military woman still wasn’t so sure. Instead of apologizing like she should have Miss Becca ejected the clip from the handle, counted the bullets in it, and then stuck the clip into her pocket. She then carefully pulled back the slide and saw one round still inside and said, mostly to herself, “One in the chamber, ano
ther six in the magazine. That leaves one round short.” Miss Becca scanned the cement floor and her eyes locked on an empty golden cartridge. Peyton felt herself jump slightly when Miss Becca slammed the clip back into her pistol, lifted her jacket, reached around to her backside, and tucked the pistol into her waistband.
“Hey. Isn’t that evidence or something?” Peyton heard herself ask. Where had that come from? If anything she was glad Miss Becca had another gun, and knew how to use it.
Unfortunately, Miss Becca heard her little outburst. It took her a moment to process what she had said and then locate her.
“I’m pretty sure they’ll be able to figure out what the cause of death was. But don’t worry, once we get out of here, I’ll be sure and turn my weapon over to the authorities.” Miss Becca stared at her evenly as she finished tucking the weapon in her waistband and concealing it beneath her coat. “Until then, this pistol never leaves my side.”
Peyton agreed wholeheartedly with that assessment and thought, Huh, Mrs. Becca still thinks I stole the pistol on the nightstand.
Wally had vanished into the shadows but soon reappeared with a coil of nylon rope. “How about we all tie into this rope, and form a chain? This way none of us gets lost in the storm?”
Peyton wasn’t stupid. Of course Mr. Wally was thinking about her. But now, after seeing the grotesque burned and mutilated body, if anything she was kind of appreciative of his concern and too scared to complain.
“Hey, Peyton, you okay?” Mr. Wally asked her.
Without even realizing it she was clutching the chest of her shirt. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Wait a second, do you hear that?” This time it was Miss Becca. She had her head cocked to one side and a look of determination on her face.
(Remember, she’s deaf in one ear? Remember that?)
Everyone was silent for a few moments, also straining to hear. Finally Big Leonard broke the eerie silence that had gathered amongst them. “I don’t hear anything.”
Miss Becca nodded her head. “Exactly. The storm… I think… I think it died down.”
A sense of relief washed over her and from the look on their faces, everyone else felt the same way. Maybe this thing, whatever you wanted to call it, adventure? No. More like a nightmare; maybe it was finally over.
Mr. Wally cracked the door open and a pile of fresh snow fell inward. He didn’t seem to mind because he stepped over it and outside. Big Leonard and Miss Becca quickly followed right behind him.
Peyton wasn’t sure she wanted to step outside but then remembered the dead body and decided she sure as heck wasn’t about to stay in here with the “crispy-critter”.
As soon as she exited the garage what was immediately apparent was the wind had completely stopped. No, that wasn’t entirely true. The wind was more like… distant. And the snow on the ground was thicker than ever, about to mid-calf.
“Oh my Lord,” Big Leonard said. “It’s like we’re in the eye of a hurricane.”
That was as good a description as any for what they were seeing now. The gas station, the diner across the street, and the motel, were all covered in a thick blanket of snow, but for the most part, seemed relatively unscathed. Behind each building, however, in every direction, was a raging, howling storm wall.
Then she heard Miss Becca ask no one in particular, “Where the hell are they going?”
Peyton turned and saw Becca was facing the diner across the street. All the geezers, the tour guide, and the old dork in the Star Wars T-shirt were all crossing the highway in single-file. They looked so miserable. The way they were all clutching their coats and hats; it reminded her of those black-and-white photos of the holocaust victims in W.W. II walking into concentration camps.
And the thing that was most strange of all was that for some reason, their wretchedness--it made her smile a little.
Oh, Peyton. You go, girl.
“By the power of God, cast into hell, Satan and all the Evil spirits who wander the world seeking the ruin of souls.”
-Catholic Church’s traditional prayer to Holy Michael, the Archangel
Chapter 24
Elaine & Ralphie
FIRST ELAINE
For Elaine and Ralphie (You remember them, right? The two retirees serving as the impromptu waitress and fry cook, and loving every minute of it.) when the storm blew in the diner’s glass-plate window it was like a mortar shell had detonated just outside. The explosion reminded Elaine of the time she and Ralphie had worked as independent contractors on military bases in the Middle East and mortar shells used to explode on a regular basis.
When the storm shattered the first windowpane, Jaden (the fearless tour director) had let out the most awful high-pitched scream and dove behind the front counter. The big bearded man and the handsome fireman probably could’ve been helpful during this latest crisis but they still hadn’t returned on whatever fool’s errand they had set off for in the first place.
When Elaine had finally made her way over to their fearless tour guide he was lying prone on the floor behind the counter with his hands covering his head.
Kneeling next to him she gently rested a hand on his shoulder and asked, “Jaden. Jaden, what do we do?”
Jaden simply shook her hand off.
Elaine shook him more firmly a second time but Jaden wasn’t having any of it. No sir. Clearly this was not in his job description. Her knees were beginning to ache kneeling like that so she finally had to stand up. She was about to prod him gently with her shoe.
That was when she first heard the voice.
Maybe you should kick him? Not hard…but in the head maybe.
Elaine dismissed this random thought. Kicking the not-so-young man in the head certainly wouldn’t do anybody a lick of good. I swear, Elaine, sometimes the things that pass through your mind these days.
Then, quite suddenly, another windowpane blew in, this one shattering harder than the first. And that’s when people really started panicking.
The crowd wasted no time in evacuating the seating area and piling further into the diner’s cramped entrance, all trying hard to get as far away as possible from the broken windows and shrieking winds. The way the small crowd jammed inside the small area reminded Elaine of every Pancake House waiting area after Church on Sunday.
Some of the folks were crying, others were picking shards of glass out of their exposed skin. An elderly husband in a golf cap was gingerly plucking glass fragments out of his wife’s forehead. Her face was riddled with the stuff. As he was doing so, he reared back his head and asked the crowd, “Anybody seen that firefighter fella?”
“I think they went back to the motel,” said some big blowhard in a business suit. He was pretty large, and he was the only one among them wearing any kind of formalwear.
There’s always one in every group. How would that big blowhard know where the firefighter went? Mr. Big Mouth had never left the diner, same as everyone else.
That voice again--strange, and yet somehow familiar. The din of noise was growing louder by the second as everyone began panicking and complaining, and some started even sobbing.
What a bunch of ninnies.
Just when Elaine thought punches were about to be thrown (oh, wouldn’t that be fun to watch) a loud booming voice was heard above all others.
“WOULD EVERYONE JUST CALM DOWN FOR A MOMENT?”
It was so loud it might as well have been a Marine Sergeant, or even Gabriel himself. But it was neither deity. It was only her husband, Ralphie. And he was standing on the diner’s counter.
“Listen up, everybody. There’s no need to panic. It’s just a couple of smashed out windows. Believe me when I tell you that Ellie and I sure have seen a heck of lot worse overseas.”
Elaine nodded to no one in particular. This was true. They had seen a lot worse. Back when they’d both served as independent contractors in the Middle East. He a Geologist and her a Nurse Practitioner, which anybody in the Medical field will tell you is practically a doctor,
thank you very much.
Ralphie was his old self again; taking charge like the four decades hadn’t passed in-between then and now. For most people this was a catastrophe but for him, he seemed revitalized; like some part of him that had been lost had been suddenly found.
She and Ralphie had spent the better part of their youth overseas in that Godforsaken desert. Every year at contract’s end they swore they were leaving and coming back to the states, but every time those corporate overlords would throw more money at them to keep them there for one more year. And that was on top of a salary that was already so high it was ridiculous.
“Alright now,” Ralphie continued, addressing the crowd. “It looks like everybody can walk. Those of you who are injured we’ll help you through it, but we are all going to walk single file back across the highway, back to the motel.”
“Are you kidding me? With that storm raging out there?”
Elaine turned her head. ‘Yep, you guessed it. It was Mr. Big Mouth.’ She didn’t see him traveling with anyone. Judging by that cheap suit of his, she guessed him to be some sort of traveling salesman.
Ralphie scanned the crowd and homed in on him. “Oh c’mon now, it’s only a short walk, and the motel will have a lot more room and provide a lot better shelter than we have here.”
Mr. Big Mouth wanted to say something more, you could see it on his face, but he had nothing.
Ralphie climbed down from the counter in a way that suggested he was lot more spry than he looked. He then reached down behind the counter and gently helped Jaden (our fearless tour director) to his feet. Ralphie didn’t shame the man. He literally lifted the tour guide up, both physically and in spirit. “Jaden here is going to show us the way.” Turning toward the tour guide who looked like he had been crying he added, “Isn’t that right, Jaden?”
The tour guide nodded, indicating that he would.
“You heard Ralphie, people,” Jaden managed. And after taking a deep breath and bolstering his confidence a little more he added, “Okay then, I want everyone to bundle up nice and tight…” (now he’s getting there, good for him) “…it’s still pretty cold and windy out there; but don’t worry, we’ll be across the road in no time and into the nice warm motel before you know it.”
