"But the medical examiner-"
"Look, Slaughter, I don't want to disillusion you, but everybody knows that he came back here because no one else would have him. He broke down in Philadelphia, and it wouldn't surprise me if he made a crisis of this just so he'd seem important. As I interpret what you told me, there's been no time to test the dead boy for this so-called virus. Granted that his brain had been infected, if what the medical examiner says is true. But that could be because of many things. To do a proper slide for the electron microscope takes at least a couple of days. I gather that some steps can be eliminated if a person's in a hurry, which explains how Owens had his samples ready, but I know this much-the slides from that dog's brain were made so quickly that we shouldn't put much faith in them. I'll need a lot more to convince me. Think about it as I told you. Which makes more sense? Rabies or a brand-new virus?"
"You weren't there to see the boy."
"But I heard all about it."
Slaughter straightened.
"Sure, what's the matter, Slaughter? Did you think I didn't know? I run the god-damned paper. I'm the mayor. I have all kinds of people watching for me. If those parents choose to prosecute, the medical examiner is in shit to his eyebrows. He administered a sedative without the proper cautions. Now of course he's going to say a virus killed the boy. He surely won't incriminate himself. His word on this is hardly what you'd call objective. And that's something else I want to talk to you about. We'll leave aside for now the issue of this woman you employ who hit the mother with a baseball bat, although I wonder why you haven't charged her and I'm positive there'll be a lawsuit. Let's just think about the medical examiner. He was the last man I'd have chosen to do tests on that boy. He-"
"It's not important. If you'd seen the boy, you'd know he wasn't acting normally."
"That's exactly what we pay you for. To deal with things like that. To stop trouble, not cause more of it. You've had it fairly easy, Slaughter. Not too much goes on here. Now the first time something unusual happens, you come waking me on Sunday morning with your crazy notions about sealing off the valley and exterminating all the livestock."
Slaughter scowled. He kept his fists gripped tightly by his legs where he was sitting, and he felt his face go warm. He tried to control his breathing. "I said if it came to that. I don't know if it's necessary. I'm just asking your opinion."
"Well, it isn't necessary. Let's relax a minute, Slaughter. Let me talk about my job a little. I was mayor for many years before you came here. I was mayor when all those hippies came to town, to name an instance, and I knew that there'd be trouble, plus I knew that all I had to do was flex my muscles and arrange to move them out of town. I didn't, though, because there would have been complaints about that, people saying that, sure, no one liked those hippies but maybe we should have let them have a chance. And so I waited for the opportunity. Their foul mouths and their dope and garbage got extreme, and still I waited because I knew people shortly would come begging me to move them, which precisely is what happened. Now I got what I intended, but I did it diplomatically. Does all that make some sense to you?"
Slaughter's gaze intensified.
"The truth is that the people always know what's best for them. A proper leader only goes along with what they tell him," Parsons said. "That's why they've kept me as their mayor all these years. Because I understand that. All I want is what they tell me. So you say there's going to be an epidemic. Well, that's fine. Let's wait and see. The evidence is inconclusive, but I'll keep an open mind about it. Even so, the steps that you suggest are inadvisable. Exterminate the livestock, all the animals in town? Now really, Slaughter, what if there's no epidemic, what if this is just a case of poor tests and a biased medical examiner? The people would come for our heads. They'd want someone to pay for all the cattle that were killed, and you sure as hell don't earn enough for that. Even sealing off the valley. Christ, this valley's livelihood is cattle. If a rumor starts that all our cattle are diseased, we might as well destroy them anyhow. There won't be any way to sell them. No, we'll wait and see. If there is an epidemic, we'll hear from the people what to do. They'll tell us, and their choice will be the right one, and we'll all survive this with a conscience, just the way we did with all those hippies."
"But the difference," Slaughter said, "is that nobody died because you waited. On my desk right now, the messages are piling up, and there'll be more until the valley's in a panic. Not just mangled cattle. Not just Clifford and that boy. We're going to wade through corpses before long, and nothing's going to help those people."
"But you haven't listened to me, Slaughter. There's no other choice. Okay, you want to argue. Here's the end of it. You'll go on as if everything is normal. You will quarantine who-ever's been exposed, if indeed there is a virus, which I doubt. You'll pick up any dogs or cats or even chipmunks if they start behaving strangely. But you'll stay calm and tell the people that the situation's in control. And listen to me, Slaughter. If you even hint about an epidemic, your ass won't be worth the nail that stakes it to the courthouse door. Is that clear enough? Is that an order you can understand?"
Slaughter stared. "Can I at least get on the radio and tell the town we've found a case of rabies?"
Parsons thought about it. "Yes, I see no problem. After all, we do have evidence of rabies, and the town should be informed for its protection. But don't dare mention cattle. That's a different issue. Now I have to get back home. I'm late for church, and I have relatives coming home afterward for brunch."
He stood, and clearly Slaughter was expected to go with him. "Oh, yes, what about that magazine reporter from New York? That man named Dunlap?"
"I cooperated as you told me," Slaughter said.
"Well, don't let him find out what you're dealing with. That's all we need is for the rumors to get printed. Have him leave this afternoon."
"But he's not finished with his story yet."
"He's finished, all right. He just doesn't know it. Make sure he leaves town, and while you're at it, get yourself cleaned up before too many people see you. Really, you don't look so good. The job is maybe too much for you."
Slaughter almost laughed. You bastard, he was thinking. You don't miss a chance to stay on top of people, do you? They walked toward the door, and Slaughter waited until Parsons went out before him, thinking this would be the way to handle things: he'd better keep his back protected.
TWO
Slaughter was in a phone booth, but the line was fuzzy, and the noises from the other end distracted him. "Look, Altick, I can't tell you why I need them, but I-"
"Just hold on." To someone in the background, "Put them over there. I'm going with you. I don't want that chopper taking off without me. Good. I'm sorry, Slaughter. Everything is frantic here. I'm listening."
"I need some men," he responded louder. "I can't give you reasons, but I'll maybe have to borrow help."
"There isn't any way." The voice was much too final.
"But- "
"No, listen to me. I need everybody I can muster," Altick said. "I sent five men with dogs to look for Bodine, and there isn't any word from them. They've disappeared."
"But Bodine-"
"It's my men. I mean my men have disappeared. The chopper flew up where they'd camped, but they were gone, and they're not answering the radio. I don't like what I'm feeling. If you'd called five minutes later, I'd have been up in the chopper."
"Maybe they're behind a ridge that's muting signals to the radio."
"The chopper flew up anywhere they could have gone to. No, they're missing, and I can't waste time. I've got to look for them." More noises in the background. "I said wait until I'm ready. Yeah, we'll need that medical kit as well. Just take them to the chopper. Slaughter, there's no way for me to help you. I'll call you back when I have a chance."
"But-"
There were other noises in the background. Then the line was disconnected.
Slaughter put the phone down, staring at it. Sure, a
nother escalation. By now, he'd grown accustomed to the burning in his stomach, but he hadn't yet adjusted to the way his mind was nagging at him. Everything was moving too fast. There was hardly any time to think. His talk with Parsons. Five policemen missing. Things weren't bad enough, he had to worry about Parsons.
He hurried from the phone booth, moving toward the hotel desk. He knew that he had planned this since he'd said good-bye to Parsons, although he wouldn't have admitted it. But why else would he have come directly here? He could have used the phone back at the station.
"Gordon Dunlap," he told the desk clerk.
"What about him?"
"Damn it, tell me where to find him."
The clerk was fumbling through cards to find the number.
Slaughter started up the stairs as he heard the number. He ran to the balcony and scanned the arrows showing which rooms were on which side, darting to the left and down a hallway, studying the arrows once again. The halls were twisting, turning. He came around a corner, and he saw the door along a dead-end corridor and raced past the pictures on the wall. He knocked, but no one answered.
"Dunlap. Wake up. This is Slaughter."
No answer.
"Dunlap." Slaughter knocked again. He tried the doorknob. It wouldn't move. But as he leaned against the door, the catch gave way. The door swung open.
Dunlap hadn't even shut the door completely. He was sprawled across the bed, his clothes wrinkled, soaked with something. On the floor there was an empty whisky bottle, papers, cigarette butts, a broken ashtray, a toppled chair.
What the hell had happened here? He smelled the sickness, stepping back, then going forward. Dunlap didn't seem to breathe. He wasn't moving. Slaughter grabbed him. "Dunlap, wake up. It's important."
Dunlap didn't move, though. Slaughter shook him. "Come on, you bastard. Wake up." Slaughter felt to find a heartbeat. Then he had it, and at least he didn't have to worry about that. "For Christ sake, Dunlap." He shook him again. Dunlap groaned and tried to turn, but Slaughter wouldn't let him. 'This is Slaughter! Wake up! We've got problems!"
Dunlap moaned. His breath was putrid. Too rushed to mind that, Slaughter hefted him across his shoulder and stumbled down the hallway toward the bathroom. When he set him on the toilet, he started to unbutton Dunlap's shirt, but that was taking too much time, so he just ripped the shirt off. Dunlap tilted, almost falling, and Slaughter eased him onto the floor, then got his pants off, his shoes and socks and underwear. The underwear was soiled. Nostrils flaring, Slaughter threw it into a corner. He slid Dunlap into the bathtub and turned the shower on to cold. Dunlap woke up, screaming.
"Take it easy."
Dunlap wouldn't stop screaming.
Slaughter slapped his cheeks. "Hey, it's me. It's Slaughter."
Dunlap blinked at him. His eyes were red. The vomit that had caked around his lips and chin was rinsing off, and he was frowning, his head to one side. He looked as if he might begin to cry, and then his body heaved.
"It's all right. I'm with you," Slaughter told him. "Get it out of you."
He studied Dunlap, water spraying onto the both of them, as spasm followed spasm, and then Dunlap sighed and leaned back, coughing in the bathtub. He was crying.
"What's the matter? Nightmares?"
Dunlap nodded.
"Well, I've got work for you. I need you sober. While you're stunned like this, I need some answers. And I think right now that you won't lie to me. I need to know if I can trust you."
Dunlap closed his eyes and shivered as the cold water sprayed at him. "You know already what you want to hear. You don't need me to answer."
"Listen, buddy." Slaughter dug his fingers into Dunlap's shoulder. "You're not quite so drunk as you pretend. I want to hear the answer."
"Sure, all right, I'll say that you can trust me."
"If you screw up, you'll wish you'd never met me."
"You can trust me. Hey. My shoulder."
Slaughter noticed the way the skin was turning purple and eased his fingers off. He leaned back, sitting on the toilet seat. "I need a man to cover me," he said at last. "A man from outside who has no involvement in this. I want you to watch me every second, check out everything I do and keep a record. There'll soon be trouble, major trouble, and I want to know that I'm protected."
Dunlap had his eyes shut as he shivered in the cold spray of water.
"Do you hear me?" Slaughter asked.
"Is it that bad?"
"It's that bad."
"Hell, I'd be crazy not to go along with you."
"You'll be crazy if you do. There's just one stipulation. All I ask is that you wait until I say that you can publish the story."
"Now I-"
"I don't want to have to worry about you. I have lots to watch for without that."
The water kept spraying. Slaughter felt his wet shirt clinging to his skin.
"All right, so long as no one else is in on this," Dunlap said.
"It's you and me."
"A deal then."
Slaughter sat back on the toilet seat. He didn't know exactly where to start. "You said you wanted a story. Here's the damnedest thing you ever heard."
THREE
Altick scanned the trees and ridges as the helicopter swooped over them. He watched for some flash of movement, some odd color, anything, but there was nothing to attract him, just an endless sweep of forest rising sharply, boulders, deadfalls, streams and canyons, farther ridges, everything but what he wanted, and he rubbed his eyes to clear them, staring harder. There were three of them in the chopper, the pilot, Altick, and a state policeman wedged in back. They had rifles, binoculars, a portable two-way radio, and several knapsacks filled with food, water, and medical supplies. The helicopter was outmoded, small, ideal for two persons, suitable for three if absolutely necessary. With the added weight of their gear, it was unsteady, slow, and hard to keep above the trees. It burned fuel too rapidly. As they swung up the contour of these rising ridges, there were moments when they held their breath, and Altick wished that there had been another way to get up here as soon as he required.
On the ground the other team would have already started, five men as before but this time primed for trouble, clutching their rifles, watching all around them as they used their maps to find the best way to the lake up in the mountains. There were no dogs, no way to get any soon enough, but this search team had a specific destination, and it didn't need any dogs for guidance. Altick thought about them somewhere down below him, thought about the hard job they would have to push up through the forest toward the rendezvous up here. But he had made several phone calls, and there hadn't been any other helicopters he could commandeer. He was thinking that he might wish he had more than just two men with him. There was no predicting what he might find when the helicopter touched down.
He kept staring. Then he saw some movement, but as he pointed at it, he realized that what he'd seen were elk below him among the trees. He saw one bound across an open space, and normally he would have taken pleasure, but he had to keep his mind on his objective. More than that, he now was bothered that he hadn't seen more elk before this, deer, other signs of life down there. He should have, this high in the mountains, but the forest seemed deserted, and he wished the helicopter could go faster.
It was roaring, straining. Even with the plexiglass, the noise came rushing at him, and he kept peering down, and the whole scene was like everything he'd been through back in Nam in 1969. While the radicals had looted campus buildings, while the marchers had converged on Washington, he had been going on patrols, his team in a chopper, staring at the wilderness below them, and the trees of course were different now, the weather, and whatever waited for him down there, but he felt the tightness in his stomach, felt the cramps around his heart as he fought to restrain his nervousness. He remembered all the shit that he had gone through, all the friends that he'd seen killed, the blood, the disease, the suffocating jungle, believing that he served his country while the demonstrato
rs back home had weakened the country's resolve. He had come back from his tour of duty and had signed on with the state police. The valley at least had responded to him with some pride, and with his military bearing, he'd done well. Indeed he sometimes acted as if he were still in the service, and he talked about the people in the valley as civilians, building pride and character among his men, reminding them that they were different. And they all were loyal to him, as he was to them, afraid now for the officers he'd sent up and were missing. He was staring at the forest, reaching absently to touch his mustache and the scar across his lip that it disguised. He grabbed the microphone and spoke abruptly, "Chopper to patrol. Report."
The hiss of static.
"Chopper to patrol."
"Yeah, Captain, everything's fine. We're moving fast. We should be up there before noon."
"They might have headed back already. Let's hope we didn't have to do this."
"We'll just call it exercise."
"Some exercise," Altick answered, smiling. "Ten-four. Out."
His smile dissolved, though, as he stared down from the helicopter. He was more and more reminded of those choppers back in Nam, the tension solid in him as the helicopter rose up past another ridge, and suddenly he saw it.
"There's the lake," the pilot said.
Altick nodded, studying the landscape. It was formed a basin, ridges sloping all around, then forest spreading inward, then the clearing that went all around the lake. There were few trees beside the lake itself, but Altick knew his men would have gone toward them. He pointed toward one tree by the lake, and they swept closer.
"This was where they camped," the pilot told him. "When I couldn't find them, I went back to get some help."
The knapsacks were in sight now and the black pit where their campfire had been. Nothing else, and Altick tapped the pilot's shoulder. "Swing around the lake. I want to check those trees beside it on the other shore. I want to check the edge of the forest as well."
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