Posted by Dell
As promised, your favorite books are back. Things are clearer, I hope, and all editions are now published and readily available. And, most series have free editions to download. You can check out all the series links at the Earth’s Survivors Website. Wendell G. Sweet – E Book Author, Writer, Artist, Musician, lyricist
I am still rebuilding my home, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and hope to be back to writing fulltime very soon. Below is the complete version of Earth’s Survivors Settlement Earth: Book one. You can read all of it here for free. If you want to distribute this please do it by pointing readers to this blog entry. Have a great day…
Earth’s Survivors Settlement Earth: Book One
Created by W. W. Watson
BLOG EDITION
PUBLISHED BY:
W. W. Watson on Dell’s Blog, Notes from the Edge
PUBLISHED BY:
W. W. Watson and writerz.net
Earth’s Survivors Settlement Earth: Book One
Copyright © 2010 – 2013 by W. W. Watson & independAntwriters Publishing All rights reserved
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual living persons places, situations or events is purely coincidental.
This novel is Copyright © 2010 – 2013 W. W. Watson & independAntwriters Publishing. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the authors permission.
Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print…
Earth’s Survivors Settlement Earth: Book One
June 15th
Ira Pratt stared at the squared board lost in thought. If he moved to the right, he would surely lose two checkers. Maybe, he thought, as many as four. Moving to the left would not help either. There was actually only one semi-safe move to make, and that was straight ahead. But even that move could put a hurtin’ on his few remaining checkers, he thought. Nothing to do for it though, but move it, and see what happened.
He stared into the thoughtful eyes of the older man across the table, trying to read them. No good, he was a master at hiding his thoughts. His face was calm and carefully composed, not so much as a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
Ira gave in and decisively moved one checker forward and then leaned back into his chair, waiting to see what the older man would do.
“Well, I see you have left me little choice, Ira,” the older man said. He picked up one of his own checkers and carefully slid it forward as he finished speaking.
“That was what I was hoping you’d do,” Ira said grinning as he jumped two of the older man’s checkers.
“No doubt about it, Ira, you’re just too good for me,” the older man replied. He smiled widely, and pleasantly, and then changed the subject. “How about we take a short break, Ira, maybe go for a walk. You must get tired of beating me all the time?”
“Well,” Ira replied, “I kind ‘a get the idea you let me beat you some times, but sure, I wouldn’t mind a break at all.”
“I would never let you beat me, Ira. It is a good thing we don’t play poker though. I might gamble the entire kingdom away trying to beat you,” the older man replied laughing. “Besides I have my reasons for wanting to take a break right now. I see it like this, if you and I take a break, maybe once we return your concentration will not be so keen, and then maybe I will win one of these games for a change.” He rose from the small table as he finished speaking. “Ready, Ira?”
“Yep.”
Ira closed his eyes. He could have kept them open, and a few times he had, but the trip was unnerving enough without adding the visual aspects to it. Not that there was anything to see except darkness for the split second they would be traveling, he thought. Still…
He opened his eyes. They had actually only been shut for less than a second, but in that space of time they had traveled a considerable distance, or at least seemed to have. The small table that had been before him was gone, replaced by a lush green valley. A calm blue river flowed across the valley floor far below. He followed it with his eyes as it wound away in the distance.
“It’s beautiful,” Ira exclaimed, “but will it still be…?” He let the question trail away.
“Yes it will, as will several others, Ira. But it need not be this place, there are so many to choose from,” the older man informed him. “cCome.”
Ira blinked, and when he opened his eyes they were standing in a high mountain meadow. Wild flowers covered the meadow, and a large, summer-fat herd of deer grazed peacefully among them. A large buck raised its heavily antlered head and stared at the two men, but perceiving no threat went back to grazing the field.
“This is also beautiful,” Ira said quietly.
“It only matters where, Ira. There are so many. There were even more, and there will be again.”
“I’ll have to tell Cora about this place, and the other,” Ira replied, still watching the deer graze.
“You should, Ira. In fact, there will be many things to tell her. Things she will need to know, Ira.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. The time is short.”
“I was afraid of that,” Ira said slowly.
“There is no reason to be afraid, Ira.”
“I know that. I guess I mean afraid, as in I wish it didn’t have to happen.”
“I knew what you meant, Ira, but it is necessary. As much as I would wish that it was not, it is.”
Ira nodded his head slowly. “I know.”
The two men stood in silence for several minutes, watching the deer in the field. It seemed so peaceful to Ira, a good place to be, a good place to live, and that made it harder to accept that most of it would soon be gone. The older man spoke, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
“Would you like to look at some others, Ira?”
“I believe I would at that. I think I’d like to look at as much as I kin before it’s gone, I guess. Does that sound wrong?”
“No, Ira, it does not, I too wish to look… Ready?”
Ira nodded but did not close his eyes. Darkness enveloped him, and a sense of speed. The absence of light was complete; he could only sense the presence of the older man beside him as the traveled through the dark void.
– 2 –
Far below the small city of Glennville New York, Richard Pierce sat working before an elaborate computer terminal. He had just initiated the program that managed the small nuclear power plant hidden deep below him in the rock. A small handset beside the computer station chimed, and he picked it up and listened. He did not speak at first, but as he listened a smile spread across his face. “Very good,” he said happily, when the caller was finished, “keep me advised.” He set the small handset back into its cradle and turned his attention back to the screen in front of him. The plant had powered up just as it was supposed to, no problems whatsoever, and that made Richard Pierce extremely happy. Two more days tops, he thought, and then maybe I’ll get out of this dump.
He supposed he should feel honored that he was even here. It was after all one of the biggest projects in the country, albeit top secret, but he could not help the way he felt. He was close to a mile underground, totally cut off from everything and everyone, and he hated it. If he had a choice, which he had not, he would never have come at all. But he had written the software that handled the power plant, as well as several other sections of the underground city, and that made it his baby. There were a couple of small bugs, mainly due to the fact that no one had been allowed to know what the entire program was supposed to do. The way the rewrites were going however, it looked as though he would not be stuck here anywhere near as long as he had originally thought, and that was something to think about. He had begun to feel that he would never leave this rock bound prison, and wouldn’t that be a real bitch.
– 3 –
At a large gravel pit on the outskirts of Glennville, Gary Jones carefully maneuvered the wide mouth of the loader bucket over the dump box of the truck, and pulled back on the lever closest to him to release the load. Ain’t this something, he thought as he slowly topped off the dump box, barely 10 AM and we’ve already sent out twenty seven truckloads of gravel to the base.
Six men out sick, and another forty truckloads to deliver before five tonight. What in hell are they doing with all this gravel? He wondered. It was a question he had asked many times before, and still had not gotten an answer to. Uncle Sam paid well though, and on time to boot, so he guessed he probably shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He signaled the driver, and he pulled away with a whoosh of air as he released the brakes. Another dump truck lumbered up to take his place, and he pushed the questions out of his mind as he began filling the box.
– 4 –
In Seattle Washington, Harvey Pearlson sat at his wide mahogany desk and talked quietly into the phone.
The extravagantly appointed office was located on the top floor of one of Seattle’s most highly regarded newspapers. Pearlson had worked his way up from the bottom, after starting as a carrier in 1955, sixteen floors below.
“No,” Pearlson said quietly, “I don’t want to know. I just thought that maybe it could be handled in some other way.” He listened for a few minutes nodding his head as he did.
“Yes, yes I see, but?” He rubbed his eyes as he listened. “No, I don’t,” he said emphatically, “I happen to like him a great deal, and if you give me the time…” The voice on the other end of the line cut him off, and he once again listened quietly.
“I see,” he said, once the voice had finished speaking. “No, I do understand. I won’t. Do you think I’m that stupid? Give me a little credit here, will you. You wouldn’t even be aware of it if I hadn’t called you in the first place, for Christ’s sake.” He listened for a few seconds longer, then hung up the phone.
There was no reasoning with Weekes, he told himself, and he was going to do what he was going to do. For Frank’s sake, he wished he had never called him at all. Too late now though, he told himself, far too late. After all, he had done his best to swing Frank away from the story, but Frank Morgan was not a man who could be easily swayed, and, he told himself, unless he wanted to find himself in the same circumstances, he had better just shut up and let it go. He reached over and thumbed the intercom button.
“Cindy?”
“Yes Sir?”
“I’m going to be out the rest of the day, Cindy, and if Frank Morgan comes looking for me before he leaves, you don’t know where I am, correct?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Anything important comes up you can reach me on my mobile, Cindy.”
“Yes Sir, Mister Pearlson.”
Harvey Pearlson picked up his briefcase and left the office. Whatever Weekes had in mind, he wanted nothing to do with it, and he didn’t want to be available for any sort of questions that might arise either. It was unfortunate enough that he had started the whole ball rolling;he had no intention of sticking around to see where it ended up stopping. No, he told himself, the lake was the best place to be. The only place to be, and he intended to stay there until the whole thing blew over just as he had been told to.
He took his private elevator down to the garage area, walked across to his Lincoln, and drove out of the parking garage, turning right on Beechwood. He passed a hooker standing at the corner of the building, and thought just how badly Beechwood Avenue had gotten as of late. He would have to speak to the security people when he got back from the lake. Putting up with the hookers that had taken over the avenue at night was one thing, but broad daylight? Standing right in front of the frigging building? No, something would have to be done, and if the security people couldn’t take care of it, maybe he’d speak to Weekes. After all, he owed him one now, didn’t he? He pushed the thought away, signaled, and pulled out onto the loop. In an hour he’d be at the lake, and then he could forget about the whole mess, for today at least. He eased the car up to sixty, and leaned back into the leather upholstery to enjoy the drive.
– 5 –
April 11th 1952
Ira Pratt drove the old tractor carefully down the side of the slippery hill. It had been raining for close to three days, and it didn’t look as though it was going to let up right quick, he thought.
The rain was causing all sorts of problems, and not just for him, he knew, but for the cows as well. The biggest problem was the creek, and the only way the creek wasn’t going to be a problem was to unplug the thing.
He sat on the tractor as it slipped and slid its way down the hill through the gray sheets of rain. Ira let out a sigh of relief once it reached the bottom. For a second there, he had been sure both he and the old tractor would end up in the creek, but God was smiling on him today.
He slipped the worn gearbox into neutral, and sat looking at the rush of muddy-brown water. The creek was a good four feet above the point of flooding, and he wasn’t sure it was a smart move to try to put the tractor in that. The tractor was sure footed, but so was a goat, and he’d seen more than one goat end up on its ass. But there wasn’t anything else for it. If he didn’t move the trees that were clogging the creek, and flooding it out and over the banks, then he might as well just sit back and watch a couple more cows drown.
Ira knew cows, pretty much anyhow, and every one that he and Cora owned were just as stupid as any other cow he’d ever seen. The cows didn’t understand flooding, they didn’t understand how the water could weaken the banks, and so the big dummies just walked on down to the creek, just like any other day, and got swept away when the bank crumbled under their weight. Three days of rain and four dead cows, and though cows were stupid, they weren’t cheap.
Ira sat in the pouring rain and stared at the creek. Normally, the creek was no more than eighteen inches deep at the most. Course normal wasn’t what it was today, he thought, and wishin’ it was wouldn’t make it so. It was his own damn fault, he reminded himself. Two of the trees that were clogging it had been there last summer, and hadn’t he promised Cora he’d take ’em out before fall? He had, but he hadn’t, and so here he was in the pouring rain fixin’ to half kill himself to get ’em out.
Looked like the best way, Ira thought, might be to try and snag the biggest one right from the bank. He squinted as he shielded his eyes to peer through the rain. One thing was for sure, sittin’ on the tractor and thinkin’ about it, wasn’t gonna get it. Reluctantly, Ira climbed down off the tractor and edged closer to the bank. The rain was coming down hard, but the section he stood upon seemed solid enough. “Probably what the cows thought,” he muttered as he moved closer.
He walked back to the tractor, unwound a long section of chain from behind the seat, and walked back to the creek. The top of the bigger tree was sticking a good three feet over the bank, and he was glad that it was. He could see that the water was rising faster, and moving along quicker, and he had no wish to get any closer to it than he had to. Quickly, but carefully, he wound the chain around the tree and pegged the links with an old bolt to hold them. Looks good, and solid as well, he thought as he slipped the other end of the chain over the bucket. He genuinely didn’t want to try and turn the tractor around. In fact, he thought, as muddy as the ground was, he’d be damn lucky just to get it back up and away from the creek when he finished.
He gave an experimental tug at the chain, and then climbed back up on the tractor. Carefully, without grinding the gears any more than he surely had to, shifted into reverse. He played the clutch out slowly and brought up the slack in the chain.
“Well God?” He asked, looking skyward, “You keepin’ a watch down here? I could sure use a hand about now, Lord. Amen,” Ira finished.
He let the clutch out a little further, playing the gas pedal as he did, and let the tractor go to work. The oversized tires spun, caught, and the tractor began to slowly back up the steep bank, pulling the tree out of the muddy water as it did. Ira released the breath he had been holding, and just as he did the chain snapped in two. Ira barely had time to register what had happened, when the old tractor flipped, crushing him beneath it.
– 6 –
June 7th 1935
Tomorrow, six-year-old Jonathan Duffany thought as he lay wide awake in the darkness of his room. Tomorrow and we shall go and see the caves. The caves, just as Robert had last year, and he was sure he would not sleep at all this night. With such a thrilling adventure to look forward to, sleep would surely elude him.
Robert, his older brother, had told him about the caves, but the telling of an adventure, and seeing it with one’s own two eyes, were two entirely different things, he knew. This would be, well, this would be, ever so nice, and nothing would dare spoil it.
His mind crowded with glorious images, and although he was convinced he would never be able to fall asleep, he did, and he did not wake until morning.
– 1 –
For Franklin W. Morgan, just Frank to his friends, June 15Th, had been a particularly hard day.
As he sat at the small, scarred, wooden table at Mikes Pub on Sixth Avenue, nursing a shot of gin, his thoughts turned inward, mulling over the same problem he had been mentally chewing for the last several weeks. It always came back, no matter how far away he pushed it. It slipped right back to the front and began to hammer away at him. But today was much worse. It had seemed endless as it dragged on, and he had been able to concentrate on next to nothing. He had avoided the office, and Pearlson, no sense compounding things when he was so close to the truth by chancing a confrontation with Pearlson.
Pearlson was… Pearlson was, a piece of shit, he thought. However, at the moment it wasn’t just Pearlson that had him so keyed up and anxious, it was leaving, and, he supposed, that was just as it should be.
The thing that had made it difficult to get through was the pressure and anxiety he always felt when he was on the trail of a promising story. That and the stress associated with the story.
It was not so much the stress his job placed on him; he had always dealt with that quite well. He knew what it was, and what it had been for several weeks now. All of those late night calls to his sources in New York. No sleep, virtually working around the clock; sifting through the information this source or another provided; sorting out the truth from imagination, and getting to the facts, or as close as he could get to them. That, coupled with the fact that he had been the only one, save Jimmy, who believed it, and now Jimmy was apparently missing so he could add the disappearance of a good friend to the growing list of worries that kept him up at night. This was turning into a three ring circus damn fast, and he didn’t like. He didn’t like it at all.
He was sure now, or as sure as anyone could be. But, who the hell would believe him? Not his editor, that was for sure. He would not soon forget the day two weeks ago, when he had approached the subject with him either. It had been partly his own fault, Frank realized. He had not been as prepared as he should have been. He had also possessed no hard facts, he reminded himself, and he had speculated far too heavily for Pearlson’s taste. Even so, he was just as convinced as he had been then. No. More so now, he amended.
Two additional weeks of digging into it, with Jimmy’s help, had produced a wealth of information, and it was no longer just conjecture as the old man Pearlson had said, but a steadily growing stack of cold hard facts.
Pearlson had still laughed, and told him he should try writing fiction for a living. But there had been something else lurking just behind that laugh, hadn’t there? Perhaps a hint of nervousness maybe?
Pearlson had also suggested that just maybe Frank needed a vacation, and, things being the way they were Frank had taken him up on the last suggestion.
Screw him, Frank thought as he sat at the table and drained the last of his drink… Just screw him.
That was what had made his days so long and his nights so sleepless, he reasoned. Churning around in his head was all of that knowledge… Along with fear, fear of what that knowledge may mean.
But did he actually know anything? He asked himself, and could he actually prove what he did know? Yes, Dammit… And just as suddenly, probably not. He couldn’t prove all of it yet, at least not entirely, he admitted.
Not for much longer though, he told himself, the proof part of it was about to change. He had made plans to go to New York. Directly to the source, so to speak, and find out just exactly what was going on. No conjecture, no guessing, no screwing around at all. If Pearlson wanted facts, Frank would get them one way or the other, he had decided. And the suggestion to take a vacation couldn’t have been a better cover for him to go under, he reasoned.
No, he decided, it wouldn’t be much longer at all. Two weeks in upstate New York and he would know for sure.Frank saw no way that Pearlson could kill the story then. Not faced with cold hard facts.
But Pearlson could be an idiot, what if he still rejected the truth even after the facts were presented, he asked himself. Well, if he did, Frank reasoned, that would open up a whole new set of problems. Maybe Pearlson was involved somehow… Maybe not, but the whole thing had smelled of a cover up from the start, and if Pearlson cut the story loose, if he still placed no faith in it, then there had to be a reason, and maybe… And maybe shit! If it turned out that way, then maybe it would be time to move on.
He rose slowly from his chair and fighting his way through the crowded table area, made his way to the bar.
“Another Gin, Mike,” he said, once he had gotten the old man’s attention. “On second thought hold the ice , just straight up.” He stared miserably at the juke box in the corner that blared incessantly, and silently urged it to fall silent as he waited for the drink. His thoughts, still clouded, turned back to the problem he was constantly turning over in his mind, when a glance at his wristwatch reminded him of how late it actually was.
He turned his attention back to the bartender. “Shit! Mike, I’ve got to go see the kid’s and I am already late,” he threw a twenty on the bar, “that should cover the tab.”
“What about this?” Mike asked, holding up the shot glass.
“You drink it, Mike, I truly am late. I’ve gotta go,” Frank replied as he started to turn towards the front door.
“Hey?” Mike called in a questioning manner. Frank turned back to the bar.
“Get some sleep, Frank,” Mike said, “your eyes look like two piss holes in the snow.”
“Yes, Mother,” Frank joked, “I will.”
Frank smiled to himself. They always played this game, and had been at it for the twenty years that Frank had been coming into Mike’s. Mike seemed to think it was his duty to mother him, even more so since Jane had died.
“See you in a couple of weeks or so, Mike,” Frank called as he stepped out the door. He glanced at his watch once again as he did. I’ll never make it, he thought, no way.
He resigned himself to the fact that he would more than likely be late, and not for the first time this week. He had already been late three times, picking up Patty and Tim from the sitter.
Cora Pratt, the sitter, could pitch a real fit when she wanted to, he thought. “Well I’ll deal with her when I get there,” he mumbled to himself. Besides, he thought, tonight I don’t have to pick them up, just say good-bye for two weeks.
The heat assaulted him as he stepped out of the air conditioned comfort of the bar, and he winced.
Twenty seven years of living in Seattle had not changed a thing for him. He felt about the city as he always had. It was too hot in the summer, what there was of it, and too damn cold and windy in the winter, and it wasn’t home. He still thought about it as a place he was only visiting. He never had gotten used to it, and, he knew, he never would.
Frank worked the handle upward slowly, pulling the driver side door of the company car open carefully. He had to as this one stuck if you were forceful, and then he would end up crawling over the damn passenger seat to reach the driver’s side. It seemed to him that he had once had this car when it was new. It was hard to tell though as it was a pool car, and the younger generation of reporters in the press pool beat the hell out of all the cars.
“Too many hot-rod kid’s driving the piss out of them,” he said aloud as he keyed the motor and pulled the Plymouth Voyager out into the traffic. He headed out of the city, towards the suburbs and Cora Pratt.
~
When he reached the turnoff, from Route 5, Frank slowed the car and swung into Cora’s driveway.
The old farm had been in the Pratt family for five generations. Ira Pratt, Cora’s long dead husband, had steadfastly refused to sell any of the land that made up the small farm, and after he had died Cora had adopted the same attitude. So in the midst of suburbia, the old farm house sat on its own eighty acre plot. It was sort of funny to Frank as you could drive a short way in either direction and you would still be in the Wildflower subdivision, part of which was still a respected suburb of Seattle.
The subdivision had simply been built around the property when Ira Pratt had refused to sell. Consequently the farm had become a boundary line of sorts. West Wildflower was the poorer and run down section, whereas the eastern section was well kept and quiet. In the middle sat the farm and Cora Pratt.
Cora was a formidable woman, who, as far as Frank could tell, took no shit at all from either side.
When the “uppity bastards,” as Cora called them, on the east side had sent a letter demanding that she cut down on the fertilizer her hired man used on the corn field, she had called in John, the hired man, and told him to use just a little more instead. They had of course “Taken her to the court’s,” as she had put it, but to no avail. The court had upheld her Commercial Farm Zoning, and the judge had told the “Smart ass lawyer,” as Cora had called him that worked for the East Side Coalition, not to bother him with anymore groundless lawsuits or he’d personally report him to the Bar Association.
Likewise, when some of the, “Shiftless no-accounts,” from the west side had tried to steal some of her chickens, she had “filled their britches with buckshot.”
Frank knew all this was true because Cora had told him. She didn’t want to “Mince no words” as she had put it, “lay it all out on the table,” she had said. “Just in case you get to hearing things and think I’m a bit funny, I ain’t… I just protect what’s mine.”
That had been her little speech, on the day six years ago, when she had first begun taking care of Patty and Tim, and, Frank had to admit, to her credit, she seemed to be just what she said she was, and no one could have taken better care of his children in his opinion.
Cora waved from the front porch swing as Frank stopped the car, and walked towards the white framed house. The scent of Lilacs in bloom came to him on the light breeze from the porch front, where the bushes marched away in both directions, rail high.
“Thought you weren’t coming to say good-bye to your kids,” she quipped.
“Sorry,” Frank replied, “I got bogged down in traffic.”
More like a couple of shots of gin, she thought but didn’t say.
“Yep, that traffic can surely be a bother in the summer, that’s for sure,” she said aloud. Tim and Patty leaped down from the old porch and raced across the lawn. Frank went to his knees and caught them in his arms.
– 1 –
Frank Morgan flipped the map back onto the passenger seat of the small red Toyota Prius and glanced at his watch.
He had figured the trip from Syracuse to Fort Drum would take about an hour and a quarter. He hadn’t, however, counted on the traffic. The whole day can’t be great, he thought. The trip into Syracuse International had gone well. One short connection in route and other than that the whole trip had been uneventful. But now he had to deal with this. Something up ahead was slowing the traffic down, and he was pretty sure he knew what the problem was. Still, if he lost much more time, it would probably be close to dark when he arrived in Fort Drum, and the possibility of arriving after dark, and trying to find the house didn’t appeal to him.
Frank eased the Prius out into the passing lane, and slowly coaxed the car up to speed again. He had been right; the problem was the same as it had been coming off the thruway from the airport to get on route 81. Army convoys, and if you didn’t get around them quickly, you could spend forever in the left hand lane. He had learned that lesson the hard way coming off the thruway. Not only couldn’t he get around them, at first, but when he did he couldn’t get back in for the exit to Route 81 north. He had ended up heading south instead, and had wasted twenty minutes getting turned around and back to the northern exit.
What the hell kind of military base needs that many trucks, he had wondered. It was a question that actually didn’t need to be answered, but he answered it anyway. The base doesn’t, the caves do. They may unload at the base, but I bet they just drop the load and ship it into the city at night, he told himself.
He stared out the window of the car, and looked over the traffic as he passed it. Jeeps dump trucks, Hummers, and tractor-trailer combos carrying who knows what. All of them heading to northern New York, he knew. He also knew that the airfield, at the base outside of Glennville, had been quite busy as well, the convoys of trucks weren’t their only supply source.
Frank reached towards the dashboard and fished a cigarette out of the pack that rested there, lighting it just as he passed the last olive-green truck on his right. He tossed the lighter into the plastic console, and it landed with a hollow plastic bong. At the same time, he pulled back into the right hand lane, and leaned back into the seat as he took a long pull on the cigarette.
From what he had been able to determine from the map, and what he already knew from his investigation, the military base was about twenty miles north from Fort Drum. Don was right, it didn’t seem as though any of the trucks would be passing through Fort Drum on their way to the base. Glennville was only about nine miles away from the base though, and that was where the loads would end up. Not in the city actually, he reminded himself, but under the city, and he hadn’t found that little piece of information on the map. The map said exactly nothing about the caves.
When he had first started to seriously investigate the base, he had gotten the first hint of the caves from one of his informers. The informer was an ex-private turned junky, who had been stationed at the base when the project had started. The rest he had gotten from the articles he carefully culled from the Glennville Daily Press, and Jimmy, an old friend who worked at a Syracuse paper. Some things could be hidden, but there was always a clue if you knew where to look.
The first article he had read, had seemed harmless enough, but coupled with the information he’d already had, it had been intriguing. The United States Army had purchased some abandoned property from the city to use as a storage depot. The story had gone on to say that the land was close to the train depot, and the base would benefit from the purchase as they would no longer need to truck shipments from the base to the depot every time they used the rail yards. The ex-private had tipped him off about the caves, which also happened to be located on the same piece of property.
Even then, it still hadn’t made a whole lot of sense to Frank. What would they save? They would still have to ship whatever came in there, to the base. Wouldn’t they?
In other articles, most of which had been written years before in the Glennville paper, he had learned what the property actually consisted of, and at first it had seemed like an unlikely purchase. It hadn’t been all that hard to dig up the old articles, especially with the help of his friend in Syracuse. Although Glennville had its own local paper, the Times Reporter in Syracuse, which was only seventy miles away, often reported on the events that took place there.
It had been an easy matter of looking through the archived data files, pulling the stories that pertained, and with the help of an internet connection, the reporter friend sent the stories to Frank in Washington via e-mail. He had learned most of what he knew about the actual property from those stories, some of which dated from the early thirties.
The property was located on the river bank in the heart of the down-town section of Glennville. It consisted of a stretch of road that began in the center of the city, and then extended out of the city along an old set of rail road tracks. An old defunct coal company and some run down out buildings were also included. Perhaps the most important of all, an abandoned series of caves that ran under the city. The city had bricked up the caves better than sixty years before, in response to the community.
In June of 1935, a large group of school children, along with two adults who supposedly were well acquainted with the caves and their various twists and turns had set out on a field trip to explore them. They had never returned. A subsequent search had turned up no trace of them at all. Three weeks later the city had sent a Public Works crew to brick up the entrance, and it had been closed since.
When the Army had bought the property it was considered unsafe, and had pretty much been allowed to go to seed. The road leading out of it had likewise been closed off some years before, and the area had become a hangout for young kids and vagrants. On any given night the police ended up being called to the area several times, and the city had debated for years about what they should do with the property.
When the Army had offered to purchase the property, the City Council had considered it a Godsend, and had been more than happy to sign over the deed and accept the check they offered. It had seemed to be the end of it. Frank had read later articles, however, that seemed to indirectly touch on the property. There was an increase in traffic after the sale, and an unusual amount of security that surrounded the site.
The local paper had down-played it to normal, or as close to normal as they could. Glennville had always been a military town, and so most of the complaints of increased traffic, were actually seen in a good light. Increased activity at the property might eventually mean more jobs, and in a depressed economy, which depended heavily on the nearby base, anything the Army did was always reported in a positive light. As far as the local paper was concerned, there was nothing negative to report.
So the real clues had come from the Syracuse paper. Franks’ friend, Jimmy Patrick, kept in touch, and had contacted Frank whenever he came across anything that was related to the smaller northern city. Syracuse itself had had tremendous problems, initially, with the traffic.
When Frank had called Jimmy, he had only wanted to know what he knew about the place. But after Jimmy had told him about the traffic problem, he had asked him to keep in touch, and he had. He had also filled him in on everything else he knew about Glennville. As he drove along, Frank mentally ticked off what he knew about the northern New York City.
The Black River split the city in two, and there were four bridges that spanned it. Three of the four also spanned the property that the military had purchased, and those three bridges were new. When they had been replaced, the road that ran to the old abandoned coal mine had been blocked off and abandoned. Ironically, or maybe not, Frank thought, the Army Corps of Engineers had done all of the work.
The result was a small discarded piece of property, with its own road leading in and out, in the heart of the city. It was bound on the south side by the Black River and the north by a sixty foot rock ledge that rose just behind the old historic downtown district. That was, besides the caves, what Frank knew about the city itself. Jimmy had seemed to have caught Frank’s enthusiasm for the mystery, and had also sent him other articles he found as well.
Some of them, although at first glance seemingly innocent, were quite revealing about what was actually going on in Glennville.
The first one Jimmy had dug up and sent him, was from the Public Notices section of the Syracuse paper.
“I thought it was kind of strange,” Jimmy had said, “that they didn’t print the notice in the Glennville paper.”
Frank had read the long notice carefully. It boiled down to a statement of facts concerning the property in Glennville, and the Governments intended use of it.
The whole notice hadn’t made a lot of sense. It seemed to be saying that they intended to invoke the privilege to the mineral rights that had been deeded to them along with the property. It also stated that the Army Corps of Engineers had decided that the closed caves would need to be reopened for a feasibility study, to determine whether or not they could be used as a storage facility. It had been the first direct mention of the caves at all.
The notice went on to say that since this would involve transportation of, as well as disposition of, excess material from within the caves, the Corps had asked for, and via the printing of the notice, been given permission to begin the process without the necessary permits. They were also granted permission to transport radioactive materials to and from the site, the notice stated, and had like-wise been granted a waiver of the Clean Water Discharge Act, to allow undisclosed drainage into the Black River.
Subsequent notices and articles had detailed contract awards for “unspecified” electrical and plumbing work, along with contracts for per-piece orders of drywall and lumber. Another notice Frank had read, contained contract awards for concrete and asphalt, to a Texas corporation. The amounts were unspecified, and were listed as needed for road repair, and sub-wall replacement. Jimmy had thought some of it was unusual, and probably even illegal, and although Frank had agreed, there was not much that either of them could do without further proof.
Jimmy had also told Frank that the Army had been building up the area for some time and that from what he’d been able to determine, they had begun work on the caves even before they had completed the purchase of the land.
They both suspected that the notices were only a cover for some larger project the Army was carrying out, and the radioactive permits bothered him a great deal. Jimmy had promised to stay in touch, and he had, up until last week.
Frank had tried to contact him at work several times but to no avail, and the messages he left were not returned. He had tried calling Jimmy at home and his cell as well, and had only been rewarded with his voicemail. That had seemed strange to Frank also. Jimmy was a damn good reporter who knew the value of answering his phone whenever it rang. At work, at home, in the middle of the night, it made no difference. Jimmy always answered the phone. Jimmy wasn’t answering and now instead of four rings before voicemail, the phone was directing to voicemail after the first ring.
He had even tried contacting Jimmy’s editor, but he had refused to talk to him. He hadn’t given up though, and had tried to call just this morning before he left Washington. His call was put through, but all he had gotten was a steady busy signal at his home, and when he had called his work number, a business like secretary at the paper informed Frank, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, that Jimmy had left just the day before on an assignment. When he had asked her where he had gone to, her voice had gone even more business-like, and she had told him the paper did not give out that sort of information.Just when Frank had been about to try a different , more tactful approach to find out what was going on, she had hung up on him. The whole thing, the caves, and Jimmy’s disappearance weighed heavily upon him.
Frank inhaled deeply from the cigarette, and then tossed it out the open window.
That was why he was here. None of it figured. The base itself had hundreds of acres of land, so why did they need more? Why the caves? And what the hell had happened to Jimmy?
The Glennville paper had come out, just last week, with a long article that had been picked up by the wire service. Frank had read it, and wondered why they were suddenly going public about the caves. The Army was now saying they intended to convert the old caves into a large underground storage area. Frank already knew that from the Syracuse paper though, and he didn’t believe it was that simple. The rest of the story was bullshit, as far as Frank was concerned, and actually didn’t say a whole lot of anything. Certainly nothing he hadn’t already known or suspected. The article actually seemed to serve only one purpose, and that was to mention that they were doing something with the caves.
Why would they feel the need to do that? Frank wondered. Had the Army found out that he and Jimmy had been digging into the base? Is that why Jimmy was nowhere to be found? Had they scared him off somehow?
Frank didn’t believe it was possible to scare Jimmy off of anything he was determined to find out about, so if they hadn’t scared him off, what the hell had happened? It all raised a lot more questions than it answered, and once he had lost track of Jimmy it had made it personal to him. He needed to know what had happened to him, so here he was cruising down the interstate, twenty eight hundred miles from home, to find out.
He didn’t have the slightest idea what he would find when he got there. What do you expect? He asked himself, missile silos? Little green men? Some sort of horror monsters living in the caves?
The last was pretty far-fetched, he thought, but the truth was that he didn’t know any of the answers. But, he suspected, he would soon, and he also suspected it was much worse than little green men, or missile silos, or even monsters, and he felt drawn to it. Almost led in fact.
His hand reached automatically for the cigarette pack on the dash and just as abruptly stopped.
I’ve got to cut back, he thought, that’s the second pack today. He wrestled with the urge for a full thirty seconds and then gave in. To hell with it, he told himself, I’ll have plenty of time to quit once I get settled in at Fort Drum. In fact, I’ll probably be so busy that I won’t have time to smoke at all, he lied to himself. Once again the lighter hit the tray, and Frank settled back into the seat, mentaly ticking over what he knew, or suspected, about the caves.
The other clues that something was not quite right with the upstate New York project had come from keeping track of the Senate committee hearings on the UNRDC fiasco. UNRDC stood for United Nations of Russia for Democratic Change.
The Senate investigations had hinted at CIA involvement in setting up the organization that had swept to power in the fall of the previous year. UNRDC was comprised of several ex-military leaders who had between them, ended up controlling the entire eastern block. They also had strong ties to the now unified Middle East.
The CIA, had of course, denied the allegations, and pointed to the unrest that still dominated the organization as proof that it had not been planned or manipulated. Their supposition was that if it had been, there would not be so much unrest. Government organizations could be so stupid sometimes, Frank thought.
They had disclosed reports of their own which had seemed to back up their theory though, and insisted that the area was unstable and controlled by no one.And their theory seemed to be borne out by the President Elect of the new UNRDC, who had issued a statement condemning the “Godless country of America” and scoffed at the suggestion that he or any of his cabinet members had been planted by the CIA, or that they had any ties whatsoever to them.
The Senate hearings had continued anyway, and rumors had been circulating the press for weeks that the Senate was about to drop a bombshell on the CIA director, John O. Brennan. They had supposedly turned up a mouth piece within the organization, and the mouth piece had confirmed that the CIA had indeed backed the present cabinet and the current president.
It was further rumored that the CIA had been suckered into believing that after they had helped to sweep the party to power, they would still be able to exercise some type of control over them, and had only found out after, that they had no control at all. Of course all of this was rumor, but just two days ago the Senate had released a statement addressing the issue. The statement had seemed to hint that a source within the CIA was indeed being questioned behind closed doors, and had indeed confirmed many of the rumors circulating concerning CIA involvement in the UNRDC, as well as in the Middle East.
The next day the United Soviet Democratic Republic had refused a meeting with the President of the United States, and had at the same time declared that all nuclear weapons in the newly held territories had been “Secured,” and were to be, “Considered the property of the USDR,” and further more “All agreements entered into with any and all nations of the world concerning Strategic Arms Limitations with the former USSR, are declared by this government to be null and void.”
Press Secretary Jay Carney had released a statement from the President promising a, “Quick solution to this obviously disturbing development.” He had also officially denied any involvement in, or any knowledge of any involvement, by the CIA, or any other government organization, in the takeover of the former Soviet Union. Nor had he found any evidence that the newly formed USDR, or its ruling organization, UNRDC, Had had any ties to the Middle East, or the newly formed country of New Iran.
He had also promised to investigate the matter himself, and promised full disclosure to the public in an address to the nation in July. He had urged the public not to speculate on nuclear war, or to concern itself with it as the age of peace in the world would continue as it had, unimpeded by the recent events.
Frank hoped that the CIA had been involved, and was still able to exercise control. If not, the possibility of nuclear war could be real, and he actually didn’t want to think about that possibility.
As Frank neared the exit for Fort Drum, he mulled the possibilities over in his clouded mind. It could be a missile base, he thought, or it could just be a buildup of conventional weapons.
He honestly didn’t know, but he intended to find out. One thing was for sure, it wasn’t just a storage facility, and he couldn’t quite believe it was a new missile site. They’re all out in the Midwest aren’t they,he questioned himself. He could think of no valid use for the property at all, and that bothered him. That along with a basic distrust of a government that had been caught lying to her people so many times before.
He had just flipped the turn signal on to exit the interstate, when he felt a shimmy begin at the rear of the car. It quickly turned to a deep pounding vibration as he slowed the small car and pulled to the side of the road.
Frank climbed out of the small cramped car, and, walking to the rear, stared down at the flat tire that he knew was there. Muttering under his breath, “Damn rental car,” he returned to the front; retrieved the keys, and unlocked the trunk to search for the spare he hoped was there. It wasn’t.
Frank locked the small car, and taking his laptop bag with him, set off in the direction of the exit to find a service station.
– 2 –
Two miles away, Joe Miller tossed a steel clipboard onto the passenger seat of his Camaro as he pulled into the long driveway at 6620 Main Street, in Fort Drum.
Joe hadn’t seen the old brick house since three weeks before, when he had been sent out as part of the clean-up crew from Bud Farling’s real estate agency. The house had looked horrible then. The windows and doors had been boarded up, and the now graceful grounds had been choked with weeds.
The old house looks damn good, he thought. He hadn’t been there himself for most of the work as Bud had kept him busy with his other properties. Joe tended to get most of Bud’s work, probably due to the fact that he was dependable, and showed up every day ready to work. To Bud, Joe knew, that meant a great deal. A low whistle escaped his lips as he stared at the imposing estate, which had always seemed so forbidding before.
The van that he usually drove was in the shop for the third time in as many weeks, so he had come in his own car. This time it was the transmission, and Bud had been downright pissed about it. Not pissed at Joe though, the van was old, and, Bud had told him, he supposed he’d have to buy a new one soon.
When Bud had asked if Joe minded driving his own car out to the house to put in the locks, Joe had told him he didn’t mind at all, and that considering the way the van was constantly breaking down lately, he felt better taking his own car. At least that way he wouldn’t end up walking like he had last week when the van had broken down in the middle of nowhere.
Joe Miller actually had a large amount of expertise in home repair, and it had always seemed to him that all the different aspects of it had been easy to learn. He had made Bud a lot of money, and he worked as a sub-contractor so Bud could work him as many hours as he wanted without having to pay overtime.
The arrangement worked out well for both of them. It meant Bud could count on Joe, and because of that he paid him well.
Joe had no family, so even if Bud called in the middle of the night with some emergency at one of his properties, it wasn’t a big deal for Joe to get dressed and take care of it.
Joe retrieved the new locks from the seat and headed towards the front door. The keys had already been mailed to the man who was renting the property, Bud had explained.
“Just remove our master locks, and swap ’em out for these,” Bud had said, “And oh, don’t forget to bring the keys and the master locks back with you tomorrow.”
Joe had lost a set of the master locks a year ago, and Bud had never let him forget it.
Whenever Bud had a crew working on a property, the master locks were used. That allowed everyone to come and go whenever they needed to, and all the tradesmen that worked for Bud had a master key. It had come in handy on several occasions.
The keys fit all the rental properties Bud owned, or managed, as well, and Joe couldn’t count the times that had come in handy to him. Half the time when there was a problem with an apartment, it was usually reported by one of the other tenants, and nine times out of ten, the tenant who lived in the apartment wasn’t home. The master locks solved that problem nicely.
Joe reached the door; slipped the master key into the lock, and entered the house. He squinted in the gloom , peering cautiously inside at the shadowy hallway.
The old house had long had a reputation of being haunted. Joe didn’t necessarily believe it, but he had always found the old house to be unnerving.
It still seems spooky in here, Joe thought as he stepped into the entranceway. Stupid though letting this old house get to me. He couldn’t explain why he suddenly felt nervous about entering the house, and he glanced nervously back out the doorway at the driveway, where the Camaro sat gleaming brightly in the late afternoon sun.
The light stupid, he reminded himself, turn on the fracking lights.
He turned his attention back to the hall, and let his searching fingers locate the switch, and with a small push of the old button-style switch the lights came on.
Soft shards of light flickered across the walls of the entrance way, from the large chandelier, suspended from the old tin ceiling in the middle of the entranceway. Joe carefully edged the door shut with the heel of one scuffed work boot, and stared child-like around the room as the splashing patterns of light danced on the dark mahogany of the walls.
The wood panels reached more than twelve feet to the old tin ceilings, and intricate flowing lines covered the tin panels in an ornate flower design.
The dark walls were divided with carefully scrolled moldings, which broke the walls into squared sections, and a matching mahogany stairway curved away from the dark gray marble flooring, towards the upper reaches of the house.
He could make out the darkened upper floor where the staircase ended, and a small balcony that looked down over the entrance way.
To the left of the staircase, at the end of the long entrance way, massive double doors were set into the wall. A smaller single door led off to the right, directly across from those doors, which was the kitchen area, he knew.
To his immediate right, was another set of double doors, and directly across from that a graceful arch led into the living area. He knew that the doors set into the wall at the end of the hall led into a formal dining area, which also had a small door that opened into the kitchen area. The doors to his right opened into a large den, with book shelves from floor to ceiling, and a massive stone fireplace.
Joe had seen it before, when it had been stuffed full of the dusty old furniture that had been left in the house, when the owner had died. The house had been tied up in probate court for years, Bud had explained, and so everything had been left pretty much untouched.
He hadn’t been here when the final cleaning had been done however; he hadn’t seen just how imposing, and elegant, the house actually was, without the dust and dirt that had covered it, and to him the transformation was astounding.
Joe carefully set the cardboard box containing the new locks on the floor by the front door. He decided that he wanted to take one more look at the house before he put in the locks. He walked down to the far end of the dimly lit entrance way, pushed open the double doors at the end of the hall that led into the dining area, and sent his left hand skittering across the wall for the switch. Sparse light from the hallway fell through the doorway and beyond.
Suddenly, a silver flash swept from the darkness towards him. His hand was still looking for the light switch, and his mind did not immediately register what it was.
…WHAT? His mind cried out in alarm as his eyes watched the shining flat arc sweep towards him.
…A knife? …At me? …Why?
“Not real,” he muttered aloud backing away.
But his hands came away from his chest with bloody drops clinging to them.
His eyes watched as a disembodied hand plunged the knife deeply into his chest again.
Hand, he thought… Is that my Blood?
The hand with the knife flickered quickly out of sight into the darkness, only to reappear a split second later and plunge deeply into his chest once more.
KNIFE …KNIFE …KNIFE! His mind screamed.
Two men stepped from the shadows. The larger one still held the knife threateningly in his hand as Joe slumped to the floor.
NO… He tried to say, but found he could not.
Strong hands closed around his wrists and were joined by others as his bleeding body was lifted from the floor. He tried to scream but could make no sounds. His chest felt as though a large boulder rested on it.
It doesn’t actually hurt, he thought, but they could have killed me, and I can’t breathe well, and, WHY?
His chest hitched once and stopped.
Can’t breathe, he thought, and next… The bastards did kill me! They did! They did…
He seemed to be falling into a dark void, and he could not see, but he could hear, he realized.
They’re scared, he thought, they’re, Scared. Oh, isn’t that funny. They killed me, and they’re scared.
He could hear them talking in hushed tones.
“Do you think he’s dead?” One asked.
“Maybe,” the other replied.
I’m not! Joe tried to scream but could not.
“Well he sure as shit ain’t breathing…”
“That don’t make him dead, you idiot,” the other one, with the deeper voice replied, “I read where it takes four minutes for the brain to die, he could start breathing again or somthin’.”
“Well…” The one with the whiny voice began.
“Shut the hell up and let’s get going,” the one with the deeper voice said, cutting him off.
Who said that, Joe wondered as if it made a difference? Are they picking me up? Why? He couldn’t tell if they were picking him up or not. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything, he realized, and it was beginning not to matter to him. Is this what it feels like to be dead? He wondered.
“Are you sure he’s dead?”
“I told you I don’t know.”
“Well the bastard’s looking right at me is all, and it bugs me,” the smaller man whined.
Joe knew that they had to be lying because he couldn’t see them. I can’t be dead ’cause I can hear, and I can’t be staring at them, ’cause I can’t see nothin’, Joe thought as he tried to open his eyes.
“He ain’t fuckin’ dead! He ain’t! He ain’t…”
The panicked scream was brought about by the flicker of his eyelids as Joe had tried to open his already open eyes, and was cut short by a sharp slap delivered across the face of the terrified smaller man, that Joe heard perfectly well.
“Shut the fuck up Eddie, just shut up ya fuckin’ baby.”
Eddie shut up.
“I stabbed him nine fuckin’ times,” Bobby Lawton, the bigger man insisted, “he’s dead already… Okay?”
Nine Fuckin’ Times? Nine fuckin’ Times, you’re dead already, Joe’s mind informed him.
Joe felt nothing during the trip through the kitchen to the car, which was parked at the rear of the house.
“Open the damn trunk,” Bobby said.
They had carried the body out the back door, to where they had parked the Cadillac earlier.
“Open the damn thing…It’s not locked, just lift up the lid,” the voice continued as Joe listened.
I gotta tell them, Joe thought. I ain’t dead, and they can’t put me in the friggin’ trunk.
HEY! Joe tried to scream, I ain’t dead, and you can’t put me in the trunk!…I’m claustrophobic, I can’t stand tight places!
But his lips would not move, and his throat would make no sound. His lungs could pull no air into his body to make his throat work, he realized.
I’ve got to replace the locks, he reasoned, please… Please? He pleaded as the trunk lid slammed home.
Fuck you, he thought, just fuck you, I ain’t dead! He was tired though. Very tired it seemed.
Joe Miller did not feel the bumpy ride to the old Jefferies farm, and he did not feel the dirt and stone striking his face as he lay at the bottom of the shallow grave. Joe was dead. Oh yes, he was truly dead indeed.
Eddie pushed dirt quickly into the grave they had hastily dug, when they had reached the farm. Back at the house, after they had put the body in the trunk, Bobby had gone back inside to clean up the mess while Eddie had gone out front to bring the light green Camaro the guy had been driving, out back. The guy had looked awful young to Eddie. He hadn’t looked old enough to be a reporter.
Probably went to college, his mind told him, college kids get all them easy jobs anyhow. Probably how he got the job.
It had never occurred to either of them to check Joe’s pockets. After all, it was the right house, and there sure as shit hadn’t been anyone else there, Eddie had reasoned.
They had ditched the car off one of the dirt roads, which honeycombed the woods that surrounded Fort Drum. It would take some time for someone to find it, and that would give them some time to dispose of the body, and for things to settle down a bit.
Eddie bent harder into the shovel, spraying dirt down into the hole. Whoever said it was easy to kill someone with a knife, was sure wrong, Eddie thought, the guy’s eyes were still open when we opened the trunk!
Bobbie’s voice broke into his thoughts.
“Hey Ed, I’m gonna go call Alan,” he said, “let him know, you know, so we can pick up the money later on… Finish that and hang tight. I’ll be back.”
Eddie watched Bobby back the big car down the narrow dirt road, and out towards the main highway. After a few minutes, he bent back to the task of filling in the grave.
When he was done he spread a couple of handfuls of leaves over the ground; sat down nearby, and smoked while he waited for Bobby to come back.
– 3 –
Frank Morgan had found a run-down-looking gas station, at the end of the exit, just two miles outside of Fort Drum. An old rusty Chevy truck, with a newer-looking Holmes 220 wrecking unit mated to the back, was pulled part way into one of the bays with its hood sticking up into the air.
Not good, his mind told him, not to good at all.
It turned out to not be bad at all though, at least not with the wrecker.
“Just lookin’ her over, friend,” the old gray-haired attendant, and as it turned out, owner, said.
“‘Placed the plugs, is all. Just checkin’ the timing to boot.”
The old man had disconnected the timing light and slammed the hood back down with a rusty protest.
“Yuh, she’s jess fine,” he said, “What can I do ya for?”
He had taken Frank back to the car, hooked it from the rear; turned it around, and towed it back to the station. His young son had watched the station while they were gone.
Getting the car back had been no problem. Getting the tire replaced had been. He’d had to send the kid into the city to pick up a replacement, and the kid had seemed to take forever.
Frank supposed he was lucky though as the old man had just gotten the tire place on the phone before they closed, and had persuaded them to stay open until the kid could get there. The old man had said he could call a cab if Frank wanted him to, but Frank decided to wait for the car. After all, he thought, I probably won’t get there any quicker.
It was full dark by the time the kid got back with the new tire, and after 11:00 p.m. before the car was off the lift and ready to go.
The old man gave him directions to the house after Frank had paid the $250.99 bill. No wonder the tire place stayed open late, Frank thought.
He pulled the small car out on the road, and two blocks down, made a left on Main, and began looking for the house. When he reached 6620, he pulled the small car into the driveway and parked it in the rear, in the old garage. He once again picked up the laptop case, along with one battered suitcase he had brought with him, and headed for the rear door.
The key would not fit in the lock.
Frank tried the knob, and breathed a sigh of relief when the door swung open into the shadowy kitchen area. He set down the suitcase, and felt along the wall with his hand until he located the old-style push button, and thumbed the switch on.
The kitchen floor was wet, he noticed, and a sharp pine odor lingered in the house, mingled with something else he couldn’t quite place. Must have just finished cleaning, he thought, maybe they didn’t have time to change the locks yet.
He picked up the suitcase once again, and nudged the door shut with the toe of one shoe as he walked off into the house.
Much nicer than I thought it would be, he marveled as he entered the front hallway from the kitchen area. He climbed the staircase to the second floor and tried the first door he came to.
It opened on a large bathroom, and an old claw foot tub stood gleaming in one corner of the room. The room was finished in an off-white color. The narrow wooden slats that comprised the lower wall, were broken about four feet from the floor with a decorative molding, and then finished to the tin ceiling above him with contrasting flowered wallpaper. Frank closed the door and moved further down the hallway.
The next door opened on a huge bedroom, decorated in the same style as the bathroom had been. A large four poster bed dominated the room, flanked on either side with dark oak dressers, which matched the bed. The linen, as promised, looked fresh.
Frank set the suitcase down and placed the briefcase on one of the dressers. He stripped off his jacket and hung it on one of the corner posts. Pulling his cellphone out of his pocket he muttered as he noticed that he had no service. “Figures” he muttered, and then headed down the stairs to see if the phone was working.
He wanted to call Cora and talk to the kid’s tomorrow. He had called that morning before he had left, and Tim had extracted a promise that he would call as soon as he could. They’re in bed by now, he realized, looking at his watch.
He wasn’t sure if there were two, or three, hours difference, but he knew it was earlier there than here. Either way it didn’t make much difference, he decided, they would probably either be in, or getting ready for, bed, so there wouldn’t be any sense in calling tonight. The phone call could wait until tomorrow morning, he was beat. His body felt it as well, he realized as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
When he had come through the front entrance-way, on his way upstairs, he had turned on the lights as he went, and he could see another set of switches by the front door. Must be a three way switch, he thought.
Over the years, he had replaced a lot of things in the house back in Richmond Beach, and light switches had been among them. You can’t own a house and not learn about maintenance, he thought. After Janey had died he had kept up the house himself, rather than call a repair man every time something wore out, or became broken. His eyes slipped down from the switch-plate, and he noticed a small cardboard box sitting on the floor by the front door, and walked over to investigate.
The box contained a screwdriver, and two new-looking lock-sets. He picked up the screw driver.
Nice multi-bit job, he thought, bet whoever left it is wondering what the hell they did with it.
Frank tried the keys he had been given to the house, and they fit in the new locks that were in the box.
He sighed, “Whoever they sent to clean up and put the locks in, forgot the locks,” he said aloud.
To hell with it, he decided, I’ll swap the locks out myself if I can.
At first he was a little pissed off that they had forgotten the locks. They did do a good job on the cleaning though, he thought, and I would probably only get the guy in trouble if I called Bud and complained.
Frank used the screw driver to remove the old locks, and after examining them, switched the cylinders and replaced them. The holes were new, and the dead bolts were the same brand, so it was an easy job to accomplish.
He put the screwdriver back in the box, along with the old locks and pushed it back into the corner where it had been below the light switch.
Whoever left that screwdriver will probably come back. At least for that, Frank thought. Maybe I’ll give Bud a call tomorrow, I don’t have to mention the locks, I’ll just tell him whoever he sent left some of their tools here.
The thought reminded Frank that he had come down to check the phone. He walked into the living room and picked up the old rotary dial phone to check for a dial tone. A familiar hum told him that it did indeed work. He replaced the receiver on the hook, and, turning the lights out as he went, climbed the stairway to the bedroom. He was beat, and sleep came quickly, even in the unfamiliar surroundings.
He met old man Peters, who lived across the road, the next morning.
– 4 –
“Christ, don’t say nothin’ bad about ’em while they’re around,” Francis Peters said.
“Why’s that?” Frank asked as he chuckled.
Frank was sitting on Peters’ front porch which overlooked the large house he had rented across the road; leaned back in a cane backed chair with a cold bottle of beer in his hand at 9:15 in the morning.
Frank had met Peters’ that morning as he had exited the house. The old man had been peering through the dirty windows of the garage at the small red car inside. He’d seemed pretty embarrassed at getting caught, and had told Frank that he was just, “Checkin’ on the house,” as he usually did.
“Didn’t ‘spect to see no one ’round here! I wasn’t told that the old place had been sold.”
The old man was of course fishing, and Frank knew it. Frank figured that the old guy probably saw himself as the unofficial caretaker of the place, and he had seemed to be harmless, so Frank had told him he was only renting the place for a couple of weeks.
“S’spected somethin’ was up,” Peters said, “There’s been one hell of a lot going on over here the last couple of weeks. I been sort’a watching the place for the last couple years, you know, so the kids don’t break into it and ruin it…”
“…When’d ya get in?”
“Yesterday… Well, last night, I guess,” Frank replied, “drove down from the airport in Syracuse.”
Peters nodded. “Yep, thought I saw some lights on over here last night. Thought maybe it was the same crowd twas here just after dark…Raised a hell of a ruckus, and nearly scared the bejesus out’a me. Thought somebody was gittin’ killed or something.”
Frank had eyed the old man.
“Well I think I can set your mind to ease on that. When I got in last night I noticed that somebody from the agency had been here, cleaning the place up. In fact, the kitchen floor was still wet,” he said.
“Yep.” Peters said, “you got that right, seen him my-own-self. Joe, I think his name is. Young kid with blonde hair. But, I ain’t talking ’bout him. There was a couple other guys’ here too. They were here before he was. The kid left with ’em too. Sounded like they had themselves a little fight first though. Say, it’s damn hot already, what’s say we go kick back on my porch a bit? I got some cold ones in the General?”
The old man had caught the suspicious reporter in him, so here he sat at 9:15 a.m. with a cold beer in his hand, wondering what the old guy had actually seen.
The beer wasn’t bad, despite the early hour. He’d expected some off brand or something, the Coors was a nice surprise. Social Security, which was what the old man said he lived on, must pay a lot better than it used to, Frank thought.
“Really,” Peters was saying, with a big grin on his face, “they’ll get ya fer it. They really will.”
He continued. “I ‘member this one time when I said something to Old Jay.” Old Jay was Peter’s mangy looking orange and white cat. “He’s an uppity old cuss, thinks his shit don’t stink, ya know?”
Frank couldn’t help but laugh.
“No shit,” Peters bellowed over the top of the laughter.
“Son-of-a-whore shit in my shoe.”
That was it for Frank, and he let the laughter roll out of his belly unchecked.
“Well fuck you,” Peters said, a stern look on his face.
“I’m just trying to tell ya, that animals’ kin understand, when ya say somethin’ bad about ’em. That bastard shit right in my shoe. If I’d a caught him he’d a been a sorry little bastard too.”
Frank just laughed and shook his head. What could you say to a man who thinks his cat can understand him?
Peters chuckled a little, right along with him.
“Course…There was this dawg, I once owned. I swear to God that dawg not only knew what I was saying, but worse than that, the little son-of-a-whore knew what I was thinking too. Not always, but most the time mind ya.”
Peters raved about the dog for a few more minutes, as Frank got the laughter under control, and did his best to look serious.
He felt Peters was probably a pretty good guy after all, and was still waiting for the old man to get around to the subject that had begun across the road. Whatever the old man had witnessed was probably worth hearing, Frank thought.
Peters got to it eventually, but you wouldn’t have known that anything had clicked in Franks mind by the look on his face. Frank had been a reporter for too long to let his face betray what his mind suspected.
The old man had been sitting out on his front porch with a can of Old Milwaukee last evening, when the incident across the Street had occurred.
Frank was on his second beer, and the Coors had been replaced with Old Milwaukee. Turns out the Coors had been brought over by the kid Peters called Joe, the previous week, when the work on the old house had been going on.
Peters had liked the kid, so he said, and the kid had taken to dropping by every night and sitting on the wide front porch with the old man.
They, “Watched traffic mostly,” Peters said, “that kid didn’t have no family, and he wasn’t raised up here, so I guess he didn’t have many friends to hang around with. Told me he come up from Florida lookin’ for work and lucked out. Guess he decided to stay. That’s why it struck me kind ‘a funny that he didn’t drop over last night. Course it was full dark when him and the others left, and I didn’t have the porch light on, so maybe he figured I twasn’t to home.”
“Ain’t a whole hell-of-a-lot to look at here ya know,” Peters continued. He seemed to feel the need to defend himself for watching the old house across the Street, and Frank nodded his head in agreement as if to say, “Yes indeed, it looks as though it could be pretty boring, and no, I wouldn’t consider that being nosy.” The nod seemed to put the old man at ease, and he continued his narrative.
“Well anyhow, I was just kicking back with a beer, when I saw Joe’s car come down the Street an pull in the driveway over there,” he flapped his hand towards the large brick house across the Street. “Figured that somethin’ must a happened to that old piece a shit van he usually drives. He didn’t wave, so I just figured he probably didn’t see me sittin’ over here. Never saw the other car till later, but it must have already been there, parked around back, kind ‘a sneaky like, ya know?”
Frank nodded his head as if he did.
“Well anyway, he gits the door open, and just sort’a stood there lookin’ in as if he ‘spected somethin’ to jump out and bite ‘im. Looked fer a second as though he might just jump back in that car of his, and hit the road instead a doing whatever it was he needed to do there. But he didn’t, he went on in, but I didn’t see him come back out. I went in the house a few minutes later to git me a fresh one, and feed Old Jay, and I know his car was a sittin’ there when I looked out about an hour later, but after I got up from my nap about of an hour after that, it was gone. I figured he was gone, so I just sat down on the porch and watched the cars go by fer awhile. Just when I got my old ass back inside to get me another beer, is when the hollering started.” Peters took a long sip from his beer, before he continued.
“I figured that someone else had showed up over there. Maybe that cheap prick Joe works for, but when I got my beer and went back out, twasn’t nobody there. I sat there for another ten minutes or so, when all the sudden Joe’s car come flying out the driveway, along with a big car of some kind. That was strange too, as I ain’t never saw Joe drive that car that-a-way. He liked it too much, and it wasn’t set up the way some of these kids set their cars up, it was just sort’a regular, ya know?” he eyed Frank speculatively, and Frank nodded for him to go on.
“Anyway, that’s it. They went a tearin’ off up the road, and then about a half hour later you showed up and pulled around the back. I was thinking ’bout headin’ over there but I ain’t one to stick my nose in too far, ya know? I did call up Alan, down the town hall though. Course, that fat piece a shit never did come by. Told me to stop being so damn nosy, and he’d call Bud up the city tomorrow to see what was going on.”
“So, I just said to hell with it. That’s when I come back out and saw you pull in. Besides,” Peters continued, “that fat bastard ain’t worth the time a day. I asked Old Jay and he feels the same as I do about it.” Peters grinned.
The whole tale didn’t sit well with Frank, and it jogged his memory about his arrival the night before. He had been tired and the other smell he had detected along with the pine odor had slipped by his tired mind. He had been unable to place it and so had ignored it. Peter’s story though had served to place it for him.
He’d had a friend, back in college, that had worked at his father’s meat packing plant on Houston’s west side, and Frank had taken the friend up on the offer of part-time work at the plant one summer. He had never been able to stand the smell in the plant though. Strong pine disinfectant, and an under-smell of coppery-blood. That was what the other smell in the house had reminded him of last night, he realized, a slaughter house.
When he’d awoke this morning the smell had been gone, but he was certain it had been there last night.
Frank resolved to check out the house closely later on.
“…doin’?” he heard peters say.
“Huh?” Frank asked.
“I said, how’s that beer doin’?” Peters asked again, “I’m fixin’ to get myself another. Ya want one?”
“Tell you what,” Frank replied, “I’ll take a rain check for later on, if you don’t mind. I’ve got to make a couple of phone calls, and I also have a couple of errands to run. It should be my turn to buy anyway, isn’t it?”
Peters grinned. “Far be it from me to turn down an offer like that’un, and it maybe just might be. I’ll be kickin’ around later on. Com’on over when ya git back, and I’ll help ya drink a couple fer sure.”
Frank said he would and headed back across the road towards the imposing old house.
Once he had reached the door; unlocked it, and stepped inside; he let the breath he hadn’t known he was holding escape in a low groan.
The old man’s story, along with his memory of the odor he had smelled the previous evening, had shaken him. He knew it was possible to stick your nose too deeply into a story. He had seen several young eager kids lose their jobs over stepping on the wrong toes. He had also known a couple of older reporters who had as well, and it also wasn’t unheard of for a reporter on the tail of a possibly damaging story to just disappear. Maybe it was unlikely, but not unheard of.
Like Jimmy maybe? His mind asked.
He pushed the thought quickly away, and shifted his attention back to the house, and the odor he had detected last night.
Had something happened here last night? He wondered. Had someone grown concerned over what they suspected Frank might know, and wanted him removed? Was it strictly something to do with the kid, or did the kid just happen to be there at the wrong time?
Frank suddenly realized that if the tire hadn’t blown on the rental car that he would have been here. He would have been here for sure, he told himself, and probably a lot earlier than the kid had been. Had someone, or a couple of someone’s, been waiting for him? The uncertainties bothered him a great deal. He walked back into the kitchen area where he had entered the house the evening before.
The kitchen still smelled faintly of pine-cleaner, but this time the under odor of blood was not present. He scanned the kitchen area with his eyes, until they fell upon a small white object by the door that led back into the front entranceway.
Frank walked over and bent down next to the small white square of cloth that lay in the corner by the doorway, and picked it up. His eyes were drawn to a small rust colored stain on the cloth.
Blood! His mind told him.
The cloth appeared to have been torn from a shirt, and one small edge of a broken button was still sewn to the tiny scrap of cloth. He made a mental note to ask Peters what the kid had been wearing the night before when he had saw him, but he knew it probably belonged to the kid’s shirt. Frank walked back into the entrance way, to retrieve the screwdriver he had replaced in the cardboard box. Looks like no one will be coming back for this after all, he thought, as he carried it back with him to the kitchen.
Using the screwdriver as a crude pry bar, Frank removed the molding that finished the kitchen wall to the floor. The usual dust and plaster that he had expected to see, was congealed with the dark red blood, which he had also expected to see. Frank replaced the strip of wood using the handle of the screwdriver as a hammer.
It was as he thought. Peters had been more correct than he knew, when he had said it had sounded as though someone was being killed. What did it mean, he wondered, and why hadn’t the sheriff of the local community come down when Peters had called him? Did he think Peters was just an old crack pot? Or was it something else?
Frank tossed the screwdriver back in the box as he passed it on the way to the living area. He decided to call the sheriff himself and find out. Obviously someone had been at least seriously injured… killed, Franks mind whispered, and someone should be looking into it.
Frank picked up the phone to call information, but set it back down after only a few seconds. It would be of no use to him, it was dead.
He walked back through the kitchen, left the house; locked the door behind him; and opening the garage door, he climbed into the small red car and keyed the ignition… Nothing happened.
Frank, who was starting to feel a little nervous, went around to the front of the car, lifted the hood, and peered down into the engine compartment.
The battery cables were both cut and it looked like whoever had done the job had thought a little overkill was in order, as they had also removed all the wires running into the small greasy distributor cap. Frank looked around the small garage, but the wires were nowhere in sight.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, as he removed the prop rod and let the hood fall back down with a loud clang. He kicked the front tire of the small car viciously as he walked past it on his way towards the house.
“Bastards,” he said aloud.
Frank was sure now, that he had gotten himself into something deep this time. He could no longer pretend about that at all. His mind continued to run through the growing list of suspicions he had, as he walked around the side of the house searching for the phone line.
As it turned out the phone line came in through the back of the house. It was cut, and as with the car, whoever had done it had thought maybe a little more overkill was in order. They had cut an additional ten feet or so of it, and had apparently taken it with them when they had left.
The remainder terminated about three inches above Frank’s head. Angry, but also a little shaken, Frank turned to start across the road to see if Peters had a phone. He had just begun to turn, when a horn blared on the highway.
Frank turned just in time to see the old man leave the mouth of his dirt driveway, and wave as his old Plymouth farted blue smoke and drove away.
Peters waving hand had followed the honk, and Frank, not really thinking all that clearly, had raised his own hand and waved good-by as the car disappeared down the road.
Frank mentally kicked himself, as he gazed down the now empty stretch of highway.
“Shit!” he muttered. “Guess I’m going to do a little walking.”
Frank closed up the garage and headed down the road. Two miles down he turned right, and headed towards the service station he had stopped at the previous night. When he arrived hopefully he would be able to get the old guy to come back and fix the car.
If he’s there, he thought. The way things are going today he probably won’t be.
When Frank arrived at the gas station, the old man walked out to greet him.
“Howdy,” Bill Freeman queried, “blow out another tire?”
“No… Looks as though some kids might have had themselves some fun with my car though,” he lied, “they ripped out the distributor wiring and cut the battery cables on me.”
“That so?” Bill questioned, “Seems as though them city kids is always up to something, and it ain’t the first time it’s happened.”
Frank, who knew it hadn’t been any “City kids,” nodded his head in agreement. He climbed into the wrecker beside Bill, and rode along as bill retrieved the red Toyota and towed it back to the garage for the second time in as many days.
It only took an hour for Bill to replace the wiring and cables, and after Frank paid him, he had stopped at a small store he had passed on the way to pick up something to eat, and a case of beer he hoped would pry a little more out of Peters.
When Frank got back to the old house he pulled the car back into the garage, and this time he locked it before he went back into the house.
He popped the top on a fresh brew, and drank it as he built two monstrous sandwiches; grabbed another cold beer, and walked into the living area to sit down.
The dining area had a long oak table, he had noticed, but Frank had always taken his meals into the living room at home, or out on the rear deck, and old habits were hard to break.
He had started this particular habit after Janey had died. The kids were usually in bed or at Cora’s for the night, by the time he ate, and the television took the edge off the loneliness he had felt trying to eat in the kitchen.
When he finished he headed back towards the kitchen to get another beer. He had just entered the hallway when his eyes told him that something was wrong. It took a few seconds of looking around the empty hallway, before he realized what it was. The box that he had put the old locks back into was gone.
He remembered tossing the screwdriver back into it earlier, and it had been right by the front door. He had replaced it there himself last night, after he had installed the locks, and it had still been there just a short while ago when he had retrieved the screwdriver to pry the molding loose in the kitchen.
Frank walked warily to the front door and opened it. It was not locked, and he was sure he had locked it.
Someone, he realized, had been in the house while he was gone.
Might still be, his mind told him.
Frank closed the door and re-locked it. He quietly set the empty beer can down on the floor by the door, and began searching the house.
When he had searched all the rooms, with the exception of the bedroom he was now entering, he had begun to wonder if his imagination was working overtime. The house seemed empty. Frank looked around the room silently and cautiously, noticing that the laptop bag that he had placed on the dresser was still there.
He looked under the bed.
Nothing, he saw, and getting up returned to the dresser. He was mentally chiding himself as he opened the laptop bag, but stopped as the bag popped open, to reveal only an empty satin lining.
“Shit,” he muttered, “all the damn notes are gone along with the laptop.”
The realization frightened him, as the missing notes confirmed all the suspicions he had. No one would want them, unless they were specifically connected to the investigation he was conducting. He knew now that the killer, or killers, had been after him all along.
Frank let the case fall shut, not bothering to fully close or lock it, and went back down to the kitchen with the suitcase he had picked up in the bedroom.
He now knew that he was in real danger. If the killer had tried once, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that he or they would know by now they had gotten the wrong person. When they did figure it out they would be back, he knew, and Frank had no intention of being there when they did. He also had no intention of letting them get away if they did come back, and he could catch them.
I wonder if old man Peters really is as salty as he seems to be? Frank thought. His place would be a good place to sit and wait for them to come back, and on the heels of that thought came another. I wonder if he has a gun, or an old deer rifle? Probably, Frank thought. Hadn’t he said earlier that he used to do some hunting when he was younger?
Frank was pretty sure he had when he had been rambling on about the old dog he had once owned.
Either way it would be a lot safer there than here, he told himself.
With his mind made up, Frank stuffed the beer and the groceries back into the bag and walked out the back door. He decided to leave the small car in the locked garage, to make it appear as though he was still in the house.
Frank walked behind the house, peered around cautiously, and entered the woods behind it, walking a long curving route around the old place until he found the highway once again.
As he crossed the road and entered the woods on the other side to cover himself as he moved towards old man Peter’s house, he realized how stupid he would look to someone if they had seen him walking through the woods with a grocery bag. He remembered then that he had left the suitcase sitting on the kitchen floor.
I guess it’ll be staying there for a while, he thought, as he tramped deeper into the woods.
He came out in back of Peter’s house, and quickly walked the ten yards from the tree line to the house. The car was still gone, he saw, as he entered the unlocked rear door. After putting the sack in the refrigerator, he moved to the living room.
He sat in the old man’s recliner, drinking a beer, as he stared out the window at the house across the road and opened a fresh pack of cigarettes. He smoked, as he waited for Peters to return.
– 5 –
The two men faced each other across the playing board. The younger man thought for a second, and then moved a nearby red checker towards the other side of the board in a series of jumps; set it down, and said, “King me.”
The older man obliged, and then with his chin in his hand sat studying the board.
He had only two black checkers left, neither of which were crowned. He smiled and moved one forward a space. The young man reciprocated by jumping both of the remaining pieces, and removing them from the board.
“Ain’t often I kin say I beat the Lord,” he said, and smiled at the older man.
The older man smiled back at him. “Guess you’re just too good for me”, he said. ”Ira…I was wondering if you would like to take a little walk with me. I have a couple of things on my mind I wanted to talk to you about, do you mind?”
“Mind? Heck no I don’t. I was gittin’ a bit itchy about thing’s myself,” Ira replied.
They had both been talking during the checkers game, and Ira had been waiting for an opportunity to ask about how things were going. But how did you ask God what he’s been up to? He wondered.
“You just ask,” the kindly older man said.
Ira was sure that he hadn’t spoken the question out loud, but it wasn’t the first time the man had seemed to read his thoughts, and he had actually become accustomed to it.
Ira blinked his eyes, and when he opened them, he found himself standing in a small stand of woods with a stiff, though cool, wind blowing long dead leaves across his shoes.
He did not feel inclined to question it. It had happened before. One minute they would be in one place discussing something, and the next instant they would be somewhere else. He was used to it.
The older man stood beside him staring at a freshly turned rectangular patch of ground before him, which had been swept clean by the wind.
“His blood cries out to me,” he said.
Ira could somehow see through the dirt, and down into the earth where a young man lay encased in the soil.
“One of many,” the older man said, “Look,” his finger pointed at the ground.
They were in a small alleyway in what looked to Ira to be a very bad section of a large city.
A young girl struggled desperately, as two men ripped at her clothes.
Tears leaked from the older man’s eyes, and Ira could feel his own tears falling onto his cheeks. He tried to move but couldn’t.
“Don’t,” the older man cautioned. “Look!”
Ira was standing at the base of an old wooden cross, looking up into the eyes of the man who hung there.
“It has never changed, Ira,” the man on the cross said, “It will never change until I force it to change.”
The man on the cross was crying as well, Ira saw.
“I love them so much, but it has never changed.”
Ira’s eyes were suddenly assaulted with images that seemed to go on forever. Horrible human atrocities of every imaginable kind, and the older man held him as he sobbed.
“Do I have to see so much? Do I have to see it?” Ira asked.
As quickly as the images had come, they disappeared, and they were back at the table, with the checker board spread out before them. The older man held Ira’s hand in his own.
“I felt the question in your heart,” the older man said. “I did not want to hurt you, but I want you to know that I have no choice.”
Ira nodded his head. He knew that he never would have been able to look at some of the things the man had shown him.
“When?” Ira asked.
“Tomorrow,” the older man answered. “Will you be able?”
Ira thought for a second. Not about the answer, but the things he had seen.
“Yes, Lord,” he answered, “I’ll be as ready as I kin be anyway.”
“I knew you would,” the older man said, “and I truly wish it could be different.” He seemed to think for a second, and then changed the subject.
“Have you picked a place to settle?” he asked.
“I saw a right nice place just today,” Ira replied, “when we was looking over Oklahoma.”
The older man smiled. “I had hoped so, Ira, I think Cora will like it just fine too. I cannot wait to meet her in person.”
“I ‘spect she will,” Ira answered, “and I know she’s lookin’ forward to it. We talked about it the other night.”
“So you did, so you did,” the older man agreed. “Hey?” he questioned, and waited for Ira’s eyes to turn to him. “How about another game? And try to go a little easier on me this time, Okay?”
Ira grinned as he began to set up the checkers. “Best three out’a five?” he asked.
The older man nodded his head. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he agreed, as he began to set up his side of the board.
June 17th
– 1 –
Francis Peters returned just after dark. Frank had expected the old man to park out back and come into the house through the kitchen, but he hadn’t. Instead he had parked his car out back, by a falling down gray-weathered old barn, and walked around to the front of the house. When he came in the front door, Frank quickly ushered the old man out into the kitchen area of the old house.
While waiting for Peters to return, Frank had watched the house across the Street, but had not seen anything out of the ordinary occur. Even so the long wait had left him with an uneasy feeling that something would happen soon. Maybe after dark, he thought.
Peters seemed frightened, at first, when he opened the door and saw Frank standing just inside the shadowy living room, and Frank roughly pulled him the rest of the way into the room, quickly closed the door, and then took him into the kitchen
“I know I said to make yer’self to home,” Peters said, once he had recovered from his initial shock, “t’other day when you was here. But in these parts it’s usually considered polite to ask, afore you move yer’self into a body’s home.”
As Peters talked, his voice became tinged with anger, which seemed to smooth out his accent.
“Christ, Frank, what were you thinking? You nearly gave me a damn heart attack.”
Frank returned to the living room, and locked the old wooden door, before he came back into the kitchen and answered Peters question.
“I’m sorry about that, Francis, but I didn’t have a whole hell of lot of choice,” Frank replied.
He debated for a second about telling the old man what he suspected had transpired at the house across the Street, and decided that if he were to enlist the man’s help, and advice, he would have to fill him in on what he knew.
“You were more right about what went on at the house I’m renting, than you know,” Frank began. “I think that young friend of yours, Joe, I think you said his name was, was killed over there, and probably not long before I got there.”
He waited for a second to let Peters digest what he had said.
“Yer shittin’ me,” Peters responded.
“I only wish that I was,” Frank replied calmly. “I’m not though. After I left here last night, I thought I’d check out what you said. I pulled off some of the molding in the kitchen, and, well… somebody, even if it wasn’t that kid, was either seriously hurt or killed in that kitchen, Francis.”
Peters opened the door of the old refrigerator, handed Frank a beer; grabbed one for his-self, and sat down in one of the old wooden kitchen chairs, as Frank paused.
“That isn’t all of it either,” Frank said, once the old man had sat down.
“The rest of it is why I really came here.”
Frank talked for almost thirty minutes, as Peters calmly sipped at the beer and listened. Frank like-wise filled him in on what he thought was going on in Glennville; in an effort to elicit some additional information on the area, as well as any insights the old man might have into what was really going on.
Peters had sat and quietly listened as Frank spoke, and when he finished, the old man shook his head, and sighed. He got up from the chair, walked to the refrigerator, and pulled two more cans of beer from the interior and then sat back down. He opened one, and handed the other to Frank before he spoke.
“I s’spected somethin’ was going on over there,” he said, “but I was hoping I was wrong.”
He shook his head once more before he resumed talking.
“I s’spect the best thing to do, is to go to the source, to find out what’s goin’ on.”
“How’s that?” Frank asked.
“Easy, all you gotta do is git yer’self into those tunnels, right?”
Frank nodded in agreement, and asked, “But how?”
“Easy,” Peters replied, “all ya gotta do is use one of the other entrances to the tunnel. There’s quite a few ya know, and I doubt like hell anyone knows all of ’em.”
Frank thought for a second, before he replied.
“I really doubt it would help me though… I wouldn’t even know how to find my way around in there.”
“Yup, that’s true… but, I might know of someone who does,” he said winking.
“You?” Frank asked.
“Don’t see anyone else jumpin’ up to volunteer do ya?” he responded.
” ‘Sides, I know them caves in and out, and I ain’t so old as I wouldn’t be able to do a little walkin’. Fact is I’d also like to satisfy my own curiosity. I liked that kid a lot.”
Frank thought about it for a moment. The old man seemed truly sincere, but did he really know another way in, and if so could he get Frank in? He seemed to know what he was talking about, but was the old guy really up for it? He was pretty damn old, and it wouldn’t be an easy trek to make.
“What about the local police?” Frank asked, “Shouldn’t we at least tell them about the kid, or what we suspect happened to him?”
“It wouldn’t make no difference,” Peters replied. “Like I told ya, I called them bastards yesterday myself, and they never showed. Did they pop over today?”
“No,” Frank admitted reluctantly.
“It’s like I told ya yesterday, that Alan Johnson ain’t worth a fiddlers fuck,” Peters stated flatly.
Frank thought for a second, and then made up his mind. He really didn’t have any choice, did he,he reasoned? Peters knew the caves, and he didn’t. It was that simple.
“I’m game if you’re serious,” Frank said, “but it isn’t going to be an easy trip, Francis.”
“I know that, but it don’t concern me a hell of a lot,” Peters said, “we kin leave tomorrow mornin’, or tonight if’n ya want to.”
“Listen, Francis,” Frank said, “if they killed that kid, they probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill either of us. I’ve got a friend; he’s a reporter like me, who’s missing as well. He was helping me investigate this whole thing, and I suspect he disappeared because he got too close to the truth… What I’m saying is, we could both end up dead.”
“I know that, and I gave it a bit a thought as well,” Peters said. “Jess let me go dig out my old shotgun, and make sure it still works, I ain’t used it in a coon’s age, and we kin take that with us. If some sum-bitch tries anything with me, I’ll put a frigging deer slug in ’em.”
Peters had gotten up from the kitchen table as he spoke, apparently, Frank thought, to get the shotgun, and Frank followed him into the living room as he finished speaking.
He supposed a shotgun, even an old one, was better than no weapon at all. He nodded in approval, and then wandered back out to the kitchen to grab himself another beer, as Peters shuffled off towards his bedroom to locate the old shotgun.
As he opened the refrigerator, he thought, good thing I brought some food with me, this thing is totally empty. Wonder what the hell the old guy eats? Cat food? He had noticed earlier when he had placed the sack in it, that the only other thing in the General Electric, had been a six pack of beer, a half-eaten pizza, and twelve unopened cans of cat food. In fact the whole house had a slip-shod appearance to it, like Peters maybe didn’t spend a whole hell-of-a-lot of time in it, but where the hell else would he be, he asked himself, if he wasn’t here?
Frank popped the top on a can of the beer; closed the door; and turned to head back into the living room, to see if Peters had located the shotgun. It was a good thing he turned when he did, he told himself later, re-playing the scene over and over again, Peters’ was standing in the doorway with the old shotgun leveled at him.
Frank instinctively dropped to the floor as the shotgun roared in the small kitchen. He rolled quickly to the left, and then just as quickly he jumped from the drop-roll, and tackled the old man’s legs, taking them both into the living room. Foam, from the dropped can of beer, had spread quickly across the worn kitchen floor; Frank had almost slipped in it and lost his balance as he lunged for Peter’s legs.
His will to survive took over.
Frank wrestled the shotgun from the old man’s grip in the living room, with a well-placed punch to the throat, which caused the old man to release his grip and fall to the floor gasping for breath.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” Frank yelled, as he gained his feet, and leveled the shotgun at the wheezing old man on the floor.
Peters glared back at him as he struggled to catch his breath, and said between gulps of air, “I kill you for that if I can, you bastard.”
Franks eyes almost popped from his head as Peters spoke. He had almost convinced himself that it had been some sort of an accident. Maybe the gun just went off accidentally, he reasoned, and maybe you nearly killed the old guy simply because the damn gun went off.
Peters was struggling to get up off the floor, and Frank kicked him hard in the stomach, driving him back down onto the worn carpet of the living room.
The display of bravado Peters had attempted ended, as Frank roared the question once again.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing? What the hell is going on here?”
Frank was in no mood to take any shit from Peters, and when he didn’t immediately answer, he roared the question again, while pointing the shotgun threateningly at him.
“Okay… Okay,” Peters said, gulping air. “You’ll never make it anyway, you stupid fuck. We were wise to you before you got here.”
Frank’s mouth dropped open as he finally realized, that the accent the old man had demonstrated was now gone along with any pretense that he hadn’t known a thing about Frank’s situation, or why he was in Fort Drum.
“The only reason you’re still alive,” the old man continued, “is those stupid ass-holes that were sent to take care of you, killed the kid by mistake. If I hadn’t wandered over to look the place over myself yesterday morning, we wouldn’t even have known about it… Sincerely, you’re fucked Franklin, you might as well just give me that shotgun and call it quits,”
Peters fixed Frank with his old gray eyes, before he continued.
“You’re dead meat pal, this deal is much too big to allow some second rate reporter like you to screw it up. You think my supervisor doesn’t know you’re still alive? You think I’m that fucking stupid? If you don’t hand that shotgun over, and let me up, you’re gonna be in a world of shit.”
The bravado was returning to his voice as he spoke.
“Sincerely buddy, give it up, it’s not like you can just kill me or something, and it won’t make any difference at all. We’ll still get you, there’s nowhere to go.”
Frank was incredulous, and was having a hard time digesting all of what Peters was saying.
They had known he was coming?
They had been waiting?
What the hell was so important that they were willing to kill me to stop me from finding out about it? He wondered, and if they had known before he had left Washington, did that mean they had possibly taken the kids? Or hurt them? Or worse? Had they gotten to Jimmy?
He turned his attention back to the old man on the floor.
“Who are you,” he asked. “I mean who are you really?”
Peters just glared back from the floor.
“You had better speak if you intend to see the end of this day,” Frank said, in a deadly calm voice.
“If you’re thinking that I won’t shoot, you’re wrong buddy boy, I will. I’ll shoot you and leave you laying here, now TALK!”
“CIA,” Peters replied with a sneer. “Now, don’t you think it might be smart to put that shotgun down?” Peters was trying for the false bravado again, but the fear was evident in his voice as he spoke, and he kept glancing nervously at the shotgun that Frank held.
“And?” Frank asked.
He jabbed the shotguns barrel into Peter’s ribs, and shoved him all the way back onto the floor.
“And what?” Peters asked.
“Don’t you, and what, me, you son-of-a-bitch, what’s the real deal here?” Frank struggled to bring his temper under control, before he continued, and he began to speak in a calm, but deadly serious voice once he did.
“Listen, I’m not in the mood to play your stupid games Peters, if that’s really your name. I want the truth, and I want it…right…now.” He punctuated his speech by once again jabbing the shotguns barrel into his ribs.
“Right.” jab…”Now.” jab.
Peters began to talk, and in the end, when Frank was sure he ought to just kill him, he hadn’t been able to.
Instead he had kept the old man talking through the night, gleaning every detail he could. Then he had taken the old guy, whose real name it turned out was David Black, down into the cellar when the sun had come up, and securely bound him to one of the old kitchen chairs, he had brought down from the kitchen for just that purpose.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay there.” Frank warned him. He settled his green eyes on him as he spoke.
“Because If I see you again… I’ll kill you.”
Frank climbed the rickety old cellar stairs to the kitchen, reached into the refrigerator, and plucked out a cold beer, considered, and then grabbed another and sat down at the table to think.
He wasn’t sure whether he believed Black’s story entirely or not. He desperately hoped he hadn’t been lying when he had said that Patty and Tim were all right. Frank didn’t think he had been, as he had rested the shotgun on his chest, and had told him he would just as soon kill him. The bravery had fled, and Black had looked pretty damned scared as well. Frank supposed he would have been too.
He hadn’t seen a phone anywhere in the house, he realized, as he sipped the beer thoughtfully, and peered around the kitchen.
Wonder how he kept his supervisor up to speed on me, without a phone?
He left the kitchen and walked back down the cellar steps to where Black sat tied into the kitchen chair.
“Where’s the phone?” he asked without any preamble.
Black looked confused.
“The phone, you piece of shit,” Frank yelled. “You know, ring-a-ling-ling, a phone? You must have a phone here somewhere, if only to keep in touch with your supervisor, right?”
“In the car, under the front seat,” Black replied quietly, and then continued.
“Look, nobody hurt your kids Frank, this thing was strictly aimed at you.”
“Like I’m really gonna believe somebody like you?” Frank asked, as he turned and re-climbed the cellar stairs.
“Suit yourself,” Black called from the basement behind him.
Frank walked out to the car, glad now that Black had parked it out back, and retrieved the cellular phone. He carried it back into the kitchen, and re-locked the door behind him. He wondered briefly whether the phone could be traced, or was maybe being monitored in some way, but he placed the call to Cora anyway. He had to know that the kids were really okay, and he couldn’t just take Black’s word for it. In the same breath, he didn’t want to scare the kids. So he made up his mind to only speak to Cora, even though he desperately wanted to hear their voices, so that he could put his mind at ease.
In the kitchen of the old Pratt farm, the phone rang twice before Cora picked it up. Before Frank could say much more that hello, she spoke…
“I knowed you’d be callin’,” Cora said, “and don’t worry, the kids is safe. Go do what you got to do, Frank.”
Frank was caught entirely off guard by Cora’s remark, but with everything else that had transpired since he left Washington, he supposed it, at first, to be just an old woman’s suspicions, and not of any great significance. In truth it hadn’t really even clicked, until a few seconds after she said it.
“Do you believe in God?” she asked, before he had fully comprehended what she had said when she answered the phone.
“Of course I do, Cora,” he stammered, although in truth he was really not sure if he did or did not; she had expected that answer, so he had given it, as he had hundreds of times before when he had been asked. But, to say he really did, or did not believe would have taken a great deal more thought, and he was pretty sure the answer would actually be no.
“Then you oughta do some prayin’ fer yourself, and the kids too,” she said, as he listened over the static on the cellular phone.
“But…” he started, when she cut back in.
“Just go, Frank,” she said, “just go, before it’s too late.”
She hung up the phone on her end, before Frank could say another word, but he had heard the children’s laughter, as they had played in the background, and it eased his mind. He sat at the table, puzzling over what Cora had said to him.
In all the time he had known her, he had never known her to be afraid of anything. She hadn’t really sounded afraid this time either, but she had sounded upset, and her message had seemed so urgent.
The longer he sat at the table, the angrier he became. He had to control that anger before he got up from the table and went back down to the cellar and did something he might not be able to forgive himself for, he decided to leave. Enough was enough, there had to be answers, and he was through stepping around the edges of them.
The decision made, Frank got up from the table, and found the box of slugs for the shotgun in the bedroom. With the slugs slipped securely into his pocket, he locked up the house, and drove Blacks car into the woods to conceal it. He then made the circuitous trip through the woods to the house across the road, where he now waited patiently for dusk to arrive.
After he was sure that the children were okay, he had begun to worry about making the phone call. While it was true that they hadn’t done anything to the children, that didn’t, Frank knew, mean they wouldn’t. If they did go after the children, he was sure they would have one hell-of-a-fight on their hands from Cora, and somehow, Frank told himself, he would find them, and kill them, no matter who they worked for, if they hurt the kids.
The other thing that may not have been smart about the phone call, he realized, was that if they had traced it, it would lead them directly to him, so it probably wouldn’t be smart to hang around for long, Frank had decided.
Black had also told Frank, with some urging from the shotgun that he had kept tucked under his chin, about Jimmy.
They had killed him. Black had made no bones about it at all. They had taken him out, the same way they had intended to take Frank out.
Apparently Jimmy had gotten far to close, and they had waited for him to return to his apartment one night. Before he had really known what was going on, they had killed him by garroting him with a thin steel line.
“Quick and easy,” Black had said, “and no mess just in case somebody came nosing around to see where he was.” The cock-sucker had sounded proud, Frank thought, as he waited for darkness, deep within the shadows at the edge of the woods.
They hadn’t bothered to question him, Black had said, as they knew that he knew too much.
“That questioning shit,” Black had told Frank, “only takes place in the movies.”
The worries he’d had about the kids, and the knowledge of what they had done to Jimmy already, kept him indecisive for a few seconds, and he had hovered at the door to the basement, wondering if he should go back down and put a slug right between the old man’s eyes. If he somehow managed to escape, and get out of the basement, he would be able to tip off his cohorts about Frank, and what he intended to do.
Instead he had descended the cellar steps once more; checked the ropes to make absolutely sure they were tight enough, and then before he could change his mind and shoot him, he had left without saying a word to Black.
Darkness descended on the woods where Frank stood waiting, and he crouched low as he ran the few yards to the garage; fished the keys from his pocket and inserted one into the lock on the old wooden door. The door itself was still intact, and since he hadn’t seen anyone approach the old house as he had sat watching it yesterday, he supposed that was a good sign. Still he was cautious as he raised the door, keeping the shotgun pointed into the interior of the shadowy old garage.
It was empty, except for the small car he had left inside.
“Guess they figured I wouldn’t need it,” Frank said aloud, in the small space.
The sound of his own voice startled him for a second, causing his finger to tighten on the trigger of the shotgun. He quickly released it and let the gun swing down to his side.
No sense shooting the car, he thought.
He moved quietly to the car and after first peering cautiously inside, opened the driver’s door, and climbed behind the wheel.
He had been positive, while waiting in the woods, that somehow the car would not be there, but when it was, he had become equally sure that the car would not start. So sure, in fact, that he had to fight an urge to exit the car and open the hood, to see for himself whether the new wires were still attached to the distributor and battery. In the end he simply inserted the key, turned it, and it started with no problem.
He toyed briefly with the idea of trying to follow the old man’s directions to an alternate entrance to the caves. The problem was, he could not be sure if the old man had been telling the truth, and if he had been, he could not be sure that someone would not be there waiting for him.
He made up his mind to take the direct route. He had his press pass, so he could at least flash it, and try to get in that way. If it worked he would have to wing it from that point. There was no one he could trust to call to help him, and he had not thought the plan out any farther than that.
Frank pulled the small car out onto the highway and headed towards Glennville, and the caves.
– 2 –
In the kitchen of the old Pratt farm, in Washington State, Cora picked up the dishes from dinner and took them to the sink. She washed them and stacked them neatly in the cupboard where they had always rested. She didn’t know if she would need them at the new place Ira had told her he would find for them, but if she did she wanted them to be clean and waiting for her.
When she finished putting them away, she called the children into the kitchen from the living room, where they had been watching television, and they followed her into the basement willingly.
“Tim,” she said, “give yer old Gramma a hand with this.”
Together they lifted the heavy concrete and steel door, which led to the sub cellar.
“You ‘fraid of the dark?” she asked the children who were peering down into the darkness.
“Hope not,” she said, answering her own question.
“Com’on let’s get going,” she said, as she herded the frightened children down into the musty smelling sub cellar.
“How come we hav’ta go down here, Gramma Cora?” Patty asked, as she descended the steps into the darkness.
“Don’t fret honey, it ain’t for long,” Cora replied, “jess pretend it’s a game, honey, ‘kay? It’ll only be for a short time.”
As they cleared the top, the old woman gave a sharp tug on the steel chain that held the door, and it fell with a loud clump, cutting off the sparse light that had spilled into the sub cellar from the basement.
She found the children in the dark, held them, and began to pray.
– 3 –
Just outside of Fort Drum; in Jefferson County New York, on the old Jeffrey’s farm; buried under four feet of loose earth in a freshly dug grave. Joe Miller suddenly awoke, and began to claw his way out towards the surface. He no longer needed to breathe, he realized, as he clawed at the loose earth to free himself, and he really didn’t seem to care.
– 4 –
In a long tunnel, under the city of Glennville New York, hemmed in by large military trucks, Frank Morgan wondered over the luck he’d had at getting himself into the Army facility.
He had flashed his press pass, half afraid they would open fire or something, and instead the young guard at the booth had just waved him in.
He could not have known that just that day an open, though somewhat restricted, invitation had been given to a reporter who was on good terms with the new facility’s commander.
The plan, cooked up by the reporter and the base commander, was to write a carefully worded article about the storage facilities, to dispel the rumors that were circulating.
The young guard had simply waved Frank through at the entrance, when he had seen the press pass, not knowing he had allowed the wrong man into the tunnel. They had only told him to expect a reporter. If he had looked at Franks pass closely, he would have noticed that he was not from the Glennville paper, and he would not have allowed him to enter.
– 5 –
Willie LeFray sat slumped against a wall in an alley off Beechwood Avenue, in Seattle’s red light district. He had been dead for over six hours. The money he had stolen, had allowed him to indulge in his habit for over forty six hours with no sleep. The last injection had killed him.
The Cocaine he had purchased had been cut with rat poison, among other things, so that the hype who had sold it to him could stretch it a little further.
The constant hours of indulging in his habit would have killed him anyway, but the addition of the rat poison was all his overworked heart could stand, and it had simply stopped beating in protest.
Willie’s eyelids flickered, and his hand shot up to bat at a fly that had been examining his nose.
Twenty feet away on Beechwood Avenue, the prostitutes were just beginning to show up in force, and the descending darkness hid the white trails that sped across the sky.
– 6 –
Ira paused, and slowly set the checker that had been in his hand, to one side.
“It’s time, ain’t it,” he stated.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” the older man replied, getting up from the small table.
“Come on then,” the older man continued, “we have a lot to accomplish.”
Ira blinked…
Ira tried to stand as far away from the foul smelling creature, which stood, restrained by two of the largest men he had ever seen, before him and the older man.
They had been standing by the small table one second, and the next they were standing on the edge of an active volcano. Ira was not sure where it was located, or how they came to be standing or floating at the edge of it.
He had not at first been able to feel the ground beneath him. Molten rock had been flowing over his feet and down the side of the volcano, as blistering steam; and more molten rock; had spewed up into the night air. The ground beneath his feet had been trembling.
It had seemed as though the molten rock simply ceased its forward movement, and had been suddenly sucked backwards into the mountainous cavern below his feet. As it had drained, an old iron-hinged wooden door had slowly emerged from the bubbling, draining surface below.
The scarred wooden door had been crossed and bound securely by black iron strapping, and a huge forged lock had been set securely into its face. As Ira had watched, the lock seemed to explode from some unseen force. The iron strapping had burst apart, and spun viciously down into the still draining molten rock, hissing as it touched the surface.
The two men who now stood before them, had dragged the foul smelling man-like creature out of the darkness the door had revealed, and the level of the hot liquid below had suddenly risen, and had begun to cascade down into the now open doorway, enveloping whatever lay within.
The man-creature struggled to free itself.
“Stop!” the older man commanded. “There is no longer any reason.”
The man-creature opened its mouth and pursed its lips as if to spit, and Ira turned his head from the squirming mass of snakes that tried to push through the small opening.
Greenish bile flew from the creature’s mouth as it spoke, and, although the language was unfamiliar to Ira, the intent was clear.
The older man’s face clouded over, and he raised his hand toward the screaming thing that was still being restrained.
The flesh of the man-creatures face seemed to boil as new pinkish-looking skin formed, appearing from nowhere, and sealed its mouth completely shut. Ira could still see the snakes behind this newly formed tissue, twisting and turning, as they tested the strength of the enclosure.
The green eyes of the man-creatures face burned momentarily, as if with fire, and the muscles in its body bunched, in an effort to loose itself from the two formidable men who held it.
The older man stood calmly beside Ira, and waited for the struggles to subside. When they had, he spoke.
“You will listen,” he said, and then paused before continuing.
“But of course I have forgotten myself; you do have a choice…”
“…Do you choose not to listen?”
The man-creature slowly shook its head back and forth from side to side.
“Bring him here and release him,” the older man commanded the two men, who were still holding the man-creature they had dragged from the pit behind the old door.
Ira blinked his eyes, and when he opened them, they were standing in a vast desert area.
Ira blinked again and looked around him, marveling at how he seemed to be able to shift from one place to another with no perception of the change other than what his eyes told him.
The foul smelling man-creature was dragged towards them, once again struggling. It did not seem to be afraid, Ira perceived, but angry at being held. The two men released their grip, once the man-creature stood before them, and vanished.
The horrible thing stood freed before them, rubbing its wrists in quick vicious movements.
“Where is your power now?” the older man asked, in a hushed tone of voice, as he leaned toward the man-creature.
His fingers brushed its lips, and the newly formed flesh ripped apart revealing sharp rows of teeth. Greenish fluid from its torn flesh flowed across the yellowed teeth and dripped to the ground where it sizzled its way into the sand.
“Would you, that you could kill me?” the older man asked. “Here,” he exclaimed, pointing towards the hulking and gnarled creature. As he pointed, a forged fire-blackened sword appeared in the things left hand.
“Come then,” the older man invited, “do what you will.”
The man-creature seemed to consider only briefly, and then threw the sword to the sandy ground, which, Ira noticed, swallowed it from sight as soon as it touched it.
“As I assumed,” the older man said, “now, have you anything to say?”
Once again the strange language, that Ira could not understand, began to issue forth from the man-creature, but after only a few seconds the thing turned its green eye’s on Ira, and started to speak a word in English.
“Fuuu,” the thing began, before its lips were suddenly sealed once more.
“Do not tempt me!” the older man warned. “I would just as soon summon your friends, and have them, take you back to the pit.” The older man paused momentarily, as if he were in deep thought.
“Since I cannot trust you to speak on your own behalf, shall I call forward the Defender?”
The creature’s green eyes flew open wide, as it violently tossed its misshapen head from side to side.
“But you have left me no choice, my old enemy,” the older man said softly, “you have in fact never been able to speak without obscenities fouling your lips, have you?”
The man-creature did not reply. It simply stood, and glared at the older man standing before it.
“Bring forth the Defender, and the Protector,” the older man called out, in a strong loud voice, as he gazed out into the desert.
Ira heard the sound of hooves approaching from the darkness, as the still desert night parted, and two splendid riders appeared atop their rearing and prancing mounts. They brought the two steeds under control, and both riders waited, just beyond the three men, until they were summoned forward.
“Who would defend this foul beast?” the older man asked of the two riders.
“I would, and I would that I may also speak freely for him, my Lord,” one rider replied, as his mount pranced into the midst of the three. The ebony steed snorted fire and steam from its flaring nostrils, as the black armored rider spoke.
“So be it,” the older man proclaimed softly into the stillness of the desert night.
“And I will grant the right to speak freely to you, but not this filth,” he continued, as he pointed at the man-creature, that still stood glaring, in the cold moonlight that fell upon the strange assemblage.
“Who would stand for the chosen, and protect their eyes from this blaspheme?” the older man called out.
“I would,” the other rider said, as his magnificent pale steed moved into the forming circle. His beauty filled face shone with an inner light. Long blond curls framed the rugged face, and shining jewels seemingly embedded in his armor shone in the cold light.
He withdrew a long golden sword from a sheath at his side, and plunged it into the sands between himself and the dark rider, who now stood with the foul smelling man-creature, to one side.
“I would draw the line that none shall pass,” he exclaimed as the sword quivered in the sand.
“So be it, Michael,” the older man said, in a soft voice, “so it shall be.”
The older man turned to the man-creature,
“Of what do you wish to speak?” he asked.
“He would only, that you would abide by what had been agreed upon, in the before time,” the dark rider replied. “He would simply that, and nothing more.” The rider bowed toward the older man as he finished speaking.
“Michael?” the older man questioned, turning towards the blonde hared young man atop the magnificent pale steed.
“We are ready, my Lord,” the powerfully muscled young man replied.
The older man took his chin into his hand, and stroked it as he narrowed his eyes and looked back at the dark rider with the man standing beside him.
“So it shall be,” he said softly, “you may begin…”
“…But, remember thou this, I will abide it, but for a short time, and I will take my own unto me.”
“Only those that choose,” the dark rider said, in a softly mocking voice.
“Yes, but harbor no false illusions,” the older man replied, “Many will choose.”
He paused and then continued.
“Three score shall it be then,” he said through a small smile. “No more… No less. None shall be allowed to enter in, nor pass the line within the sand, except those who would invite everlasting death.”
The older man lowered the hand he had held towards the night sky as he had spoken, and the dark rider nodded a short agreement. His hands reached down and encircled the creature that had stood beside his steed, and effortlessly, he lifted it up and sat it upon the rear of the horse. The black horse tossed its mane and snorted more fire and steam from its flaring nostrils.
The older man’s hands moved and as the two began to fade, Ira saw the flesh fall once again from the man-creatures mouth, and tiny knobs of flesh began to move across its body, making it ripple, as if it were on the verge of some great change. The man thing grinned through its sharp rows of teeth as it disappeared.
“I shall ride with you, Michael,” the older man said, as the young man on the pale horse disappeared as well.
Ira realized they had left the desert when he felt the tops of the tall rows of corn they were walking through brushing against his face. The shadowy outline of a house some distance ahead seemed to be their destination, and as they drew closer Ira recognized the old farm.
No lights shone through its windows, and all was quiet except the rustling stalks around them. He felt fear rise within him as they drew closer.
“Do not fear,” the older man said, “look.”
His outstretched arm pointed towards the ground, and when Ira looked, he could see Cora, along with the two children, huddled in the sub cellar behind the heavy concrete door.
“Kin I go to her, Lord?” he asked pleadingly.
“Not yet, Ira, we have only just begun our work.”
“Look,” he said quietly, pointing towards the heavens.
Ira’s eye’s followed as twin streaks of white flew across the heavens at a surprisingly fast rate of speed on a northerly course towards the opposite end of the continent.
They were next standing on a small hill, lifted above a wide expanse of grass. The sun was shining, though it seemed to Ira to be a hotter sun than he had ever remembered.
The air itself seemed chilled though, he thought. He looked out over the vast expanse of green.
Large lumbering woolly creatures dotted the land. Tearing up huge amounts of the tall grass that seemed to cover everything in sightwith their trunks; filling their endlessly working mouths with it.
The scene changed…
The air became hotter and acrid, with the smell of volcanic ash. With the heat an under stench of rotted and decaying vegetation wafted on the still air.
A large greenish-black brontosaurus plunged its long neck beneath the still waters of a huge inland lake, and re-emerged with a mouthful of weeds. It lifted its huge head, and seemed to stare directly towards them as it chewed the plants it had brought with it to the surface.
This scene seemed to melt away slowly from Ira’s eyes and was replaced with another. He no longer breathed, but if he had been capable of it, his lungs would have been useless to him.
Below him a vast land mass was rising from an endless ocean of blue-green water. Ira looked, but could not see where the ocean began, and it seemed to be without end.
The older man beside him moved his hands, and they began to descend towards the land. As they moved, the land changed; split apart, and the ocean was divided by it, and split into many seas.
The shapes of continents began to become recognizable to Ira. Clouds roiled, and rolled across the lands, that were still forming and changing.
They slowed their descent above a small garden that was splitting apart. Pieces of it were left intact on the other land mass’s that were drifting away from one another. People of all colors seemed to emerge from the lands, and busily strode across it. Dwellings appeared, and just as quickly disappeared, and were replaced with others. Cave dwellers gave way to Indian-like people, who in turn gave way to others.
Massive buildings began to dot the land, and roads seemed to appear from nowhere and snake across the still moving continents. As the lands seemed to slow their outward movement, they touched the ground and paused, as it changed below their feet to asphalt.
A young-looking man stood in a dark alley ahead of them, seeming to converse with a young black man, who, Ira thought, was obviously dead.
As Ira watched, the young man’s eyes flickered to life, and he stood up and began to walk away down the alley with the other man.
The man, who had apparently raised the young man from the dead, Ira thought, turned in Ira’s direction and smiled. Green eyes and sharp rows of vicious teeth glinted in the cold light cast from the Streetlights surrounding the area. Ira gasped.
“He calls his own home to him,” the older man beside him explained, as they were torn from the scene before them.
They were next walking down the steps of an old church; Ira had no idea where they were, towards a broad Street that lay in front of them. When they reached the Street, the older man turned to gaze back at the building. Ira looked as well, wondering what the importance of the building could be, and as he watched the building seemed to vaporize.
“My church shall be no more upon the land,” the older man declared. “But my heart shall still abide with my people. Michael has saved those that he could.”
Ira next found himself in a large grassy field that stretched away to the ends of the horizon. The older man walked quietly beside him. People lay, seemingly sleeping, in the tall grass for as far as Ira could see, and the magnificent rider-less pale steed grazed calmly among them.
In the far distance, Ira could see the young man called Michael, moving among the people and awakening them. Other young men moved among the people as well, and they were all dressed, Ira noticed, like warriors.
Resplendent golden armor covered their bodies, and all carried massive swords, as they walked among the sleeping people gently awakening them. He could see other horses grazing in the field among the people as well, though none were as striking as the one the man called Michael rode.
Ira blinked, and when he opened his eyes he found himself among the people, who were now standing, and, he knew, waiting calmly for the older man to speak. He looked to his side and saw that Cora now stood next to him.
He turned his eyes forward, and saw that a tall young man, with long white flowing robes, had moved to the side of the older man. Ira listened as the young man began to speak.
The language was the same that he had heard, but not understood, earlier in the desert. This time, he realized, he could understand it.
The young man, who was now seated on a huge golden throne, opened a large white book that rested on his lap, and began to call out the names that it contained.
When it was Ira’s turn to go forward, he did so without hesitation.
The love and peace that emanated from the man seemed to flow all around him as he walked forward, and when he and the young man had finished speaking, Ira walked away and another took his place.
It took him a few minutes to realize what had felt strange to him as he had walked away, and his eyes flew open in joy when he did.
His heart was beating, and when he opened his mouth he was able to draw a breath of the sweet smelling air into his lungs. He felt the rise and fall of his chest and realized that it was true. He could feel his heart beating below his ribs.
When all were called and had received their gift of life, they each returned and took their former places in the crowd, and when the last had returned, Ira watched as the young man stood and walked away.
The older man walked to Ira, where he stood beside Cora in the crowd. Ira noticed that the man seemed to split, and move off in many directions as he drew nearer; the crowd began to break apart, and the people seemed to vanish.
“Ira… Cora?” the older man asked, “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes,” Ira replied.
Cora had been staring down at the young hands she held clasped before her.
“Yes,” she replied, in a near whisper, as she looked into the eyes of the kindly old woman that stood before her.
The three shapes seemed to slowly fade away as they walked off into the field.
June 18th
– 1 –
Mike Johnson awoke to the sounds of birds whistling in the early morning pre-dawn. Frigging birds, he thought, usually the sounds from the mill drowned them out.
Mike had made it home around 6:00 PM the previous evening. He was working the midnight to eight shift and had stopped into the Rusty Nail after work to have a few drinks with some of the other guys from the paper mill.
He had ended up staying until five, when he had caught a ride out to Linden Street with one of the guys. He had been nursing a two hour old drink at that point, and had wanted to leave before the bar began to fill up. The Rusty Nail had gotten more than a bit rowdy as of late. Two years before, one of Mike’s good friends, Moon Calloway, had been killed in the bar. That had seemed to turn the tide. After that point the bar had become much worse, a proving grounds of sorts for the young GI’s from the base. Mike often wondered why he even bothered to hang around there at all. Last night it had seemed as though the rowdy element was showing up even earlier than it usually did.
Johnny Barnes was headed out the door himself, and when he had offered the ride Mike had accepted.
The house on Linden Street wasn’t much, but it was paid for, and Mike knew a lot of guys at the mill who either rented or were damn close to losing their homes to the bank. Times were tough in the old U-S-of-A, and at least he had the place free and clear.
He had practically fallen into bed once he had gotten home. He hadn’t realized how tired he was, and the day-long drinking binge had taken its toll as well.
He’d been working all the short shifts he could get, along with his normal evening shifts, saving the money after he’d paid off the house, and today would be the start of his first real vacation in over twelve years.
Mike had grown up in the small town of Glennville, and had never left. It suited him, he liked to think. Where else could you see the seasons change so vividly, or take a quite stroll through the woods anytime you felt,he often wondered.
He enjoyed the hunting too, and could think of no better place to live. This is going to be one great vacation, he thought, as he got out of bed.Despite the damn birds.
The vacation he had planned was a three week camp out in the State Forest Preserve that started only twenty miles to the east. The preserve was nestled up to the military reservation and stretched from there all the way into Central New York. Mike had no idea exactly where he would camp. He had decided to just hike until he found a spot that suited him.
As he headed for the bathroom he noticed that the clock on the dresser was off. Not blinking, but off, and he could vaguely recall dreaming of waking during the night to some loud noise.
It had seemed at first, when he had awakened within the dream, as though the entire house had been shaking. He had passed from that dream into another, but the noise and the shaking had seemed to accompany him into that dream as well. It had to have been the strangest dream he could ever recall having.
At first he had been in the house and the walls had been shaking around him, and the next thing he knew he had been standing in a field with thousands of other people.
When he had spotted Johnny Barnes in the crowd, he had walked over and tried to talk to him, but the dream Johnny had acted as though he hadn’t heard him. Then he had been back in bed in his own house on Linden Street, talking to a priest that was sitting on the edge of the bed.
The priest had been telling him that he had a choice to make. Mike wasn’t sure what the choice had been, but could remember telling the man that he didn’t want to choose anything. That he just wanted to go back to sleep. That had apparently satisfied the priest, as he had shook his head and seemed to float away.
Mike shook his head, recalling the dream as he entered the bathroom. He picked up his toothbrush from the small plastic cup that held it, squinted into the mirror, and turned on the cold water tap.
Nothing happened.
“What the hell,” Mike said aloud, “frigging water out too?” He dropped the brush back into the cup and headed into the kitchen to start the coffee.
“Shit,” he said as he entered the kitchen and remembered the power was off, and that there was no water with which to make the coffee. “Now what?” He walked back into the bedroom and tugged on the pair of jeans and shirt he had worn the day before; walked through the house to the front door, and opened it to retrieve the paper that he knew would be there. At least he could read the friggin’ paper, maybe even find out what the hell was going on.
The sun was just beginning to climb into the sky as the door swung open. He bent down.
“No damn paper either?” he muttered as he stood back up and began to search the lawn.
His eyes rose from the lawn and fell on the Hubert house across the Street.
Something seemed oddly out of place, and he puzzled over it for a few seconds before his mind told him what it was. The entire house was leaning to one side. That wasn’t all though. That one side of the place, he saw, was covered with vines that stretched down to the ground, lending an illusion of straight lines until you looked closely.
As he left his doorway and started across the street to get a better look, his eyes took in the vines and grass that had seemingly sprouted and covered most of the street overnight.
The grass poked through the pavement in large clumps, and the vines wound around it and back in the direction of his own front lawn. The reality of it hit him and he stopped and turned to look back at his own house. His mouth fell open wide as he stared. The vines covered most of it from foundation to roof, and snaked down to meet the vines from the house across the street. Small sparrows where clinging here and there to the thick vines, and singing in the warm morning air. Mikes mouth snapped shut as he stumbled back into the street and sat down hard.
“What the hell is this?” he asked aloud to the street.
“What the hell is going on?”
Mike believed in the tangible. If it could be touched it must be real, and so believing, he reached down to feel one of the vines beside him on the road.
“Feels real,” he declared aloud, as he stared at the vine. He pulled at it and the small piece he held snapped off into his hand. He bought it up to his face to examine it closely;threw it back to the ground, and got up from the street.
He looked slowly off in both directions down the length of Linden Street. As far as he could see in either direction the vines were similarly in evidence. In fact, he thought, the street doesn’t even look like a street anymore.
The vines covered all the houses in both directions, and the street itself was over grown with large clumps of grass and the vines. Mike closed his eyes and then reopened them. It was all still there. Nothing had changed. He stood and stared for a few minutes longer before he started to walk off down the street in the direction of the downtown area, which was three blocks to the south.
As he went he looked over at the houses he passed. Most were partly, and some were completely covered with the vines. He felt as though he were in a bad dream. He knew he wasn’t though, as he had closed his eyes to blink away the sights several times to no avail. He had also pinched his left cheek viciously until his eyes had begun to water. No good. It was still there. He had done acid once, but only once, back in the seventies, and he had heard about flashbacks, and this could maybe be one, and he had been drinking pretty damn heavily yesterday, and…
He spotted a young woman sitting on the curb three houses down and walked up to her. She tilted her tear streaked and puffy face up to him as he approached.
“Is this a dream?” he asked when he stopped.
“No, it’s no dream,” she replied as she slowly shook her head.
“Where have you been since last night? Didn’t you hear the noise? Didn’t you feel it?”
Mike recalled the noise that had awakened him during the night. The noise he had thought was only an extension of the strange dream.
“Well, I thought it was a dream, you know, but I did hear a storm, or something, but I didn’t think it was a big deal… you know, they can get loud sometimes, but… What happened?”
“We got nuked,” she said simply. “They nuked us… didn’t you see the TV?”
Mike shook his head.
“Well,” the young woman continued, “anyhow that’s what happened. They cut in to the TV last night; I was watching… you know, and they cut in and said that missiles had been launched, and the country was under attack. Scott Pelley said it, on the news. Scott Pelley and he wouldn’t lie. I came outside to see, and, well there was nothing to see at first.., and then the ground started shaking, so I ran back inside to get the kids… But, I know this is going to sound weird, but they were gone.”
The young woman broke into fresh tears, and buried her face back into her hands.
Mike sat down beside her and put his arm around her in an attempt to comfort her.
“Is your husband here?”
“N-N-No,” she stammered, “he’s stationed somewhere in the Middle East, on account of that damn Iran thing over there,” she finished, as she looked at Mike.
“Sorry,” Mike said, “how long have you been out here?”
“I came back out to wait for the police last night after I called them. But they never showed up, so I just sat here. I didn’t know where else to go or what to do! I’ve been here ever since, just watching these stupid vines grow.”
Mike looked around at the vines.
“Where did they come from?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, also staring at the vines. “They just sort of came. One second they weren’t there… The next they were.”
“Is your power on?” Mike asked changing the subject.
“No,” she replied, “went off right after the ground started shaking.”
“Mine’s off too,” Mike replied. “Listen… I’m going to walk downtown… see if the police department is open, or see maybe if everyone is there somewhere. You’re the only person I’ve seen so far… do you want to come with me?”
“Sure,” she said, as she stood and brushed at her jeans, “no use sticking around here I guess, is there?”
“I don’t think so,” Mike said. “I think… you know that everyone else is probably downtown.Getting organized or something,” his eyes betrayed the worry he felt. He hoped that everyone was downtown as he had said, but he wasn’t convinced himself. We have to find someone though, he thought, don’t we?
He stood up as well and they both walked off down the street towards downtown Glennville.
They exchanged names as they walked along the grass and vine covered Streets, and talking, even small talk, seemed to help quell the fear they both felt.
As they walked they talked softly to each other, wondering about such things as the vines that appeared to cover everything in sight.
“I wonder if it’s some sort of mutation, caused by the radiation, Mike?” Annie questioned.
“Maybe. I flunked science, so I really don’t know. I don’t think so though. I mean, if it was, wouldn’t we be sick? Did the missiles strike that close? If they did we would probably be dead, or… dying, and could it have grown that fast?” Mike asked.
“No,” she replied. “I don’t think any missiles hit… I mean the earth shook… like an earthquake, but I didn’t see any missiles in the sky when I came out to look, and you’re probably right. If they had hit, we probably wouldn’t be here.”
They talked back and forth as they continued down the street. When they reached Fourth Street they turned and walked the short block to Main, turned left this time, and headed into the downtown area.
They both stopped short as they topped the small hill at the crest of Main Street, and stared down at the small downtown area.
It appeared to be more of a jungle than a city. The vines clung to many of the buildings that were still standing, and only the tallest seemed to have been, as yet, left bare at their peaks.
The old Baptist church was gone, and a huge lake seemed to have appeared from nowhere in the heart of what had been the Public Square.
“Holy shit, where the hell did that come from?” Mike asked softly, looking at Annie with a puzzled-look on his face.
“Awesome, isn’t it,” she replied.
Tiny people walked aimlessly around the lake, or stood, seemingly transfixed, by the huge body of water. The sight of the people broke the spell, and they moved off in the direction of the huge lake.
“At least there are other people,” Annie said aloud. “I was wondering whether or not there were.” She breathed a sigh of relief which was echoed by Mike as they walked down the hill.
When they reached the first people at the bottom of the hill, they could tell that many of them were in shock. An older woman wandered by completely naked. Blood ran down one calf from an ugly looking wound, and she was covered with dirt and grime. When Mike attempted to talk to her, she tried to hit him with a baseball bat she had been holding at her side.
“Leave me alone, you bastard,” she screamed into his face.And then she had run off towards one of the still standing buildings.
Mike was shaken by the experience and jumped when Annie touched his arm.
“…think,” he caught as he turned around to face her.
“Wha-What?”
“I was saying, I don’t think she knew what she was doing,” Annie repeated. “Hey? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he answered, in a small voice.
He was still a little shook up when an older man began to approach them, and he found himself wishing he would turn and head in the other direction. He didn’t even recognize him until he was nearly upon them.
“Gary,” he asked, “is that you?”
Mike had worked for Gary driving truck at the gravel pit two summers before, when things had slowed down at the mill. Gary Jones owned the gravel pit, and most considered him a hard guy to work for.
Mike had liked him though. He seemed to be honest; always paid on time, and he always bought Mike a beer when he ran into him. He was forever trying to talk Mike into the leaving the mill, and going to work for him full time. Today he seemed old and tired. Mike supposed he didn’t look much better.
“How are you, Mike,” Gary asked, “some vacation, huh?”
Mike had run into Gary just the week before down at the Rusty Nail, and had told him he’d be leaving, but he hadn’t given the vacation a second thought since he’d gotten out of bed this morning.
It seemed odd to think of it now. Wonder what the rest of the world woke up to this morning? He thought. It had only been a short time since he had awakened this morning, but it felt like years had gone by.
“I guess my vacation got canceled,” he said, trying a grin on his face. “Hell, looks like a lot a vacations got canceled,” he continued, as the grin slipped from his face, “you see any of this happen, Gary?”
“No,” he replied solemnly. “I was out at the pit, and I didn’t come into town ’till this morning.But I saw plenty out there, thank you just the same.”
“As bad as this?” Mike asked, waving his hands at the damage that surrounded them.
Gary paused and looked around at the destruction.
“Pretty damn bad,” Gary said, as he shook his head in agreement. “I was moving the trucks down to the loading area, down the bottom there, and anyway, the ground started to shake and the shaking threw me right out of the cab. I jumped down and got the hell out of that pit in a quick hurry, lemme tell you. Good damn good thing I did too, as ’bout ten minutes after I did, the bottom just sort of cracked open and she started to fill. Spent the night in the woods and when I walked out this morning the water was up the top of the pit. Never seen nothing like it.” He paused and looked around the small town square. “So I came down here. But I’ve been over to city hall, at the police department, you know. Nobody’s there,” he gestured helplessly with his hands. “Seen you coming across here and figured to see what you might know.”
Mike shook his head. “You can ask Annie,” he said pointing at the young woman beside him, “she saw it on the television last night.”
Gary looked expectantly towards her.
“Well… not like I know it all, but I was watching the TV last night, and they said…”
Mike turned to stare out at the water and the people who stood nearby in small groups, as Annie spoke to Gary.
“Shit, don’t that figure,” Gary exclaimed, when she finished, “some stupid bastard had to go and frog around with things. Seen any sign of the Guard around, or the Army?”
“We just got down here ourselves,” Mike answered, “but I expect they’ll be here soon, don’t you?”
“That’s right!” Annie exclaimed, “They should be coming, shouldn’t they? I mean, we’re alive, heck of a lot of people are alive, they’ve got to come, right?”
“Maybe,” Gary said slowly, looking from one to the other, “but it seems as though they should’a been here already, don’t it? I mean, if they were coming, it ain’t that far to the base. I mean, well, hell; it ain’t a long way for ’em to come.”
Mike nodded his head. “Well, if they aren’t here by noon… Anybody got a watch?”
Annie nodded and held up one hand so he could see the slim silver dial on her wrist, 9:32 he noted.
“Well, if they ain’t here by noon, I vote we go look for them.”
“Sounds good to me,” Gary said, as Annie nodded her head in agreement.
They spent the morning wandering between the few remaining buildings and talking to the small groups of people that had formed around the huge lake in the middle of what was left of the city’s downtown. Annie found several other women with similar tales of missing children or spouses. In fact, she realized, there were no children at all among the small groups of people. She had even left once, and hiked back the short distance to her own house with Mike, to make sure that her eyes had not deceived her and the children were not waiting frantically for her return.
As she sat at the bus stop bench overlooking the lake, she wondered what had happened to them. Mike sat quietly beside her, lost in thought.
They had talked to several of the other people about their missing loved ones, and the general consensus seemed to be that there were no logical explanations. But, was it logical to find your children missing in the span of a few seconds? The disappearances bothered Annie a great deal, and she could think of no valid reasons for them.
One woman had suggested that flying saucers were to blame, and she actually had several people convinced of it. Annie supposed that with the way things were this morning, that it wasn’t as far-fetched as it may have been just yesterday. She didn’t buy it though, and so still puzzled over the mystery and grieved for her children.
They had discovered earlier that though none of their cell phones worked, some of the phone lines were still working. Well, sort of, she thought. You could call out, but all you got was static or a busy signal. Mike had tried for over two hours, calling every emergency number in the telephone book. He had finally given up about ten minutes ago, and had ambled over to sit beside her on the bench.
“You still want to go out to the base?” he asked now.
“No.” she replied, as she released a deep sigh. “I really don’t see a reason for it… I mean, if they were there, and everything was up and running, they would be here by now. So I just don’t see a reason for it. We were fooling ourselves to think that they would come. Let’s face it, they’re probably all dead, or at least in as bad shape as we are.”
Mike, who had been feeling the same, nodded agreement.
“So what do we do then?”
“I don’t know, Mike. I don’t know what we can do.”
The conversation ended, and they once again sat staring out over the water, neither knowing what to say.
Gary wandered back over from a small group of people he had been talking with, and sat down next to them.
“What did you find out?” Mike asked.
“Well,” Gary began, “mainly a lot of strange stuff. For instance, you know Lisa Roberts over there?” he pointed at a tall woman, standing with the group he had just left.
Mike and Annie both nodded.
“I know of her,” Mike said, “she ran that little diner out on River Road, didn’t she?”
“Yes,” Annie confirmed, “I worked out there last summer part time.”
“Well,” Gary continued, “she said she was at home with her husband and, well… You guys know him?”
They both shook their heads to indicate that they did, and Annie said, “kind of hard not to know him, or at least to know of him.”
Earl Roberts, Lisa’s husband, had established his own church three years before. The local paper had published numerous stories about him, and the church itself. He had, it seems, obtained his license through some mail order ministry, and the church was based on the book of revelations, and specifically on the principal that the planet Earth was in the last years.
“He’s the guy who had the church out in Fort Drum, right?” Mike asked.
“The same whacko,” Gary said. “Well, anyway, they were at home last night, having an argument about that church of his; she says they were awful close to divorcing over it. So they’re arguing and she’s telling him how she doesn’t feel as she knows him anymore, and he just turns away from her and stares at the front door and starts talking like there’s somebody there. She said at first, she thought maybe he had just gone clean over the edge, you know?”
“Happens sometimes,” Mike said as Annie nodded her head.
“I’ve heard of that too,” she said.
“Well that ain’t the strange part,” Gary continued. “So he’s just talking away and she goes to grab him you know, maybe to point it out to him or something and he’s gone… She swears it’s the truth. One second he’s there and the next he’s gone. She said it seemed as though he was arguing with whoever it was, saying he didn’t want to go. And she ain’t the only one. There’s a couple of others who swear the same sort of thing happened to people they knew. There one second, gone the next.”
Gary paused and looked out over the lake wringing his hands restlessly in his lap.
“I don’t know,” Gary continued. “Makes about as much sense as anything else I’ve heard, I guess.”
“You mean you think he was talking to someone, or something, that it was real?” Annie asked.
“I ain’t saying I think anything at all,” he replied defensively. “I’m simply telling you what I heard. You can take it to mean whatever you want. It makes some sort of sense to me though, in a way.”
“How do you figure that?” Mike asked.
“Well,” Gary began, “let’s say that this is the beginning of the end of the world. I ain’t saying it is, but for the sake of argument let’s say it is.”
“All right,” Annie replied, “let’s say it is.”
“Well, so let’s say it’s the end of the world. Do you believe in God, or the Devil?”
“I can’t say I believe in either.” Mike replied calmly. “I do believe in good and evil, but that isn’t necessarily the same thing.”
“That’s about how I feel about it too,” Annie said when Mike had finished speaking. “I just never could believe that there was a God who lived up in the heavens somewhere, and listened to prayers and helped people through the tough times. I mean if there was; wouldn’t he have come back a long time ago? What about little kids that are abused, or people that are murdered, wouldn’t he have come back to stop all that?”
“I don’t know,” Gary said, as she finished speaking. “I don’t know what I believe myself. It’s a question that I never felt a need to answer. I mean, I’ve had a few Bible-thumpers come knocking on my door from time to time. I ain’t mean about it, I just listen politely is all, and when they ask me if I want to be saved, or get to their point, I just pass. I just always figured to each his own, you know?”
“I mean they ain’t hurting me,” Gary continued, “and if they want to go around knocking on doors, hell, let ’em do it.”
“I just don’t answer the door anymore,” Annie said.
“Me either,” Mike added, and continued. “I kind’a got into the habit of looking through the peephole lately anyway, on account of the crime being what it is, and if it’s a Jehovah, or some other Bible people, I just don’t answer the door.”
They all three shook their heads in agreement.
“I’ve done that too,” Gary said and then went back to his original argument. “But suppose it is the end and these people that kept preaching it and saying it were right? Then what?”
“Well,” Mike started, “I suppose that you could have the old good and evil struggle. Right?”
Annie just sat quietly, listening to the conversation, as it went back and forth.
“So you would. But,” Gary continued, “what if there really is a God and a Devil? How does that change things? What if the people that believed in God were taken up?”
“I’ve heard of that,” Mike said, “but it seems pretty far-fetched to me. I mean… Well, where would they go, and for what reason? And you know as well as I do that it ain’t just the religious crowd that’s missing, at least not from here anyway. I’ve talked to quite a few people I know who are missing family members. Take Joanne Hamilton over there for instance,” he said as he waved his hand at a group of people. “I worked with her husband down at the mill, and he’s one of the meanest bastards I ever knew. Everybody knows he used to beat the tar out of his wife, and there was that business a few years back where he got himself caught with a young girl out on Jefferson Road, parked to the side there where the kids hang out. That kind’a blows your theory don’t it? I mean if there was ever a meaner son-of-a-bitch I don’t know him, and I can’t see what good side there could possibly be to him, do you?”
Gary seemed to think a second before he shook his head. “I don’t see anything good about him either,” he stated flatly. “I knew him myself, and I couldn’t stand him. But, hear me out a second, Mike.”
Mike nodded his head, and Annie leaned closer to Gary to listen.
“Suppose, and we all know it’s true, that the man was a no-good. Then take into account what you been hearing.”
Annie shook her head. “What do you mean, Gary?”
“Well, what’s the one common thread you keep hearing as you listen to people talking? Hell, even us?”
They both shook their heads, and Mike said, “What are you driving at?”
“Easy,” Gary replied, “all of us don’t believe. I mean think about it. We may believe in good and evil, but none of us believe in God… Or in the Devil, for that matter.”
He paused for a moment, and then continued.
“Annie, your kids are missing right?”
“Yes, but…” she started.
“Well, did they believe in God? Did they go to church? Can a child even decide that sort of thing?” he asked, and shook his head.
He continued without waiting for her reply. “The way I see it, it could be the answer to the whole thing. Take Earl, for example. Lisa said he seemed to be arguing with whoever he thought he was talking to, and it scared her too. What if, just suppose, what if his God, or Devil as the case may be, had come to collect him?”
“That’s ridiculous, Gary,” Mike said, “How the hell do you get that?”
“Well, it’s just a feeling mostly, I’ll admit. But, the fact is those people are gone. All of them and the only ones that seem to be left are people like us. People who don’t have an opinion or haven’t ever made a choice. So, like I said, let’s suppose it is the end and the Devil came to take his, and whatever God there may or may not be, came to take his? Then what?”
“Then what shit,” Mike said angrily, “I don’t believe it.”
“Well what do you believe then?” Gary said, “Do you believe Annie’s kids, and all the other people that are gone, just simply vanished into thin air?”
“No… No, I don’t, but, Gary, you’re not a friggin’ idiot, and only…”
Gary cut him off before he could continue.
“Do you think them damn vines growing over night that way are natural? Did you notice they ain’t growing over anything else except man-made things?”
Annie thought about it. They had all noticed and remarked on the way the vines seemed to be covering all the roads and buildings, but seemed to be leaving everything else pretty much alone.
She looked off towards one of the newer buildings that sat about a half mile away on a slight rise. She had noticed the building, which had been built to house senior citizens, earlier, when she and Mike had first walked down to the square.
It was one of the few buildings, which had still been untouched by the vines at its upper most floors. Now, she saw, the building was almost completely covered with the thick vines. In the space of just a few hours they had seemed to scale the tall building, and were now almost to the top. When she turned back to the two men, she noticed that Mike had been looking towards the building and probably realized the same thing she had.
“That don’t make it so,” Mike said. The anger however, was gone from his voice.
“I wasn’t looking for truth,” Gary said softly, “I’m just trying to find a plausible explanation for what happened. Course I realize God and the Devil may not be entirely plausible, but it’s the best I can come up with. It’s the only thing that seems to fit, to me anyway, and the only common denominator seems to be the non-belief, or the no belief, part of the whole thing. Who’s to say?”
“I spent a whole six months in college before I had to leave to help my mother run the gravel pit after my dad died,” Gary continued. “This makes me wish I’d spent a little longer. Maybe I’d know more about it. Whatever it is though, it ain’t natural.” He paused and then began to speak once again, changing the subject slightly.
“The other thing that’s been bothering me is something we can all agree on.”
“What’s that,” Mike asked.
Annie answered the question for him.
“I think I know,” she said, “it’s the Bomb. I mean if we really were nuked, shouldn’t we all be dead by now? What I mean is, when I was outside last night, I didn’t see any falling, but I did feel the earth shaking, and it didn’t feel like an earthquake either, not at first anyhow.”
She stopped and drew a deep breath inward and then continued.
“The television said that missiles were sighted inbound, and I could have sworn that, for just a few seconds, there seemed to be a huge glow from the west in the sky. I remember thinking it was one that landed, but when I looked again, it was gone. If it was though, why are we still alive?”
“That wasn’t my exact concern,” Gary said, “but it runs along the same lines. I felt the shaking too, and it felt more like a heavy thud, the first couple of times I felt it, but after that it did feel like an earthquake…”
“…I’ll tell you what though, I was talking to Jasper Collins, he fishes Lake Ontario for a living, you know, and he was just docking when it started. He had a pretty good view from there, out across the lake, I mean, and he said he could clearly see white streaks running across the sky. Said they looked as though they were headed for Canada. Claims he felt and saw them when they hit too, and I believe him. He also said he was expecting to see a mushroom cloud or something, but the sky glowed for a split-second or two, then the glow just sort’a disappeared.”
“He also felt the ground shaking after they hit,” Gary continued. “But that’s not hard to explain. You may not know this, but there is a fault line that runs all across the Great Lakes basin. Ontario included. The fault line runs all the way across the continent to the gulf coast. Could be that the impact did trigger some sort of earthquake. My point though, is that if those missiles did hit Canada, like Jasper said, we should be dead, or at least starting to feel the effects of radiation poisoning by now. I checked myself, and the wind’s been blowing straight out of the north all morning. We should be feeling the effects. The other thing that Jasper said bothers me too.”
Mike and Annie were both listening, but it was Mike who asked the question.
“What else did he say?” Annie nodded her head slightly as if to voice the question herself.
“Well, before they hit, like I said, he had just brought the boat into the dock and tied it off. That ain’t a little boat, I’ve seen it, and the water where he ties it off is damn deep too. Well,” he continued. “He tied it off, and while he was tying it off he saw the missiles and watched them hit. He said it felt as though a warm wind hit his face just after they hit. That would seem to back him up. A blast that big would move a lot of air pretty damn quick. He said it wasn’t a second later when the lake began to churn up, and then the glow from the blast, or blasts, I guess, disappeared. So he’s standing there and the waves are starting to really build quickly so he hot foots it off the dock. Just as he gets off the whole damn thing just sort of sinks. It took his boat and a couple others with it too. That ain’t the end though. As he’s standing there, this is the weird part that I ain’t quite sure I believe, the lake just sort’a drops about five feet, real fast. Now I shouldn’t say I totally disbelieve it, not that part anyway. He knows that lake, and it could be, if that fault line was triggered, it could have dropped. If so I’ll bet we have one hell of a new river running from here down to the Gulf a Mexico, or at least one hell of a lot of damage.”
“Gary,” Mike started. Gary ignored him and kept talking.
“That ain’t what bugged me though. Just let me finish and then you can say what you want, Mike. Jasper said he was still sort’a just standing there, when, and he swears this is true, and I’ve never known the man to lie, but it’s damn hard to swallow, he swears he saw a man, well, Jesus is how he put it, walking right across the waves towards him, kind’a beckoning to him. He doesn’t believe in God either, or the Devil, so far as I know, but just the same he swears he saw it. Well anyway, that’s the part that bothers me. What if he had believed one way or the other? Say he did believe in God, would his Jesus have kept on coming across that lake and just taken him away?”
“I don’t know… Food for thought though,” he concluded, and leaned back into the bench.
Mike recalled the dream of the night before and quickly related it to Annie and Gary. When he finished, Gary turned to Annie.
“Did you see anything? Maybe dream about anything?”
“No,” she replied, “nothing at all, except for what I told you, about the kids being gone, and the vines not being there one minute, and then being there when I came back out.”
“I haven’t had any myself,” Gary said quietly, “Course; I was awake all night in the woods.”
All three sat back into the bench and stared out over the clear lake, lost in thought.
“So what does it all mean?” Mike asked to no one in particular, as he continued to stare at the lake.
“I wish the hell I knew,” Annie said, as she turned her gaze away from the lake and back to the two men on the bench beside her. “I wish the hell I knew where my kids were, t-too!” she sobbedas she dropped her face into her hands.
Mike stretched his arm around her in an attempt to comfort her, but she shook it off.
“I don’t want to be part of no fucking end of the world!” she sobbed through her hands. “I just want my kids back!”
She had tried all day to not think of the kid’s, but how could you not think of your kids? She asked herself now, as she continued to weep.
She had never really seen much of her husband, and so her children had been her rock, the thing that had held an otherwise cruel and mean world together for her, and she wasn’t sure if she could make it without them, or even if she wanted to, and, if there is a God, she reasoned to herself, what kind a cruel bastard could he be to take a mothers children away from her? And what the hell was she supposed to do now?
She raised her tear streaked face from her hands, and looking at Gary said,
“So what are you saying we should do? Pray to a God of some kind that none of us believes in? Maybe sacrifice an animal or two? Build a church? What?” she nearly screamed.
Some of the other people who had been standing around had drawn closer during the conversation, listening as the three of them talked. One, a mother herself, who had children of her own missing, answered Annie’s question.
“I don’t know what you plan to do, but I plan to pray. My kids were good kids, so if anybody did take them it would have to be God.”
It was evident that she had also been crying, and her voice broke slightly as she continued.
“I may not have believed in God, but I’m gonna start now, or at least try to. I mean, if he’s got my kids I want them back, and if I can’t have them back I want to be with them. I don’t want to live without them; they’re all I had in the world.”
Mike, who had no children, thought he could understand the way Annie and the woman who was speaking felt. At least to a degree, he reasoned, but he didn’t understand completely.
Besides a few guy’s from the mill that he would have an occasional drink with, or maybe shoot a game of pool with, Mike was pretty much a loner, and so he had never married. It was not something he had chosen to be, it was just the way the world was. You really couldn’t trust people, he thought, you could never really know what they were like. It was a thing that had bothered him for as long as he could remember.
He had known men who seemed to be perfect fathers and husbands, but when they were at the bar, and the kids were home with the wife, they were completely different. It was something he had always hated, and something he had constantly fought with whenever he had noticed the same sort of inconsistencies in himself. It was a battle though that he had always won, and would continue to fight. It was one of the main things that had decided him against religion when he was a kid, that and his father.
His father had been a strict Catholic, and had fought with Mike’s mother to get her to agree to let him take Mike to attend the local Catholic Church. Mike had hated it. His father, who was normally drunken, or at least drinking, would sit calmly through mass with all his other drinking buddies every Sunday, then when he got home it was, “Bring me a fucking cold one, woman.”
He had actually been glad when his father had died, he had never said it aloud, but nevertheless he had been. He had only wished he had died a lot sooner so that his mother could have had more than the one year she had lived past him, to enjoy life. He pulled his mind reluctantly back to the conversation, when he heard Gary speak his name.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was just thinking.”
“That’s okay,” Gary smiled, “we all are.”
Gary continued. “What I was wondering is what you’re going to do. Hell, what all of us are going to do now?” He paused as most of the silent crowd turned their eyes towards him.
“It’s like Annie said. What do we do, sacrifice an animal? Pray?”
When no one answered he continued. “I don’t think, or maybe I’m just not convinced,” he offered the woman who had just been speaking a small smile, and then continued, “That praying, or a sacrifice, will do us much good. Maybe what we should be doing is trying to figure out what we should be doing. Catch my drift? We can’t just stay here and wait for someone to come, it ain’t going to happen, and I think we can all agree on that.” He looked around at the faces that surrounded him, and stopped at Mike’s.
“I noticed that you been staring at that lake,” he said, in a questioning manner. “So, have you noticed that in the last hour or so it’s been rising?”
They all had, he knew, and several people had already commented on it. Just the same they all turned to look again before they answered. Several just shook their heads, but a few murmured yes’s were heard before Gary began to speak again.
“That ain’t the only thing that’s rising, either. Did any of you notice the temperature?”
Several people looked expectantly to one corner of the Public Square, where the Glennville Trust Bank had sat with its digital clock, which alternately flashed the time and temperature. They turned quickly back when they realized it was no longer there.
Many of them had noticed the difference in temperature though. Northern New York, even in the summer months, rarely reached the high seventies, low eighties, on the hottest days. The air around them now was much hotter and humid as well.
They looked back at Gary.
“I picked this up when I went in Samson’s Five and Dime earlier,” he said, holding up a small plastic thermometer. The red line on the thermometer hovered just short of one hundred degrees.
As he looked at the thermometer, Mike recalled how warm it had seemed this morning. When he had first opened the front door he had felt it, but then forgotten it as he had gazed out into the Street. As he looked around now he noticed that several people in the small crowd were sweating profusely. In fact, he realized, he was sweating a great deal himself.
“Anyway, my point is this,” Gary said as he began to speak again, “there may be something to that earthquake theory some of you have been kicking around.”
As Gary spoke a man who had been walking towards the crowd, reached it, and began to listen as well.
The man was dressed in the remnants, Mike noticed, of a fairly decent looking suit. He was tall with sort of rugged features, and his dark black hair was just beginning to go gray at the edges. His face was cut up a little, and he walked with a slight limp, but other than that he seemed to be okay, and very interested in the conversation. Wonder what-the-hell happened to him? Mike thought, as he turned his attention back to Gary.
“It could be that the fault line may have been triggered,” Gary was saying.
Gary had also noticed the tall dark-haired man when he walked up. He seemed to be the sort of man that drew attention to himself unconsciously, and he had noticed several others in the crowd turn as the man walked up. Maybe it’s those green eyes, Gary thought, as he took in the ripped and ruined suit coat. Must have had a pretty rough night, he decided. He then continued speaking.
“If it was, we really ought to be thinking about finding a safer place to be. I remember reading about that fault line, and it seems to me the book I read, said that if the fault were somehow triggered, it could, and probably would, crack the entire Great Lakes Basin. That means that Ontario, along with all the other lakes in the chain, probably would drop. At least a small amount at first, but after they recover from the initial drop, they’re probably going to rise… They’re probably going to rise, a lot. I don’t know what most of you know about this city, but I’ll tell you what I know. Got it from the same book,” he paused. “…It’s built on pretty low ground. Now… that lake,” he said indicating the newly formed body of water in the middle of the Public Square, “has surely been rising, and I think at the very least we ought to check the river to see if it’s also rising.”
“No need to,” the man who had walked up said. “I just came from there myself. I don’t know how high it’s supposed to be, of course, but I can tell you for sure it’s heading for the tops of the banks. I came damn close to drowning trying to get out of it. If it hadn’t been up to the top of the rock ledges on the sides, I wouldn’t have been able to get out, and I would have drowned.”
“‘Bout what I figured,” Gary said, as he looked at the tall man. “That river can’t hold a lot of excess water. Most of you know that from the spring floods we get every year,” he turned his attention back to the man. “How’d you happen to end up in the river?” he asked.
“That’s a good and fair question,” the man answered. “I was in the tunnel…”
“Military tunnel?” Gary interrupted.
“Right, that one,” the man answered. “Where they have, or had, I should say, all the work going on.”
Several people nodded their heads.
“Well, as I said, I was in the tunnel last night, when the whole damn thing started shaking. I came damn close to ramming into the rear of one of those big tractor-trailer trucks.”
They had all seen the tractor-trailer trucks that seemed to be constantly running back and forth from the city to the base.
“Well anyway, to make a long story short, I ended up in one of those side tunnels, and had to walk all night to get out. When I finally did come out, I was over the top of the river on one of those rock ledges. I think I was lucky to get out when I did too, as the water was up almost to the top of the ledge, almost to the opening to the tunnel I came out of,” he paused momentarily, and shuddered as he recalled the journey through the dark tunnel.
“I guess I’m lucky to be alive, really. So, that’s about it. I figured I didn’t have hell-of-a-lot-of choices, so I jumped in the river. I managed to get to a spot where the bank was flat rock and pulled myself out. Saw you guys here when I got up the bank by the bridge over there,” he motioned with one hand, “and decided to come over. See if maybe you knew what was going on,” he finished quietly.
Annie and Gary, along with Mike, stood up from the bench that they had been sitting on and introduced themselves. Several others in the small group did as well.
“So,” Gary said, “care to join into this discussion, Frank?”
Frank Morgan nodded his head as he answered. “Yes, but can you tell me what happened? Do you know?” Frank looked hopefully at the small group.
Several in the small group told what they knew, or suspected from what they had been through since the previous evening, as Frank listened.
“So?” Gary said, once everyone had finished, trying to break the silence that had descended. He let the question hang, unsure of what to say next. Before he could think of something else to say, Frank finally spoke.
“I can’t believe it,” he said, as he turned to Annie. “I have kids of my own, so I guess I know how that feels. I don’t know what to think, I guess… I’m worried about my kids, I can’t help but wonder if they’re okay,” as he spoke he gazed around at the destroyed city square, and all the vines that seemed to be trying to cover the Streets and buildings he could see. “I guess if it’s the way you say it is, the first thing we ought to do is get the hell away from here. It isn’t safe here.”
With that the discussion went back to where they should go, and what they should do once they got there.
Gary steered the discussion back around to something he had touched on earlier, before they had talked for long.
“The other consideration is the temperature, have you given much thought to that?”
Frank replied. “It could be from the blast, or blasts,” he said. “I’m a… well, I used to be a reporter, and I don’t want to say this to scare anyone, but I’ve done research on a couple of different articles dealing with nuclear warfare, and there are a lot of different theories, but only two main ones that are generally accepted,” he paused looking at Gary, and Gary nodded for him to continue. “The first one is the Nuclear Winter theory. By the looks of things I guess we can pretty much discard that one. If there were something to worry about in that direction, we would already know it. That theory predicts that the sun will be blocked out, and as a result the earth will cool down, and so on, and so on. Of course I’m not a scientist, but I really do believe that theory is out.”
“I agree,” Gary said, as Frank paused, “what’s the other theory?”
“Well the other theory, the radical one I suppose you could call it, proposes that if a nuclear blast were of sufficient force, it might be able to tip the Earth’s axis,” he paused and looked to Gary for help. When none came he continued speaking.
“Well, as I was saying, the theory proposes that the poles would be displaced, relocated, I guess, because the Earth’s magnetic field will have been changed from the force of the blast,” he paused again, clearly uncomfortable. “The theory, and remember it’s only that, supposes that because of the shift the polar ice caps will melt over a period of time, and reform at the new poles.”
“So in other words,” Annie interjected, “we may not be in a northern climate anymore?”
“Possible,” Gary said, “maybe even likely. It would explain the warm wind out of the north. Of course part of that may be from the blast itself. Either way, it brings us full circle,” he said, as he paused and stared at the small assembled group of people. “We need to decide where to go, or even if there’s a place to go.”
“He’s right,” Mike said, “We do need to make some decisions,” he paused for a moment and then continued. “When was the last time anyone here ate? I know that sounds a little stupid at a time like this, but if we’re going anywhere we should also think about food, and, in this heat, dehydration could become a factor as well, couldn’t it Gary?” he finished, looking towards him.
“I should have thought of that myself,” Gary said, “how many of us are there?”
Annie quickly counted heads and replied. “Twenty seven, Gary.”
Gary nodded his head. “Okay… Let’s do this. We do have to eat, so let’s head up Maple Street to the Superette, get something to eat, and finish this discussion there.”
Everyone agreed, and the small group left the disquieting lake and walked the three blocks to Jacob’s Superette.
“Do you think you can get a couple of the other guys to go with you?” Frank asked.
Frank and Gary, along with Annie and Mike, were standing by the rear doors that led to the stockroom in Jacob’s Superette.
They had been discussing where they should go. Two of the others from the small group, were there with them.
They had finally decided to go towards Rochester, New York. Gary had said that he felt that it may be their best bet, due to the fact that there were no large military bases very close to it.
“It probably didn’t receive any direct hits,” he had ventured.
They had discussed Syracuse, which was much closer, but rejected it when Mike had pointed out that the new base, that had been opened there the year before, had been rumored to have been involved in testing of the new generation of nuclear weaponry, S.M.R’s.
Gary had echoed that sentiment as well, and recalled several articles that had been written about the tight security at the new base. In all probability, he had stated, the rumors were true.
Annie had pointed out that Glennville had its own base and reminded them of the new facility that had been under construction in the old caves under the city, and Frank had felt compelled to relate to them part of what he knew of the facility, along with what he suspected. He did withhold a couple of the things that Black had said, but made a mental note to discuss them with Gary later on when they were alone.
He had also taken the opportunity to relate to them what had occurred in the tunnel when he had first gotten out of the car, and they had all agreed that Frank’s experience was another reason in the growing list of reasons, to leave the area. If the soldier had really tried to kill Frank, maybe the military couldn’t be trusted.
Gary had said that he felt the facility was probably destroyed, and had gone on to explain his own theory on how the lake had come to be in the middle of the city.
“The Black River runs through that entire series of caves, even under most of the city itself. I can’t say for a fact, but I think what most likely happened was that at least part of the cave system collapsed. Obviously it didn’t all collapse, or Frank here, wouldn’t have made it out,” he had said.
In the end they had finally decided on Rochester, and now were discussing how to get there. They had decided, at Mike’s suggestion, to use four wheel drive vehicles of some sort, and Annie had suggested that they walk out to the Jeep dealership on outer State Street, and see what they had on the lot.
She had also pointed out that there were several other car dealers in the same area, and if they couldn’t find what they wanted there, they would only have a short walk to another lot to find something suitable.
They were now discussing how many vehicles they would need, and how many people Mike and Annie would need to drive them back.
“I’m sure,” Mike continued, “that I can get a couple of the others guys to go with us.”
Gary spoke up. “I really think then, that we ought to approach everyone else and find out who wants to go. They may not want to. We have to accept that, you know.”
“He’s right,” Frank agreed, “they may not. How many of them do you know?” he asked of the small group.
“It’s a fairly tight community,” Annie said. “I know pretty much all of them. I don’t know that they’ll all want to go however. I’ve already seen a few leave, and we lost a couple of people on the way over here.”
“She’s right about that,” Gary agreed, “I saw a couple of people hanging back talking together and they ended up turning back. I guess they aren’t convinced that we should leave. I can’t say I blame them really, the whole thing probably hasn’t even sunk in yet.”
“Well, let’s go see who’s left, and who wants to go then,” Frank decided, “no sense deciding this until we know for sure.”
“You mean if they don’t want to go, you’re not going?” Mike asked.
“No,” Frank said calmly. “I’m going, period.”
“Maybe we should decide right now if all of us want to go,” Gary said. He looked around at the small assembled group, letting his eyes stop on Mike.
Bob Weston and Dave Jackson had joined the small group earlier. Bob had worked for Gary at the gravel pit for over ten years. He was tall with dirty-blonde hair and a slim muscular build, and Gary liked him. He’d grown up right here in Glennville on Fig Street, down by Jackson’s Lumber. A piss poor family, but Bob himself was a damn good man. He seemed a little rattled today, a little vacant maybe, but weren’t they all? He was a hard worker and would be an asset to the group if he chose to come along.
Gary and Annie both knew Dave. He had worked at one of the local lumber mills. He had also driven truck for Gary once or twice, and had been a friend of Annie’s husband. Neither of the men had voiced their opinions, but had been standing quietly as the other three had talked. Dave was younger than Bob, but just as tall, and his dark black hair was tied in a small ponytail that hung down his back.
“Bob, Dave?” Gary asked.
“I’m in,” Bob replied, “I can’t see any reason to stay here, and I think you may be right, Gary. I’m not so sure this is a safe place to be.” He still seemed to be slightly out of sync, Gary thought, but he answered quickly, and decisively nonetheless.
“I’m in too,” Dave said. “But, what if we get to Rochester and it’s the same as here?”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Gary replied. “In fact, I wouldn’t doubt that there is damage. My only argument is that it may be safer than here. It’s built on higher ground. It’s also a much larger city, and I think that would increase our chances of finding other people. Maybe it would allow us to get a little more insight, or information, on what happened. Who knows, they may still have power, or some form of police, hell, maybe the television stations there are still working. We don’t know, and the only way we will know is to go and find out. One thing for certain though, Rochester definitely is built on higher ground than Glennville is. If that lake does rise, I would rather be there than here.”
Gary looked around at the small group, and then continued.
“So, if we’re all in agreement, I guess we better go talk to the others and see how many of them are going with us, agreed” he asked turning to Annie. “You and Mike will have an idea of how many trucks we are going to need; get some drivers and hike out there to get them. How long you figure, an hour or so? I mean to get out there.”
“Yes, that sounds about right, it will probably be a good three hours before we get what we need and get back though,” Annie replied.
“I think you better do the talking, Gary,” Frank said, “They know you, and if we’re going to get out of here today we better get our asses in gear too.”
With that the small group walked to the front of the store, where the other people had congregated.
“Folks,” Gary said as he held his hands over his head to get them to quiet down, “I’d like to talk to you.”
Most of the people there either knew Gary, or knew of him, and they had an idea of what was coming, as most of them had been standing around the three earlier in the public square when the conversation had first turned to leaving. They turned expectantly towards Gary now, and waited for him to begin to speak.
“As most of you know,” Gary began, “I’m in favor of leaving Glennville. I think you’ve all heard my reasons so I won’t go into them. But what I would like to let you know, is that if we’re going to go, and the six of us are,” Gary lowered his hands and gestured to include the group of people that stood around and near him, “we need to know if any of you are going to come along.”
No one answered for a few seconds. Gary was about to begin speaking, if only to break the oppressive silence, when someone finally did. It was not what he had expected however.
“Hey? Who died and left you the boss,” a young teenager in the small group yelled out.
The young man stepped forward. His long stringy, dirty hair hung into his eyes, and he pushed it away with the back of his hand as he glared at Gary.
“I never said I was the boss of anything,” Gary replied quietly. “At least I don’t recall saying it.” Gary stared calmly back at the young man.
“Well you’re the ones been doing all the talking. Who are you to say what we should or shouldn’t be doing? And how come I never heard about no fuckin’ fault line, Huh?”
“Maybe if you could read,” a young man said from behind him as he stepped out of the small group as well, “you would know. It was in the paper just a few weeks ago.And if you went to school you probably would have learned about it there too. I never heard him say anything about being in charge either, but they were the ones who decided to at least do something. We were all standing around with our fingers up our noses before that. What is it; do you still think somebody is going to show up and save us?”
The two young men were now facing each other, and the small group around them seemed to waiting to see what would happen next.
“Listen,” Frank said as he stepped towards them. “This isn’t the time or place for this sort of crap. If you don’t want to be here fine. Nobody said you had to go anywhere. Gary simply asked you if you wanted to go.” Frank paused as he stared at the two young men. “Sounds more as if you’ve got some sort of problem with authority. If so, that’s something you’ll have to deal with on your own time. Fact is that we can’t stay here, and we decided we’re going. You can stay right here for all I care.”
“Oh yeah?” the kid glared at Frank.
“Look,” Frank replied, staring back, “If you have some real objections state them. Otherwise shut up and listen, or hit the road.”
“I’m out a here. Screw you people,” the young man said as he glared at Frank, and the others from the small group that had moved up beside him. “You guys do what you want, I’m leaving,” he finished. He pushed his dirty hair from his eyes once more as he turned and walked out of the store.
“Listen!” Frank said, raising his voice. “I don’t think we all have to start acting like a bunch of morons. We’re all in this together, why don’t you just listen to what Gary has to say, and then you can decide.”
The other young man lowered the hands he had raised, and turned back towards Gary expectantly. The rest of the crowd, realizing that the confrontation was over, turned their attention back to Gary as well. Gary waited for them to quiet before he resumed talking.
“Let me make this clear,” Gary said as he began to speak quietly. “I don’t want to lead anyone. All I really care about is getting out of here, same as most of you.”
Annie watched as Gary spoke, and thought, kind of late for that Gary. She had noticed that everyone had seemed to gravitate to Gary earlier when he had begun to speak. He had that kind of personality, she supposed. They also seemed to be drawn to Frank, and more than a few had asked Mike and herself what their feelings were about the situation. Are we leading? She asked herself, as she turned her attention back to Gary.
“What we have to know,” Gary was saying, “is who wants to come with us.”
“Where will we go?” an older man asked, as Gary paused. Gary explained their choice, and why they had made it as the group listened.
“Now there are six of us, and we need to know how many cars we’re going to need to get us all there. Mike and Annie have volunteered to hike out to that Jeep dealership, out on State, and try and find us some four wheelers that will fit the bill.”
“Ain’t that stealing?” someone asked.
“Not as I see it,” Gary replied. “As I see it, they don’t belong to anyone any more. I mean…Anyone see any police? Or really, if you think of it, has anyone seen anybody at all in authority?” he waited briefly, before continuing, half expecting the young kid to pop back in the door and say, No body ‘cept you, you old bastard. When he didn’t Gary was relieved, and once again began speaking.
“No, I think being arrested for car theft is the least of our problems. I ain’t saying it wasn’t a good thought to bring up, but I’m not too worried about that at all. What I am worried about… The main thing right now anyway, is to get this show on the road before it gets much later,” Gary said, and paused. “So, if no one has any real objections, I’d like a show of hands so we can figure out who’s going and who’s staying.”
With no discussion, five members of the dwindling group, among them the young man who had been involved in the earlier argument, turned and walked to the far side of the wide double front doors, shaking their heads as they went. The remaining people began, slowly at first, with glances at their neighbors, to raise their hands.
“Don’t just raise your hand if you’re not sure, or just because the guy standing next to you did,” Gary said. “You have to be sure, and you should know that we may not make it. We don’t have the slightest idea what we’re going to run into on the way, or even if we’ll get there. So you better be sure. Once we go we ain’t coming back. So who’s positive?”
Several hands that had been up went down, and their owners quickly gravitated to the smaller group that had begun to form by the front doors.
Gary looked at the young dark-haired kid he had been sure would end up with them, and then at Frank, who shrugged his shoulders and said, “Go figure.”
The remaining four stood waiting.
“Okay then,” Mike said, “I guess we’ll only need three cars. Who wants to come with Annie and me?” There were three young women, and the older man who had spoken earlier.
“I’ll go,” one of the young women said and stepped forward. The remaining three people stepped forward as well and volunteered.
“I don’t think we need all of you,” Annie said. “Connie,” she said speaking to the young woman who had stepped forward first, “if you want to come, let’s get going.”
The young woman followed Annie and Mike out the front doors, as the other three gathered around Gary.
“Let’s go back to the rear” Frank said in a low voice as he leaned closer to Gary. “I’m not so sure I want to stand up here and discuss our plans, if you catch my drift.”
“My thought exactly,” Gary said, as they walked towards the rear of the store.
Frank, Bob, and Dave, rested up against the wide cooler at the back of the store as Gary spoke. The two young women, Lisa and Gina, both of whom were in their late teens, stood nearby with the older man who Gary knew as John Bolton, a retired city Councilman from the Rochester area. Bolton had retired and moved to Glennville to escape the crime in Rochester. He would definitely be an asset, Gary thought.
“Bob?” Gary asked. “We’re going to need some other things before we go. I think maybe a couple of rifles, some camping gear, you know, things like that. If I make up a quick list, I was thinking maybe you and Gina might not mind getting it together, would you?”
“Sure,” Bob replied, “you a little concerned about that group up front?”
Gary leveled his eyes at Bob. “Them and any others like them. I’m not so sure they can be trusted. I saw Ron Saser in the crowd there, and he had a gun of some sort stuffed into his waist band.”
“I saw that too,” Dave said, and then went on. “Did you see the way he tensed up when it looked like those two kids were going to get into it?” Dave finished.
“Yes,” Gary replied, “I did, and it’s something I thought of earlier. I saw some others carrying guns, when we were down to the Square. I don’t much like it, but I think we have to have our own, even if only to play it safe.”
“I agree,” John said. “I spent a good deal of time in Rochester, and I took to carrying a gun with me wherever I went. I think, especially now, since we don’t seem to have any police to protect us, it’s the only smart thing to do.”
“I agree,” Frank said.
The others in the small group murmured their agreement along with him.
“Dave?” Gary said, as he looked at him, “We’re also going to need some canned goods. Maybe some bottled water, soda, canned meats. How about you and Lisa start getting that together. Be sure to stick to the canned stuff, and toss in some basic medical stuff, you know aspirin, bandage, whatever you think we might need.” Dave nodded his head and left with Lisa. Gary scrawled a quick list for Bob and Gina, and sent them on their way. The three remaining men watched them walk off, and then Gary said,
“Frank? Did you see any state maps up front, at the checkouts?”
“I believe I did,” he replied, as he walked away to get one.
Frank glanced over at the group of people, who were still huddled by the front doors, as he picked up several maps and headed back to the rear of the store. They were all huddled together to one side of the front doors, talking in low whispers, and more than a few of them had turned his way as he picked up the maps.
Gary and John were sitting on the rail of a long meat counter, talking, and drinking a couple of beers when Frank returned.
“They’re still cold if you get ’em from the back,” Gary said as Frank approached.
Frank reached into the cooler and snagged one of the beers from the back of the cooler, where ice had formed on the condenser unit. It hadn’t completely melted in the cool interior of the store. He took a long drink of the cool liquid. Probably won’t be drinking too many cold beers anymore, he thought. He reached into the cooler fished out a six pack from the back, and carried it over to the two men who were still talking. Gary and John both helped themselves to a beer as Frank spoke.
“Group up front is still there, and they eyeballed me pretty good when I went up to get the maps.”
“It’s probably a good thing we’re leaving,” John said. John had been in the crowd at the front of the store earlier and hadn’t liked the way the conversation had been going. “There’s a couple of Loony’s in that crowd, and I’m just as glad they’re not with us.”
“I feel about the same,” Gary said.
Frank opened one of the maps, and spread it over the glass top of the meat case.
“John thinks the best way is probably Route 3,” Gary said.
“It cuts around the lake,” John explained, picking up the conversation. “If it’s true, what Gary suspects about the fault line, it may be a tough way to go. But you’ve got to consider the other route, and I don’t think that’s a good choice at all. If we don’t go 3, we’re stuck with Route 81 to Syracuse, and the Thruway west from there. I think we all made up our minds to avoid Syracuse, so that leaves Route 3. That’ll take us into Route 104, and if we take that west it will bring us into Rochester. Course there’s still the lake to contend with.”
“I don’t think the lake is a problem,” Gary said, “the fault line runs across the basin of the Great lakes. If it did shift, it would be a problem we might have to face down the line, but that would only be if we try to go farther west.”
“If it shifted, let’s say it did for the sake of argument, there’s no real way to know at this point anyway, we could have one hell of a big river splitting the whole eastern end of the continent, from Canada, all the way down to the Gulf coast somewhere. I know I already been beatin’ on that horse, but I think it’s the most likely explanation. I read about it, what could happen if the fault were somehow triggered, in an article in the paper a few years back. It may seem a bit far-fetched, but there’s a lot of fact to back it up. The lakes would drop at first, and then they would level out as the new river fills up, and begin to rise again. That’s a basic way of putting it I guess, but that’s the gist of it. Right now though, if that lake really is dropping, we shouldn’t have too much trouble getting into Rochester.”
“You don’t think the road will be busted up, or flooded?” Frank asked.
“I doubt it’ll be flooded,” John replied, “if the lake is dropping, that should keep the road dry. I’m not so sure it won’t be broken up some though, and we may run into some stalled traffic I suppose, but being as it was night time, the traffic shouldn’t be too awful bad, and Four Wheel Drive should get us around the worst of it anyhow.”
“I’d say it’s a much better bet than Route 81 and the Thruway,” Gary said. “The traffic is pretty damn heavy there all the time.”
“Tell me about it.” Frank said, “I came down 81 on my way here. Nothing but Army trucks and traffic bumper to bumper.”
“Well then,” Gary said, “that decides that. John, what do you think our chances are, when we get there, of finding it still standing?”
John shrugged his shoulders as he replied. “Good as any, I guess, there’s no real way to tell. I don’t think the damage here was caused by missiles, I think we all agree it was most likely an earthquake, but that doesn’t mean Rochester’s still standing.”
The other two men nodded in agreement. He was right, Frank realized, as he pulled another beer from the plastic collar that held it. They would simply have to get there before they knew.
Frank walked back over to the two men, and sat beside them on the small rail drinking the semi-cold beer.
A short time later a loud commotion at the front of the store, caught their attention.
“Shit,” Frank said as the three of them hurried in the direction of the front of the store, “what the hell’s up now?”
Annie was standing over the young man with the long greasy hair who had caused the earlier argument, with her fists clenched. Mike and Connie were standing in front of her trying to hold back the small group of people.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Frank roared as he came up the aisle with Gary and John.
“This ass-hole,” Annie said, waving her hand to indicate the young man on the floor, “and his buddy over there,” she pointed towards Ron Saser, who was standing in the crowd. “Tried to jump us when we walked in the front door.”
Dave and Lisa emerged from one of the other aisles and stood next to Annie and Mike, as the kid picked himself up off the floor, and retreated to the safety of the other group. The two groups stared at each other across the small space for a few seconds, and then Ron Saser stepped out of the small group with a pistol gripped in one hand.
“Don’t have to be nobody killed,” he said, as he waved the pistol in their direction. “We want them Jeep’s, that’s all.”
Frank returned the man’s icy stare. “If you want one, why don’t you go get one? If I recall correctly, you didn’t want to come along in the first place, and if you want to leave now there’re plenty more cars just laying around waiting to be taken. Take one and go for Christ’s sake.”
“Oh, I want to go. In fact we all do,” he replied, as he waved the gun around to include the group behind him. “We will too. But since you already got three good Four-Bys all gassed up and ready, it’ll save us the trouble of bothering, and this gun says we’ll be takin’ em. Now give me the keys, Bitch,” he snarled, glaring at Annie.
“You want them?” she asked sweetly, “You come and get them.”
“I swear I’ll blow your ever loving brains right out the back of your stupid head,” he said as he started towards her.
Frank took two steps, and placed himself between them.
“Buddy, I don’t give a fuck about you at all,” Ron said, and pointed the gun at Franks head, “I’d just as soon…”
Before Ron Saser could finish what he had been about to say, a voice from the front of the store broke in.
“You got two seconds to drop that gun, Ronnie, or I swear I’ll put a bullet right through you.”
Bob was standing in the doorway with Gina, and both of them had high powered deer rifles pointed at Ron.
“I shit you not, Ronnie, I’ll shoot you like a woodchuck and leave you laying there, Man,” Bob said, as Ron turned around.
Ron looked back at the group of people behind him for help, but no one moved. Frank reached out quickly and grabbed the gun from his grip, and with one meaty hand shoved the man to the floor.
“I believe we’ll be leaving,” he said, first to Ron, and then lifting his eyes to include the group of people behind him. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the hell out of our way.”
Dave retreated down one aisle, and returned within a few minutes pushing a large steel stocking cart.
“I’d watch them kind of close,” Gary whispered, as he moved up to Frank’s side, “that may not be the only gun they have.”
Frank held the pistol in his hand, pointed towards the silent group of people as the others left the store through the wide front doors. Gary waited with him.
“I’d like to say it’s been nice, but it hasn’t,” Frank said to the crowd of people.
“You really should give some thought to coming with us,” Gary said, “I ain’t so sure you picked yourselves a very good horse if you’re counting on him,” Gary finished, pointing at Ron, who was still on the floor. The small group of people remained silent.
“Suit yourselves,” Gary finished. He followed Frank out the front doors and into the parking lot.
Frank and Gary paused outside as Dave and a couple of the others loaded the Jeeps. “You think,” Frank asked, “that there will be others like them?”
“I hate to say it,” Gary replied as they slowly walked across the lot towards the three Cherokee’s that sat idling, “but yes. I’d like to think a little better of the human race. But we are what we are. I expect we’ll run in to a whole shit load of those types.”
“It’s a good thing Bob picked up rifles then,” Frank replied thoughtfully. “No telling what kind of animals we’ll run into and I don’t necessarily mean the furry kind.”
Once the vehicles were loaded, Frank and Gary climbed into the open rear door of one of the Jeep’s with John.
Annie was in the front driver’s seat with Connie beside her. The second Jeep, with Mike driving, Gina in the back seat, and Lisa beside him, pulled in behind them. Bob drove the last Jeep, with Dave riding beside him. A shotgun was resting between his knees.
The small caravan pulled out of the parking lot, passed Jacob’s Superette, and headed towards Route 3.
– 1 –
“Well, Ira, what do you think?” the figure beside him asked.
Ira and Cora were walking through a field of tall grass somewhere in Oklahoma. The figure, that Ira perceived as a man who resembled his father, and Cora perceived as an older woman who resembled her long dead mother, walked beside them through the tall grass.
The air was warm.A light breeze touched the tops of the grass as it moved around them and through the field.
“I need to tell you of something that will soon come to pass,” the figure said, he paused briefly. “Do you accept me as God? The figure looked from one to the other as it asked the question.
“Absolutely,” Ira said, almost at the same time that Cora did. “Why? What else would you be?” Ira asked, with a trace of fear in his voice.
“Ira, my question was not meant to alarm you. Only to remind you of what I have shown you. Do you remember the man that was brought before me from the pit?”
“Why of course, Lord,” Ira replied. “It was Satan himself. Terrible,” Ira said as he shook his head. “That thing was Satan, wasn’t it, Lord?”
“Well, he has other names, Ira, but for you that is who he was. He is evil never doubt that, but he can come in many shapes, many forms. The man-creature you saw was how he chose to reveal himself to you, but you must be careful, he can take any shape, human; animal, and some you would not be able to look upon. Do you understand?”
“Not completely, Lord, but if you’re telling me avoid him, you needn’t worry. I don’t want nothin’ to do with him. He scares me, to be honest, Lord. Is that a bad thing?”
“No, Ira that is not a bad thing, in fact it is a good thing. The reason I reminded you, is not to set your heart to worry.”
Ira looked over at Cora. They had apparently stopped at some point in the conversation, he realized, and Cora was sitting on a large boulder, looking out over the field, seemingly unaware of their conversation.
“Do not be concerned,” the older man beside him said. “She is still walking beside me through the field. She needs to be told of the things that will soon come to pass as you do. She is well. Satan does not want that to be so, but the stars are not his to hold. Neither the Earth nor any of which you know, Ira. They are mine. They and all which are contained within them, and I love them. Do you wonder where a lie is born? Or where it came from?”
“Well… of course, Lord, from Satan, in the garden,” Ira said, and continued. “Course he was a serpent, and was made to crawl on his belly fer it, right?”
“Yes, Ira, but I mean the first, the beginning of the lie,” the older man said.
“I don’t get it, Lord,” Ira replied and wrinkled his brow before he continued. “He was sin, wasn’t he, and all sin came from him, right?”
“Only after a fashion…” the older man said.He paused before he continued. “Deceit is mine as well. It is a thing that was necessary to have. What He did was to embrace it and call it his own. But it was I who allowed it to be embraced. I knew that it would be as such. I knew, as well, that there would be others who would embrace it, but it was still a necessary thing.”
The older man paused as if in thought, and then continued.
“If you accept me as your God and as the creator of all that is and is to come, then you must accept the lie as mine as well. Do you understand, Ira?”
“I can’t say as I ever looked at it quite that way,” Ira said, and then continued, “but yes, I do, Lord.”
“I knew that you would see, Ira.” The older man said.
“It is not my wish to allow him dominion over this world or any other. While it is true that I told him I would abide him for three score, the speaking of those words did not in themselves make a truth…”
“…He has now a child which he has taken from among my own people. He believes the child is his, to do with as he pleases, and it pleases him to place him high above the world and all people. To rule them, Ira, to be his son, and to sit at his side on my throne, as a God.”
“He dreams of greatness, but he is small and pitiful. And he believes the child will be great and powerful, for that is the lie. He has deceived himself in his belief that it was He that created evil… For even evil is mine,” he paused. “Is it clear to you, Ira?”
The kindly, older man turned his eyes to Ira.
“Yes, Lord, it is. But if you didn’t intend to allow him to rule the Earth why did you turn him loose?”
“Choice, Ira. My people must be free to choose the path they wish to follow. Even him, your Satan. The path that he has chosen is evil, just as the ones he has called to him have chosen the same path. Your choice was to follow the path of truth, was it not?”
“Yes, Lord, it was,” Ira replied.
“His, and those that surround him, had the same choice to make. They chose the path of evil. It is that simple, Ira. He believes he has three score to prepare for the battle, but I have used his own device against him. That is the lie. I will not allow the time he thinks he has.” The older man paused before continuing.
“The battle will come soon, but the outcome is not assured. The outcome depends upon the path of truth. I can only supply it. I will not suffer any to tread it unless it is their choice.”
“Michael is preparing for the Great Battle,” he continued. “He has assembled those who have traveled the path of truth for the fight, but Michael will not lead in this world, he is unable. It is a circumstance I do not wish, yet one I have created.”
Ira looked at him with confusion in his eyes.
“My words are not meant to confuse, only to make you aware of a need. Someone must lead, Ira. Someone must lead who has no doubt. You are my child, Ira, yet it is you I would ask to lead.”
Ira opened his eye’s wide, as he spoke.
“But I can’t, Lord; I mean I will, but…How? I’m a man, Lord; I ain’t even an Angel, who would listen to me? I ain’t sure if I’d know how to fight, or even who, or where… Who would follow me?”
“Ira,” the older man said gently. “It matters not at all that you are only a man, and you will have little use of any army, or any angel. You will only need your heart and what it contains. That and nothing more. The armies are not upon the lands of the Earth, they are only within the spirit of the people. The evil one has his army unto himself, but only in spirit as well. They draw no breath, as you do. He may convince them that they do, but I assure you they do not. He draws no breath himself, though he believes that he breaths. He is insubstantial, Ira. He is a means to an end and nothing more. Nevertheless, he will find those that still draw breath, to fight his battles upon the land, as you yourself will find those who would oppose him. He will know of you, and he will become aware of the lie. I wish him to know, I do not wish him to succeed however. I would wish that he had stayed within the pit, but some wished for his release and the choice must be allowed. It is a promise to all that I love, that they may have a choice. And many wish to follow his path, so it must be allowed for the sake of the promise, Ira.”
“But still, Lord, who will follow me?” Ira asked.
“Did not many follow another? Who was also a man?” the older man asked.
“But, Lord,” Ira said, “he was your son.”
“Are you any less my son, Ira? Any less my own child?” the older man questioned as he took Ira’s hand into his own and continued to speak. “Are you any less worthy to be my son? No, Ira, you are not unworthy. You are my son, as Cora is my daughter, as Adam and Eve were also my children, and as even the one you think of as Satan is my own child. All are my children, Ira, the good as well as the bad. They all came from me and they shall all return to me in the end. It is my desire that you lead. That you bring the remainder of my children who wish to be with me to me. They will need to make the choice. Some have already made it, although they do not believe they have. Will you, Ira?”
“I’ll go, Lord, I can’t say that I’ll go without some fear though. I ain’t afraid of dying, but I’m afraid of failing you, Lord,” Ira lowered his head into his hands, and rubbed his temples. “I just think that you could do a whole lot better, Lord, is all. But if I’m it, I’ll go, and I’ll do the best I kin.” Ira finished speaking, and raised his eyes to the older man beside him.
“Ira…You are the best. There are none that would be better, or could be. You must remember that I made you. Everything I make is the best it can be. Nothing is imperfect, even the evil one you call Satan.” the older man stared deeply into Ira’s eyes before he continued. “He will, of course, try to kill you. You have life now, and will always have it, but he will try to kill your body.”
“I kind’a figured that, Lord…Will he?”
“Ira, it is not a thing that you need to concern yourself with. Do you think you can be killed? Has not your body been killed before, and yet you still live, and draw breath? Do you think he can do more to you?”
Ira shook his head, as he spoke. “I’m not afraid of death, Lord. I can’t rightly say I want to die either, but if it happens, I kin get through it, Lord. I kin still pray to you, can’t I?”
“Of course, Ira,” the older man said. “I will go with you as I will also ride with Michael to defeat the armies of evil. I do not wish to speak with words that confuse you, Ira. I will be there if you need me. Do not doubt that.”
“Will Cora be with me, Lord?” Ira asked.
“She will be with me, Ira, and I shall be with you. We will await your return. Come, it grows late.”
Ira looked towards the sky, and saw that it was true, the light blue of the sky had phased to a deep indigo as they had talked. Cora still sat upon the rock. Tears streaked her face as she stared into the setting sun.
“Go to her, Ira,” the older man said, “she waits for you. There is time for you, and you will draw strength from her. I shall leave for a time, and then return to take you to begin your journey.”
Ira turned his eyes back to the older man, but he was no longer there. He walked towards Cora, lifted her from the rock, and held her.
“I understand, Ira,” she said, as he brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Make love to me?”
Ira took her into his arms, kissed her, and after they lay down upon the soft grass he made love to her, and then held her gently as they talked.
“I will be with you,” she said. “I’ll always be with you, my love.”
Ira kissed her. “Cora, I love you too.It won’t be long, and then I’ll be back, Honey.”
The older man walked slowly towards them across the field. “I have to go now, Honey.” Ira said. He kissed her good bye.
Cora stood in the field with the older woman and watched him walk off towards the setting sun. He seemed to slowly fade away as he walked, until he was no more.
“Cora?” the older woman asked, “would you like to walk with me?”
“I would,” she replied. “Will I see him soon, Lord?” she asked as they began to walk through the tall grass.
“Look into your heart, Cora, he has never left you,” the woman replied.
They walked through the grass in silence, a peaceable contenting silence. They crested a small hill, and looked down upon a wide green valley. A blue river snaked its way through the valley, and horses grazed upon the grass. Buffalo grazed contentedly beside them, as the sun rode low on the horizon. The older woman spoke, as they stopped at the crest.
“This is the land that I promised to, Ira,” she said. “He chose it himself as we walked one day. I wanted to bring you here to prepare it for him, so that it will be ready when he returns. Are you pleased, Cora?”
“It’s beautiful,” she cried, as she looked out over the valley. “But how will I prepare it, lord?” she asked as she turned towards the older woman.
“You will not be alone, Cora, I will help you,” the older woman said, as she smiled. “Can you swing an axe, or pound a nail?”
“Course I kin,” Cora replied, returning the smile, “I learned when I was little, but you know that, Lord.”
“Well,” the older woman said, as she began to roll up the sleeves of the old fashioned dress she wore. “I guess we better get to it, Cora. Let’s see, a house, a barn, maybe a couple of fences, that about it?”
“I never built anything from the ground up, Lord,” Cora replied.
“Well I guess then, that it is time to learn. Come on child, let’s pick a place to build the house,” the older woman said as she took Cora’s hand in her own and started down the hill.
The two women walked down the hill in the direction of the river holding hands. When they reached the bottom, Cora broke into a run. A smile lit her face as she ran through the tall grass towards the river. She spun around like a small child and turned towards the older woman.
“Come on!” she called, smiling. “It’s so beautiful.” She spun again and skipped off into the tall grass, as the older woman smiled back and began to follow.
– 2 –
Ira continued walking down the long road.
He had been in the field walking with the Lord one second and the next his feet had touched the roadway and he had been walking alone.
Thick vines overgrew the road, he noticed, and grass had broken through the pavement in several places. Large clumps of the vines hung down from the trees, casting shadows over the roadway, that were lengthened by the setting sun, but his spirit was not subdued by the shadows. The land seemed alive and the air tasted sweet as he drew it into his lungs and expelled it.
He wore faded jeans and a white cotton tee shirt. Heavy boots clad his feet, and a rifle rested upon his broad back, suspended from a strap. He had no idea how he had come to be dressed this way, but it did not concern him. He also had no idea where he was. That did not greatly concern him either. The only thing he could feel and say did concern him was the meeting that he knew would eventually occur.
“He knows,” the older man had told him as they had walked across the field. “He will send someone to try to kill you. Be strong and walk with me, Ira.” That had been the last thing the older man had said before Ira had walked away.
As he continued to walk down the overgrown road, Ira noticed a gnawing sensation in his stomach and realized he was hungry.
“I’ll be,” he said aloud. “I can’t remember the last time I was hungry.” He smiled as he continued to walk and thought, I guess I better look for something to feed myself.
He was surrounded by woods on both sides of the road, but through the trees on the right he could see water glistening in the setting sun. He pushed through the trees to look. A deep blue-black River flowed beside the road, through a high narrow passage of solid rock. He looked down at the river for a few minutes as the fading light glistened from its surface, wondering at its beauty, and then returned to the road and continued to walk along it.
He came upon a small turn-out with a dirt road leading away from it toward a small cabin set into the woods, and he sat off down the dirt road in the direction of it. When he reached it he pulled the rusty screen door open and went inside.
The place was empty. Ira went to the old wooden cupboards set in to the wall and opened them. He searched through the packed shelves until he found some canned goods towards the rear of one. He took the cans, along with some cookies and an opener from one of the drawers beneath the cabinets; fished out a fork as well, and drew up a chair to the small pine table that sat in the middle of the kitchen. He ate the cold stew from the can and munched on the cookies as he sat quietly. When he finished he walked off through the house to look around.
He found what he was looking for.An old canvas backpack with a small canteen attached to the side by a chain hung from a wooden peg near the rear door.Almost as if it had been left waiting there for him. He filled the small canteen with water from a jug in the old refrigerator, drank deeply from the jug, and then returned it to its former place. The water was warm, but it quenched his thirst. He carefully went through the cupboards and filled the old backpack with canned goods; the remainder of the cookies, and leaving the house headed back to the road to resume walking. He said a mental prayer of thanks for the food as he walked.
As the sun sank deeper below the trees he came to a small car beside the road. It was empty and he crawled into the front seat, reclined it, and fell instantly asleep.
As Ira slept the sun dropped below the horizon, and a clouded pale moon rose, shedding its ghostly light down upon the vine covered roadway.
Suddenly a silhouetted figure moved beside the car, seeming to emerge from the roadway itself, and slowly began to take shape. Although its feet touched the roadway, the heavy work boots that clad them made no sound.
The figure moved into the moonlight revealing itself, as it stood staring into the small car at the sleeping man inside.
The pale light revealed a tall and thin young man, whose dark hair curled around his somewhat spiked ears. He was dressed entirely in black.
A wide black leather-grained belt encircled his waist, and a forged silver skull served as a buckle, where the belt fastened in front.
“So it’s true,” the young man whispered, revealing sharp rows of yellowed teeth that sat crookedly in his mouth as he spoke. “You have come.”
A look of anger came into his eyes and contorted his face, making it appear as though he were struggling to maintain control.
“I will kill you,” the dark haired man hissed through his yellowed teeth.
He stared through the glass for a few seconds longer, then slowly melted back into the roadway.
Ira came awake in the small car. He could just make out the roadway in the pale moonlight. What? He wondered.
He felt no fear of the encroaching darkness, but could not shake the feeling that something frightful had awakened him.
He stared out into the darkness for a few minutes, but saw nothing and his apprehension slipped away. He laid back into the seat and did not awake again until morning.
The moon cast its light down upon the small car as if it were protecting and watching over it, until the sun returned in the morning.
A wolf howled from deep within the woods and then fell silent.
– 3 –
Willie LeFray walked down the middle of Main Street in Glennville New York. The Street was overgrown with the vines that seemed to be everywhere.
The Man had sent him. Well, not sent him exactly, he thought, more like put him here.
The Man had called him into the large tent that had been set up for him in the desert. To Willie it looked like a huge circus tent, complete with a steeped center. The atmosphere inside was far from a circus though.
Willie thought back to the night before…
The Man, as everyone referred to him, Willie included, had been seated in the middle of the huge tent on a small square of carpet. There were no other furnishings, save several small oil lamps placed strategically around the perimeter of the tent.
The air was hot. Much hotter than the cold desert air outside the tent, and a sickly sweet smell assaulted him as he entered the tent. The smell, along with the heat, accompanied The Man wherever he went.
The first time Willie had smelled it, he had been afraid that he would not be able to bear it, that he would vomit, but he had gradually become accustomed to it…
“Willie,” The Man said softly. “Come… Sit.” He motioned to a place directly in front of him. Willie walked to the place he indicated and sat down.
“Willie, look at me,” he said.
Willie raised his eyes from the sandy floor of the tent, and gazed into the black eyes of the man before him. It was not just the iris surrounding the pupil that was black, but the entire eye. The eyes that stared back at him seemed to bore into him.
“Willie, we have a small problem,” he said, “I have been lied to by the father of lies.” He seemed to grow agitated as he spoke. “It would seem as though,” he said struggling to control himself, “we will not have time to prepare for the battle, as I had hoped. Perhaps though, it will be better this way. I see no reason to expend my mental energy being concerned about it.”
Willie watched him as he talked. His hands gestured wildly in the air, and his yellowed teeth flashed in the oily light from the lamps.
“The boy,” he continued, “will be of no use to us, Willie, and the sister was only allowed for the boy, so she is of no use at all. At least not now…” His eyes glazed momentarily, “…Later,” he said decisively. He affected a deep sigh, and then continued, with an alarmingly wide smile. “But! All is not lost Willie, as I have you, don’t I.” He smiled even wider as he laid his icy hand upon Willie’s shoulder and squeezed. Willie flinched involuntarily and The Man quickly withdrew his hand,balling it beneath his chin as if he were thinking.
“Willie… the children must be killed. They are of little use now, and to be of use… to fulfill their purpose later, they will need to pass through death first. For now they would only serve to divert me and we have much to do,” the liquid black eyes bored into him, as he spoke.
The cold eyes held Willie’s attention.
“You must take them out into the desert and kill them, Willie. When you return, you will be leaving. There is a place, a safe place that was built for me. You must go and prepare it. Do you understand, Willie?”
“Yes… I do. But how can I kill children?” he responded in a whisper through his dry lips.
“Why the same way you kill anyone,” he responded, chuckling as though amused. “The same way you killed that slut Tawanda, Willie.”
Willie’s eyes flew open and his throat worked convulsively as he tried to speak.
“Y-You…”
The man raised his hands in the air to silence him.
“Yes I know, and I know more, Willie. I know about all the others you killed as well. You are a good soldier, Willie. You, Willie, are my Main Man. Did you know that?”
Willie tried to speak, but his throat seemed to be frozen and useless. He ended up nodding his head, and whining instead.
“Don’t get me wrong, Willie, I admire what you have accomplished,” he continued, smiling as he did, and suddenly snapping his fingers. “I almost forgot, stupid me!” he said with a deep chuckle.
He reached behind him and retrieved a small plastic bag. Syringes floated among the white powder in the bag.
“Here, let me help you,” he said as he reached for one of the small oil lamps. He picked up the jagged bottom of a rusty can that had been floating over the lamp. The can was a dull glowing red from the heat of the flame, and a bubbling murky liquid simmered in the bottom. As he picked it up small wisps of smoke curled up from the fingers that held the can.
“OOOUUCCHH!” he exclaimed in mock pain as he giggled. “Nearly burned myself. I must be more careful.” He continued to giggle as he blew on the liquid to cool it.
He reached for Willie’s left arm and unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeve of the shirt to his biceps. Angry red punctures could be seen dotting the inside crook of Willie’s elbow.The Man picked up a small syringe from the sandy floor beside him and began to fill it with the cooled liquid.
He had gripped Willie’s biceps and squeezed until a vein had popped up in the crook of his elbow, amid all the angry red punctures. He pushed the needle home and depressed the plunger, injecting the liquid into Willie’s body, then sat back and curled his legs under him on the small carpet square. Waiting… Smiling.
“Better?” he asked, still smiling.
Willie had no idea what the white powder was. He knew, however that it wasn’t cocaine. This was better than any cocaine he had ever done. It made him feel strong, invincible even, but not like cocaine. It was different, somehow. Willie found his voice.
“Much,” he said. “Where are the kids?” he finished returning the smile.
“In a moment… In a moment, Willie, but first we must talk about this place. Here,” he said, “look.”
As he spread his hands apart slightly, a greenish mist seemed to seep from them and begin to take shape. Within the mist, Willie could see a dark cliff with what seemed to be a black void within the rock face. A river rolled and tossed yellow foam beneath the cliff. He seemed to be drawn towards and then sucked into the black hole in the rock. He flew through a long tunnel of solid rock until he arrived at a larger tunnel, which appeared to have be carved out of the same rock. He flew through the larger tunnel skimming over the tops of stalled and silent trucks until another side passage appeared.
“This is where you will need to go,” The man said, in a sleepy, hypnotic voice. “That will get you inside of where you need to be. There will be others who will join you to help you. Do you understand?”
Willie nodded his head, and then said. “But where are the children?”
The man laughed loudly for several seconds before he replied. “Willie… Willie,” he said as the deep laughter pealed forth from him. “They are just outside, and Willie?” he said as he suddenly stopped laughing. “Don’t fuck around and screw it up, got it?” His finger stabbed viciously into Willie’s chest as he lowered his voice to a whisper and continued without waiting for his reply.
“If you do, my friend, I will eat you. Alive…Piece…By Delectable…Piece.” The stabbing finger had punctuated the last few words, and he smiled widely, revealing his sharp yellow teeth…
Willie had sat shivering, and a shudder crept through his body now as he recalled it.
He had taken the small bag with its unknown magic white powder, and left when The Man had suddenly sat back, laughing once more, and pointed towards the flap of the tent that served as the door.
The children had been waiting outside the tent. They were tied with heavy ropes, but their legs were free. One end of the rope had been held by the black armored rider on horseback, and he had tossed the free end to Willie as he had left the tent. Without a word the rider spurred the horse and sped off into the night.
The children’s mouths had been gagged, but their frightened eyes had spoken well for them, seeming to bulge in terror as Willie had dragged them into the cold desert night. He had walked until he had topped a small dune, and then had roughly pushed the children to the ground.
Then what? He wondered now as he walked down the empty street.
You killed them, a small voice in his head stated firmly.
He supposed it was true, but could not recall it.
When he had returned he had been covered in blood, and The Man had been pleased. It had been near morning and the sky had just begun to color; light seeping slowly across the sands.
“Very good, Willie,” The man had said gleefully. “But now my sweet, you must leave. Right now, before it is fully light.”
He had then bent and kissed Willie fully on the lips. “I will see you shortly my love,” he had giggled.
Willie shuddered as he replayed the scene in his mind. Bile rose in his throat and he fought it back as he walked. Something, or some things, had tried to push through his lips and into his mouth, he recalled.
The thought was more than he could stand and he doubled over and threw up into the street. He fought harder to push the scene out of his head and regain control of his shaking body. When he did he walked off down the street, convincing himself that it had been the drug that had still been running wild through his body, which had made him, dream? Hallucinate? His mind supplied, the kiss.
The Man had placed his hands on Willie’s shoulders, and gently turned him around. The road, covered in vines, had been before him and he had begun to walk. The sun had risen fully as he walked, and a short time after that he had come to the sign, thought for a moment and then proceeded into the city limits of Glennville.
As he walked down a long sloping hill a small lake appeared in the middle of the downtown section. It seemed oddly out of place to Willie at first, but as he continued to walk and grow closer to the bottom of the hill, he thought that it actually looked as though it had always been there. As if it belonged there.
A small group of people stood by the lake watching Willie descend the hill. They were not much more than small human forms from this perspective, but not so small that Willie could not see the rifles they held.
Willie, who carried no weapon, was not concerned. He lifted his hands, and waved them in the air in greeting as he reached the bottom of the small hill, and walked toward the group.
A tall young boy, with long greasy hair stepped out of the crowd as Willie approached, followed by a young man with dark hair, who appeared to be in his twenties, Willie thought. They were no longer just holding the rifles, Willie saw; they were pointing them at him. Willie flashed his teeth in a wide smile and stuck out his hand. The young man with the dark hair was surprised into shaking the hand he found thrust into his.
“Willie LeFray,” Willie said, as he pumped the young man’s hand up, and down, “pleased to meet you.” He allowed his gaze to shift downward to the rifle the young man held, and then looked back into his eyes, as he spoke.
“You don’t intend to shoot me, do you, Ronnie?” He smiled at the young man as his mouth dropped open.
Willie gently removed the rifle from his hands before he continued to speak.
“I’m here to help, Ronnie old buddy,” he said, as he set the rifle down on the ground, loosely holding it in one hand by the barrel.
“The Man sent me. We need to talk, old bud.”
Willie guided the young man to a nearby bench and sat him down. He turned towards the group of people. Silent now, staring openly and fearfully.
“Hey!” Cheer up folks!” he said smiling.
He turned and sat down next to the man on the bench.
“Who’s in charge here,” Willie asked, replacing the smile with a sarcastic smirk.
“I-I am,” Ron Saser stammered from beside him.
“Well, Ronnie, not no more,” Willie said smiling once again. “From now on I am.” He turned the smile off once more. Replacing it this time with a determined grimace. “Any objections?” he asked politely as he stared down the small group.
One by one they dropped their eyes from his and his cold stare.
“Good,” he replied, once again smiling. “Now who can show me to the river?” When no immediate reply was forthcoming, he said, “Okay, I’ll take volunteers. Let’s see…You…You, you and, oh what the fuck, you can all come, I’m easy to get along with.”
He stood up from the bench and faced the small group. “You,” he said pointing to a young girl, “you belong to me.”
He still held the rifle loosely in his hand by the barrel, with the butt resting on the ground.
“Hey!” the young man with the long greasy hair protested. As he started towards him, he dropped his rifle and clenched his fists.
“Hay is for horses, mother-fucker,” Willie replied calmly, as he quickly bounced the rifle from the pavement and into his hands.
The young man realized too late that he had foolishly dropped his own rifle. Willie squeezed the trigger of the rifle and a large smoking hole appeared in the boy’s forehead between the greasy strands of hair. He fell to the ground where he flopped for a few seconds before he lay still.
“Anybody else?” Willie asked, with the smile still riding upon his face. No one met his eyes. “I didn’t think so,” he said, answering his own question. He reached out and took the girl by the hand as he rose from the bench, and drew her to him. He could feel her shaking body against his own and it excited him. Later, he told himself. Later.
He turned his attention back to the small silent group that stood before him.
“The river?” he reminded them.
“You heard him,” Ron Saser said from behind him, as he also stood up. His voice sounded determined, but his eyes looked sick and pale, and they darted nervously in their deeply ringed sockets. “Let’s go.” Ron started off towards the river and the small group followed behind him. Willie threw his arm around the shivering young girl beside him and followed.
When they reached the river, Ron stopped, and waited for Willie by the rocky bank. Willie came forward, and, to Ron’s surprise, jumped down to a small ledge that was barely above the water below the bank. A dark void opened into the rock face to one side. Ron herded the rest of the group down onto the ledge, after handing the young girl down.
Once again taking the girls hand, Willie walked into the dark tunnel. When the rest of the group did not immediately follow, he stopped and looked questioningly at Ron. Ron shouted at the small group to move them and they followed Willie into the caves.
The group moved quickly, yet quietly through the dark tunnel.Absolute darkness enveloped them as they moved deeper into the rock. They stumbled along, feeling their way forward as they hurried to keep up with Willie. They could not see him, but they could hear the echo of his foot-steps in the darkness, rebounding off the stone walls. They walked in silence punctuated only by the sounds of their breathing and their shoes as they slapped on the cold, damp stone floor. Water dripped from the unseen overhead ceiling, and they could hear the far off roar of one of the many rivers that ran through the underground caves as they walked.
They eventually came to the wide rock tunnel that The Man had shown Willie. Bright fluorescent light illuminated the tunnel, and the large trucks that were abandoned within it. Bodies littered the asphalt of the roadway, and the stench of decomposition caused several of the small group to gag. Willie, who was certain he had smelled worse, turned left and walked between the stalled traffic. Ron kept the small group moving forward, although the smell sickened him as well, and tried to avoid the moldy bodies lying on the damp roadway as he went.
Willie turned left again and the following group entered a small corridor. The corridor was lit with fluorescent light as well, and had obviously been carved from the rock.
The small rocky tunnel had been built for maintenance of the ventilation system and its’ cold, stone walls bore the marks of the jackhammers that had bit into it, as they chewed through it. The small corridor turned to the right and paralleled the main tunnel as it sloped downward through the rock.
Ron inched up beside Willie as they walked.
“How come the lights are on, Willie?” he asked. “It’s kind’a spooky, you know?”
“Generator,” Willie responded. “The place has its own power supply. That’s why The Man wants it. Wait till we get down in it, Ronnie old bud. They built themselves a regular city down here.”
“No shit!” Ron exclaimed. “I knew they were up to something, but I didn’t know that.”
“Sure,” Willie continued. “This was supposed to be used for all the real important people. You know. Like the President, I guess, The Man didn’t say. Tough shit for them though.They didn’t make it,” Willie snickered, and then continued. “The man says there’re some people in there though.”
“How many,” Ron asked, unconsciously clutching the dead greasy-haired kid’s rifle.
“Not many,” Willie replied. “The Man said, take ’em out if they give us any shit. They’re mostly scared to death, and they ain’t expecting us to come in the back door.” He continued. “The piping for the ventilation split up here a ways and we’ll just walk right in through it and say howdy.”
Ron looked over to the right at the bare wall.
“Not yet, stupid, up ahead. The pipe doesn’t run through this shaft, but it crosses it up ahead. It broke where it comes across, The Man showed me. We’ll walk right in, easy as you please, Ronnie boy. That pipe will take us to an air duct.” He paused briefly.
“See… they put all these air ducts in there. They’re all over,” he said, “and the one we’re gonna get inside through, comes out in a big open area, sort’a like a garden, or a small park. The way they set em up, they sort’a hid ’em in the bushes. You know, to make em look kind’a natural. Get it?” he eyed Ron as he walked beside him. Ron nodded.
“So…” Willie continued, “All we got to do is just sneak in from there. They got a big control room full of computers, and TV sets and all kind of high tech. shit like that. That’s what The Man wants. He said they ain’t got everything up and running yet, but it won’t be a big deal to get it up, you know? They got something else he wants too.”
“What?” Ron asked in an awed voice.
“Dunno, Something special is all he said, and believe you me, when you meet him, you’ll see he ain’t the sort’a guy you ask questions of, know what I mean?”
Ron shook his head. “No. I ain’t so sure I want to find out either.”
“Little late for that, Ron old bud. In fact a whole lott’a late,” Willie said seriously as he looked at Ron.
The girl beside him shivered as he spoke, and began to whine deep in her throat.
“Guess you might’a fucked up too, girlie,” he said, and grinned as he continued. “Just be glad it wasn’t Him that wanted you.”
Ron slowed his pace and dropped back to the rear of the group as they walked.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into here? He wondered, as he shook his head and plodded along.
They came upon the broken air-shaft a few hours later. Willie ducked in, dragging the girl with him, and the small group followed. This time Ron hadn’t needed to prod them.
He followed quietly, still wondering to himself, as they wound through the shaft and deep down into the earth in the direction of the underground city.
In an unconscious way, Ron knew that the small group had made a decision of great import when they had decided to ambush the other group of people back at Jacob’s Superette. After that decision, and the subsequent failure, they had felt a change within themselves. It was a mere feeling at first that they had crossed some unseen line, but in the following hours it had developed into an absolute certainty that something had changed within them. That some switch, buried within their souls, had clicked into position and would not click back.
They had found themselves to be suddenly aware that a battle was to take place, and their souls were now counted among the ranks of one of the opposing armies. They had even discussed it openly after the young girl, the same young girl that Willie had claimed for himself, had started to cry, and finally blurted out the fear they had all been too afraid to discuss.
They had even tried, unsuccessfully, to convince themselves that they had chosen the side of right. The young kid, with the long greasy hair, Elmer Beldon by name, had been the driving force behind that argument. His arguments were insubstantial however, even to himself, and after only a few minutes he had admitted they were only fooling themselves.
They had left the Superette and walked back down to the lake. Before Willie had appeared they had known someone would come. It had not been a feeling, but a knowing, and although they had not discussed it, they had all waited for that someone to come and lead them to wherever they were meant to go.
Ron had seriously considered walking into one of the remaining buildings, sitting down, putting the rifles barrel into his mouth, and squeezing the trigger. He had even started to carry through with the fantasy that had worked its way into his brain.
He had walked into one of the shops, sat down against the back wall, stared out the glass front at the lake, and put the barrel into his mouth. He had not been able to pull the trigger though. Instead he had sat and wept silently. In the end he had resigned himself to the decision he had made, along with the others, and had gone out to wait with the rest of the group. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but he was terribly afraid as he waited, and sure that he would live to regret the decision. Nevertheless he waited in silence with the small group, as the sun began to creep up over the horizon.
When Willie had come he had been relieved in a way. He had been expecting The Man to come. He had no idea who The Man was; he had simply known he would come. When it had been Willie he had been sure that the feelings, as well as the sudden knowledge of The Man, had been wrong. For one short and wild moment, he had allowed hope to creep back in. The conviction was short lived though. Before the young black man had even reached the small group Ron had known he was there to prepare the way for The Man. Willie was a messenger of sorts, a messenger who would only bring bad news, evil news. A messenger from The Man, sent forth to gather his people of the earth together. Ron had been afraid then. Not for his physical body, or even his soul. His soul, he was afraid, was not his to be afraid for any longer. His fear was nameless, non-specific, but it was a great and terrible fear that threatened to overwhelm him. It still pulsed through his blood and echoed within his head as he walked through the duct work.
The fact that he could not quell it, only served to feed it, and as he walked along he struggled with it. He was very close to losing his mind, he felt. His mind screamed out to him to turn and run back in the other direction, but his feet betrayed him, and continued to carry him forward.
Although he was not aware of it, Willie had fought the same battle. For Willie it had been much simpler though. He had simply given into the insanity. It had been the only way he could cope with the events that had surely been unreal.
For Willie the end had come when he had decided to give into, what he considered a false reality. If the world had become insane, wasn’t it reasonable to also become insane? Willie convinced himself that it was, and he had immediately felt better about the situation. It was much easier to believe it wasn’t real and to push the screaming voice in his head that assured him it was, away.
Ron was at that place now, along with several others in the small group. He knew, suddenly realized, that even more people were on their way to the city within the caves. Could it be reasonable, or sane, he wondered, to know something without being told? He also knew that he would soon need to either act on the urge to run, or give in to the urge to stay.
He sadly realized that he had already decided, and with the decision, reached out and embraced the insanity. It took hold quickly, and, he found, it was far easier to think now that his mind was not so clouded. This was right, he realized. I have only been marking time in a world that I could love no more than it could love me. His face, which had been clouded, sprouted a small smile, and as he walked he fed it, until it grew to cover the frown that had been there. He was no longer greatly concerned about the right or wrong of the circumstances he found himself in. He only hoped he could hold the smile when he met The Man. He worked at it as he walked along.
By the time the small group reached the air vent, and stood staring through it into the small garden, there were no dissenters among them. Five of their group were absent, and lay dead or dying behind them in the air shaft.
Ron had not been the only one to stop the fleeing individuals. The group had simply known, and each had been dealt with silently as they had turned to run. None had been given the time to scream out, as all of the remaining group had sensed that the consequences would be great if anything were allowed to stop them, or signal their arrival.
Ron and Willie, finally managed to loosen the air vent, and the small group crept silently into the garden.
Far above them, in the small city of Glennville, a heavily armed group started into the dark void in the rock. They were looking for a man named Willie. They only knew that when they found him he would tell them what to do from there.
– 4 –
Forty miles to the west a small caravan of Jeeps moved slowly through the morning light down an overgrown roadway. The vines were thick and the caravan had been forced to detour around several breaks in the pavement of the road. They had constantly been forced to stop and push stalled vehicles out of their way as well.
They had spent the night in an abandoned state park that fronted Lake Ontario. The water that had once lapped at the beach had retreated several hundred yards back, and the weeded and muddied floor of the lake lay naked and exposed. They had spoken little, and had not slept well. Several of them had been awakened during the night by vivid nightmares, the worst of which had apparently been reserved for Bob, who had sworn when he had awoken that something had been inside his body, something that had tried to push him out. The events of the last several days weighed heavily on all of them, the nightmares were overpowering, and most of them were afraid to go back to sleep. After a quick discussion they had abandoned their efforts to return to sleep. They had left even before the sun had begun to rise over the water and resumed their journey.
– 5 –
To the west, in the city of Rochester, the sun had risen slowly, revealing her quiet streets.
As the sun had risen, the Street lights that had held the darkness back, switched off.
The vines, that seemed to be trying to swallow the northern section of the state, were not in evidence, and the highways that entered the city, although choked with silent traffic, were bare of them as well.
Small groups of people walked her streets as if lost. Some had lived there, but most had made the short trek from the surrounding communities. Others were on their way. Some had dreamed of the city, others had not, but had simply felt compelled to journey there.
The groups were waiting. For what they were unsure. They only knew that they were waiting, and they supposed they would know what for when it arrived. In the meantime they waited, and as they waited some of the groups began to merge and join together.
– 6 –
Far above the Earth satellites still continued to orbit. A silent figure seemed to stand among the stars looking down at the small planet.
The North American continent lay seemingly sleeping far below. A wide lake had formed in the middle, fed by a huge river that stretched from the former Hudson Bay, to the Gulf of Mexico. The river, along with the huge lake, split the continent in two from ocean to ocean.
The state of Alabama, which had lain directly in its path, was divided in two by the river where it made its way to the Gulf and into the ocean beyond.
The smaller eastern section of the continent had already begun to drift. Although it was imperceptible, the two land masses were inching away from one another, and ultimately would be separated by a new ocean, and become separate, though smaller continents.
The once magnificent country of America was no more, and now would begin the battle for dominion over what remained of her lands and people. The outcome was not guaranteed, the figure knew. Choice could only be given if there were no guarantee, for to do otherwise there would be no choice. The figure had done what it was able to do. The rest was up to mankind.
The eastern end of the former United States was also drifting away from the northern section of Canada. The massive earthquake that had been triggered by missile strikes in the states of Iowa, Illinois and Missouri, had also severed the state of Michigan, and turned it into a virtual island.
Parts of Indiana had succumbed to the water too, and the states of Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Alabama, had been split in two, along with the upper western edge of the state of Florida.
Toward what had been the north, the St. Lawrence River had widened, pushing the land masses further apart. The Thousand Islands bridge spans had toppled, and slipped into the cold waters. The other bridges that had once spanned the mighty river had succumbed as well as the river basin had split and pulled apart.
The new continent had also severed her ties from Nova Scotia, as she had been pulled south and slightly east, to begin her journey. Only the province of New Brunswick and a small portion of Quebec remained with the continent. The rest of Canada was severed from them by the wide and deep river, more like a huge lake in places, which surged from ocean to ocean.
Most of the North American continent was now in a sub-tropical climate as well.
The poles had been displaced by the huge force of the multiple nuclear blasts. The old polar caps were melting, and it would be thousands of years before they would once again re-form in their new locations.
The run-off from the melting ice would eventually reach the oceans, and even more land mass would be sacrificed to the waves before the polar caps would be re-formed.
There were only thirteen full states left on the small continent. The two former provinces of Canada, one of which was only a small fragment, and parts of five former states, the largest being Florida.
People grouped together on all the remaining lands and lines began to be drawn. The waters were the new boundaries and great battles were in the works, or already occurring, between the opposing groups to establish dominion over the remaining lands of the world. The spiritual battle raged, unseen by most, while on the Earth the human battles began.
The figure standing in the heavens held watch, and awaited the outcome that only time could deliver.
– 7 –
In the small city of Glennville, which rested near the shore of the former lake Ontario, the river waters continued to rise and the lake in the center of the small downtown section continued to spread. By the time the last groups of people had splashed through the tunnels and into the caves, they had been walking through better than two feet of cold and muddy river-water. The pressure from the lake above continued to collapse small sections of caves and tunnels below the city and was helped along by small after-shocks.
When the last group had reached the air shaft, they had immediately pitched in to help brick the passage way off. One group had already begun the work, and had only been waiting for the last group to arrive before the remaining bricks and concrete blocks were stacked and cemented into place in the four foot thick wall. The materials, along with sandbags initially used to hold back the rising waters, had been taken from huge stockpiles within the city, and from the stalled trucks within the wide tunnel. There was no way in and no way out of the city, with one small exception.
The exception was the series of air ducts. The ducts led away from the city towards a small mountain-peak about a mile from the city. There the ducts merged together, inside a huge natural rock tunnel that had been part of the original network of caves and passage ways. That tunnel culminated deep within the mountain at the air treatment facility. It would be possible to walk through one of the many air shafts to the tunnel, break through the ducting, and follow it to the treatment facility. From there they could break into the ducting that led to the top of the mountain to supply the air to the filtering facility. It would be difficult, but it would be possible. The end of the trip would bring them to the top of the mountain, overlooking most of the state. From there they could go anywhere.
The takeover of the underground city had been easy. There had been few soldiers, and the technical people had not wanted to fight. Most had decided to join Willie’s group. The ones who refused were shot, and tossed out of the city unceremoniously into a pile at the main tunnel entrance.
They had removed the crushed truck, reactivated the air lock at the main entrance, and the city was once again totally isolated from outside elements. Small groups had been assembled and were assigned various tasks. All of which needed to be accomplished before The Man arrived.
Some monitored screens that still showed scenes from the outside via satellite cameras deep in space. Others monitored the computer screens that ran the small nuclear reactor that supplied the city with power, while others kept track of the inner workings of the city, which were also run by the huge computer system.
When The Man had arrived later that same evening, he had been alone. The rider with his black armor had not been with him. Neither the steed nor the rider had since appeared, and although Willie was curious, he was not curious enough to ask why. The black rider had frightened him, in some ways more than The Man had, and he was glad, in a way, that he had not come.
One room had been kept separate and apart for him, and he had suddenly appeared within it.
Willie had been standing, just inside the doorway, wondering what secrets the room held, and why it was so important. He had blinked and when he opened his eyes the man had been standing before him.
“Curiosity killed the cat, Willie,” he had said, in a softly sarcastic tone. “Would you like to become a cat? Would you like to feel how the cat felt when it was killed?”
“No,” Willie had managed.
“Then get out, Willie. Get the fuck out, and don’t come back unless I call for you, understand?”
“Yes,” Willie whispered, as he had turned to go. Before he had reached the door The Man had spoken.
“One other small thing, Willie. Very small, yet very important.”
Willie had turned from the door, wishing desperately that he had been able to reach it sooner.
“A name, Willie. I need a name. Not some candy-ass name, but a good solid name, Willie. After all, I am not a man, and after some thought I have decided that I should not be referred to as such,” he grinned proudly, and then continued. “Willie, quit worrying about that fucking door and help me out here, would you?”
“I-I,” Willie started. He was much too afraid to speak. He hadn’t been aware that the man could read his thoughts.
“Willie?” he sighed deeply, and rolled his eyes comically. “You act like a fucking little girl, you know that? You act like a great big chicken-shit, Willie… A name Willie?”
“J-John?” Willie said hopefully.
“J-John?” he mocked him. “John is no name for me, Willie… How about Luther, Willie. How does Luther strike you?”
“G-Good. Good.“
“Okay fine,” he said prissily, “Luther it is. I’m Luther, Willie, no more of that The Man shit, and speaking of shit, Willie,” he paused and sniffed at the air. “Did we maybe make a wittle fudge in our wittle pants, Willie?
He tried, but Willie could not make his throat work.
Luther waved his hands in disgust. “Willie, that is disgusting. Never mind though, I can take it, and I won’t tattle on you either, Willie… Well, Willie my boy, what are you waiting for? Go tell them my new name,” he finished, and flapped his hands at the door.
Willie did not need to be told twice, and this time he was not called back when he reached the door.
Luther’s private room contained two monitors, as well as a small computer terminal with several key-ways set into its face plate. A blank wall of screens filled the opposite wall. Willie had no idea why the room was so important to Luther and did not care to know.
Luther had emerged from the small room later in the evening, and had found Willie in the large main control room. He directed Willie’s attention to the wall of monitors.
They knew, from the monitors, of the destruction that had been wrought upon the Earth, and Luther quietly informed Willie, that all that lay east of the new river belonged to him, and that the small room contained the key to keep it.
Willie did not doubt it in the least. He doubted nothing that Luther told him, and would not think of doing so.
They had located, and brought on-line, a small television studio that had been set up in the city, and nightly broadcasts had begun to the new citizens of the underground city. The capabilities of the studio were not limited to the city alone.
The studio had been built as a replica of the oval office, and its intended purpose was quite clear, even to Willie. In the advent of a serious nuclear or chemical attack on the continental United States, the President would be able to speak from it, without the public being aware he was not in the White House.
The CIA had set up a similar facility for President Kennedy during the Cuban missile crisis, and they had also set up this one along with incorporating the small studio.
It had, of course, never been used by the people it was intended for. The end had come much faster than anticipated. Air Force One, carrying the Vice President, had dissolved over Iowa on its way to the site, and the president had never left New York City.
The end had come so fast, in fact, that only a few technical people, and an even smaller number of soldiers, were inside when the computer controlled city had closed its doors. Some of the technical people inside had known how to over-ride the system. They had, however, been reluctant to do so because of the destruction they had witnessed on the screens in the control room, and because of the shooting and panic that had ensued in the long tunnel. They had instead waited for someone to tell them what to do, and most were actually relieved when Willie had shown up.
Willie, at Luther’s direction, had broadcast the executions of those who would not join them, from the small studio, and the people were strongly encouraged to watch from the monitors that seemed to be everywhere. It was a strong deterrent, and many that had thought of escape had changed their minds and given in instead. They had tested the satellite links and several were still operational. Willie had put a twelve man crew in charge of finishing the work on the transmitter per Luther’s orders.
On the 21st. of June, they began to transmit.
Joe miller walked down Beechwood Avenue towards an old apartment building that sat at 5471. As he reached it, he paused to look over the once grand building. Trash littered the front of the building and graffiti covered nearly every square inch of the stone faced building.
He had never been to Seattle in his life. He had walked into the city from the old Pratt farm and had met no one along the way, and, although he knew it was not, at times the city had seemed to be completely deserted.
For Joe, the last few days had been unbelievable. It seemed as though it were a dream. Even so, he knew it was not a dream, it was real. As real as real could be. It had been hard to shake the dream-like quality though. How often were you killed, and he was convinced now that he had been, and then suddenly alive once more? How often did you not only meet God, but spend time with him? Talk to him?
He had always believed in God, maybe not in the sense some people would think of God, but still he had believed, and when he had met him he had realized that he had been right. God was exactly as he had always pictured him.
God, for Joe Miller, was a kindly old man with long flowing robes.
In fact, to Joe Miller, God looked remarkably like Pope John Paul. He had even noticed that he had the same accent.
He stepped back from the sidewalk into the street, and looked up at the tall, dirty brick building.
It appeared empty to him, yet he knew it was not. When God had asked him to come here he had agreed without hesitation, even though he knew he did not have to. He could have stayed where he had been and never entered this fight at all. But he had felt, and still did, that he was part of the fight, maybe even been born to it. He supposed that if God knew everything, and Joe believed he did, that he probably had been born to it.
He walked up the wide stone steps and entered the darkened interior of the building. He carefully stepped over a pile of plaster which had apparently fallen from the old ceiling and paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim,musty smelling entrance hall.
Besides the plaster, all manner of trash littered the hallway. Graffiti covered most of the cracked and peeling walls, as well as an old wooden staircase that led away to the upper floors. A line of dented and scarred mail slots filled most of one wall. At one time they had probably been able to be locked, but now most of them hung open, the small glass and metal doors either smashed or missing.
Joe walked over to the line of slots and began to read the small labels above each one. Some were nameless, listing only the apartment number to which they belonged, but most of them had small white stickers affixed to the slot that listed the occupants’ name.
Some looked new, and some were old and yellowed. He searched until he found the one he had been looking for, and then turned; walked to the stairs, and carefully made his way up the trash strewn risers to the third floor.
He walked down the shadowy third floor hallway, and stopped in front of 317. He hesitated for a moment, and then knocked lightly on the dented steel door. He waited quietly in the musty hallway, but there was no answer.
He knocked louder, and called out.
“Arlene?”
He was about to knock once more when he heard a slight noise from behind the heavy door.
“Arlene? I need to talk to you. You don’t know me, but I swear I’m not some weirdo or anything, I was sent to talk to you.”
“Who sent you?” a woman’s voice asked. “There isn’t any one left to send you.”
Joe sensed the fear in her voice although it was apparent she was trying to hide it.
“Do you know Frank Morgan?” Joe asked, and then continued. “He sort of sent me. Listen, I just want to talk for a second, Okay?”
“What do you mean by, sort of sent you? I haven’t seen Frank for better than four days and why couldn’t he come himself?” The fear in her voice was still present as she spoke, and Joe began to think she wouldn’t open the door unless he gave her a much better reason to.
“Listen, I know your name, right? Frank needs help, and I’m going to try to help him, but I need your help. I know this will sound weird, but I know you’ve been praying for help, and…Well…I guess I’m your help. Listen, sincerely, even though that sounds nuts, I’m not nuts, I swear it, I just, well…”
“…Look, I’m going to help Frank. He doesn’t even know me, but I know him, and he needs all the help he can get, and God sort of sent me to you.”
Wonderful, Joe thought, if she didn’t think you were whacked before she will now for sure.
“Listen, Arlene, I’m being honest here. I know all about you. If you don’t believe me, ask me, Okay? I mean, if I was nuts would I be standing out here talking like this? That sounds even more nuts doesn’t it? What I mean is, if I were nuts I wouldn’t come off as a fruit-cake, and I guess that’s the way I sound, but, think about it. I would probably try to sound sane, right?”
“How can you know about me, or know about Frank? Listen I’ve heard that crap before. You could be any one, and everybody around here knows me. You could have found out my name easily, or Frank’s for that matter,” her voice was still strained as she spoke, but Joe thought that some of the fear seemed to be gone.
“Arlene, I do know things, all kinds of things. God told me, and I know it sounds whacked to talk about God too, and I’m no religious freak, in fact other than believing in, you know, God, I can’t say I was religious at all. Hell, I’m still not, well, maybe a little. Look… if I get into everything I’ve been through in the last week you’ll really think I’m nuts. Suffice to say I’m glad I’m alive, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stay alive any more than you will if you stay here. I know you believe in God too. I know a lot about you, Arlene, and I swear if you just open the door and hear me out I’ll do my best to explain it all.” Joe thought for a second and when she still hadn’t answered, he spoke again.
“Okay, listen, you don’t have to open the door, just listen, Okay?” Joe looked into the small round peephole that was set into the door as he spoke. “You can see me, right?”
“Yes and why should I have to open the door just so you can talk?” Arlene asked, from behind the thick door.
“You don’t, I mean it would be easier, but if you don’t want to… just don’t, only listen, Okay?” Joe continued without waiting for her to respond.
“I know you’re afraid, hell, I would be too, I guess, but I really do think you should come with me. This thing about Frank is true, and what I said about knowing things about you is true also. I know where you grew up, Arlene, and I know you never told anybody that. I know you ran away from home when you were thirteen…you were living in Killeen Texas, Arlene, and you ran away because your step father… his name was Arthur, Right? You ran away because he… he hurt you, Arlene, and your mother knew it and wouldn’t stop him.And you were even thinking about killing yourself, but you prayed instead, and you felt you should run away, because you felt that’s what God told you to do…”
“…I’m sorry, Arlene, but I need to make sure you understand. I’m not nut’s, and you never told those things to anyone so how would I know?” Joe paused, waiting.
“Your real name is Becky, Arlene, you never told anyone that either…”
“…I… Arlene, Please!” Joe stopped speaking and stood in the trash strewn hallway staring at the peep hole, waiting for her to speak. When she did, he could tell she was crying by the way her voice broke.
“I-I just don’t know what to do! I don’t want to die and I don’t know. I… Just…How do you know?” she pleaded.
Arlene had locked herself into her apartment after the first earthquake had hit. She had been down on Beechwood when one of the other girls had come running down the street shouting.
Arlene recognized her from the avenue, and had managed to get her attention. She had thought at first maybe she had gotten in to the wrong car, or been hurt somehow. It was something all the girls on the avenue worried about.
Arlene had thought it was a good sign that she was running though, as it meant she had managed to get away if someone had tried to hurt her. To be safe, she had reached into her purse to assure herself that the small pistol she carried was still there. She had never shot anyone, but on more than one occasion the pistol had come in handy, and she wouldn’t hesitate to use it if she had to.
It hadn’t been any person, or persons, that had sent her running down the street though.
She had been in a car, but the man had been a steady date, nothing to worry about. What had alarmed her was the news that had come over the radio. As the woman had been telling Arlene, it seemed as though everyone else on the avenue was hearing it too.
The avenue had cleared out fast. Arlene had locked herself into her apartment shortly after that. She had tried looking for some of the runaways, most of them were really only children, but she had not been able to find any of them. In the end she had given up. All of them knew where she lived, and so she assumed they would find their way to her eventually. They hadn’t though.
She had stayed huddled behind the door …waiting, with the small pistol clenched in her hand, but no one had approached the door at all. Once or twice she had heard someone in the hall and had been tempted to call out, but hadn’t dared. When Joe had knocked on the door she had pretty much decided that she would have to venture outside soon anyway as she was out of food.
The knock had startled her though, and she had very nearly shot through the door. She was still not entirely convinced, even with what the young blond haired man outside the door had said. She could see him quite clearly though, and she could see that he did not appear to have a gun, or any other weapon for that matter.
She was fighting to get her emotions under control. She didn’t want him to know how badly he had shaken her, with the mention of her step-father. She had thought that all of her past had been buried, but had found that it wasn’t. Instead it was just below the surface and still hurt as much as it had when it had first happened.
Joe broke into her thoughts as he spoke.
“Arlene, God told me. You prayed, right? Well, I guess that’s why I’m here. I only know that we can help each other. Arlene, I’m just as scared as you are, look,” Joe said as he pulled up his shirt and turned around. “I don’t have a gun even.” He quickly turned out his pockets as well. “Nothing, Arlene, see?”
Arlene had watched as he had pulled up his shirt, and turned around. Several short red scars were evident on his chest, as well as his stomach and back, and she wondered about them as he turned around. They looked like just-healed serious wounds, and she wondered how he could have possibly survived them.
She paused for a second, and then made up her mind. She had seen no gun, no knife, no-anything. The young man seemed to be telling the truth. He also didn’t look crazy, despite what he had been saying. And how had he known about her? She reached up and unlocked the door, and holding the gun steadily in one hand, told him to come in. She had the gun, she reminded herself, and if he tried anything she would shoot him. She didn’t want to, but she would.
Joe stepped warily into the shadowed apartment. He was surprised to see the gun in Arlene’s hand, and shuddered involuntarily as an unbidden thought jumped into his head.
You’re going to die again, only this time with a gun.
He paused for a second, fighting the unreasonable fear he felt. She’s scared is all, he thought, she wouldn’t really shoot me. Even so he was cold inside as he walked into the small apartment.
“How did you know?” Arlene asked once he was inside, and she had secured the dead bolts and chains once more.
There were three separate dead bolts on the door, Joe noticed, and two chains. Not the flimsy types that he used to install for Bud, but the heavy duty ones. She took the time to make sure they were all locked, while keeping the gun on him, before she turned completely from the door and faced him, asking the question.
“You prayed, Arlene, you asked God to send me. I…”
“…Listen, like I said, I know it sounds whacked or something, but that’s how I know…” Joe stopped and looked at her, willing her to understand, despite how unlikely his story sounded, even to his own ears. She was actually very pretty, he thought, for an older woman. He had thought she would look… Well, like a prostitute. He didn’t know for sure what a prostitute should look like, sort of sultry, he decided. Maybe a lot of make-up, short skirt, no bra. Every time he had seen one on TV that’s how they looked anyway, and Glennville didn’t have much of anything that he could compare it to. She didn’t though. She actually looked… Well, normal. No make-up, or only a little, he couldn’t tell, and just faded jeans and a lite cotton button up shirt. To Joe she looked more like someone’s sister than a prostitute.
She was a little shorter than he was, and, he thought, maybe thirty or thirty five tops. She wiped at her red eyes as she stood staring at him.
“I don’t believe in God,” she said in a level voice.
“That’s not true, Arlene,” he said, and then continued to speak. “You do. You didn’t think you did, and maybe you even didn’t up until a couple of days ago, but you do now. You prayed and asked him to help you. I’m here. He sent me to get you and take you with me to where Frank is.”
“I don’t believe in God, and I don’t believe you,” she said. She tried to both look and sound convincing, but she didn’t quite make it believable.
Joe just looked back at her.
“I believe in good and bad,” she said. I believe that there is somebody, I just don’t know who, I guess a God of some sort, but not like you think, not like a church type of God, do you understand?”
“I do, Arlene,” Joe said. “I think it’s different for everyone, you know? It’s not like that for me, but it’s also not like a church type of thing for me either, so I think I know what you mean. I never spent much time in church. To many hypocrites, you know? I never even studied the bible, hell, I swear sometimes, and I used to smoke weed too. Who would think that God would want anything to do with me? He did though, and I’m glad He did. It doesn’t mean I’m going to start reading the Bible, or go to church every Sunday, or knock on doors… of course all of that’s gone now, but if it wasn’t, I don’t think I could ever be that way, could you?”
“I tried,” she said, paused for a second to draw in a deep breath, and then went on. “I tried. I guess I still do, but like you said, I don’t think I could fit in at a church, or go around knocking on doors or anything.” As she spoke she lowered the gun, and finally set it down on a small table next to her.
“I guess, crazy as the whole thing sounds, I do believe you,” she decided.
Joe had released his breath when she put down the gun. He hadn’t even been aware he was holding it. He walked across to an old worn couch and sat down while she settled into a tattered old chair that faced it.
“So what now?” she asked. “Where is it that you’re supposed to take me?”
“East,” Joe said, “we need to help Frank. He knows you, Arlene, and he’ll listen to you. It would take too long to explain it all now, and truthfully I don’t know all of it. But if we don’t go, he may die. All of us might, I guess, and I don’t want to die, Arlene. I’m not even sure what we’re supposed to do, even if we get there in time. I don’t know, but I’m going to go anyway and at least try. We may go for nothing, he may not need us, but I really don’t know. I guess God does, but I don’t.” Joe became quieter as he spoke and the last was almost whispered.
“Is there anything left to the East?” she asked. “I saw missiles headed toward the East, at least I thought I did, and what’s it all about? If they fired missiles at us and they hit in the east shouldn’t we stay away from there? Shouldn’t we just say to hell with it? What’s left?” she stopped and looked at him, tears threatening once more.
“I only know there’s something, Arlene. I only know I have to go…”
“…What’s here, for that matter? What’s to keep you here? Have you seen what the city looks like?”
Joe paused, recalling his walk into the city. Many of the buildings had toppled, and those that hadn’t had at least been damaged. It had looked like a war zone. He knew that no missiles had hit the city, or even near it for that matter. But the earthquakes had taken a large toll. He had passed several buildings that had apparently caught fire, and since no one had come to put them out they had just continued burning. Some still were, and some probably would catch soon. He had smelled natural gas several times, and it had hurried him along as he didn’t want to be near it if it caught. In more than one place he could hear it hissing through breaks in the pavement, and the smell had been very strong.
“It’s really bad, Arlene, really bad. And it’s not safe. And there will probably be a lot more aftershocks.” He paused and looked into her eyes as she wrung her hands in her lap. He could tell she was near tears again.
“I’ll go,” she said. “I knew I couldn’t stay here much longer. I was just about to go when you showed up. I’m not saying I believe everything you’re saying either. I don’t want to lie to you about that, or pretend.”
“Fair enough,” Joe said. “I’m not sure I would believe it either in your place. I’ve just been through a lot, I don’t want to get into it, but it was enough to convince me.”
“So, where? Or, how are we supposed to get there?” she asked, and then continued after a second without waiting for a response. “It’s not like we can go to the airport, or rent a car, or even hitch a ride. How do we get from here to there, and where exactly is there?”
“There is New York, not the city of New York, but western New York. It’s not really even New York though anymore, it’s really not even the United States anymore, I guess.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“The world, Arlene…have you been out at all since this happened?”
She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and then replied.
“No, I was too afraid. I felt the earthquake, I wasn’t sure if it was an earthquake, or, you know, a missile, or a bomb of some kind, but I didn’t go out. I just stayed here. It’s been really quiet since yesterday; I haven’t heard anything close by. I did hear some far off sounds, like explosion’s maybe, but the phones have been out, so I couldn’t even call the police, or anybody, so I just stayed in here. I would have had to go out today I guess. I ran out of food yesterday, so I guess I would have had to go out…”
“…What does it look like?”
“I understand”, he said. He reached forward and put his arms around her to comfort her, and the tears she had been trying to hold back came out in a torrent. She leaned her face into his chest and let them come.
She tried to speak, but he couldn’t understand her. The words wouldn’t come out right so she gave into the tears and he held her, rocking back and forth gently, and let her cry. When she stopped he picked up a mostly empty box of tissues and handed it to her.
“It’s pretty bad, Arlene,” he said. “The city looks real bad. I don’t know about all of it, the country, I mean, but I know from what He told me, God, I mean, it’s pretty bad. There are still a lot of people though. Probably a lot right here in Seattle. I think most of them are just hiding, like you were… I don’t know.”
“I know the missiles did hit, He told me, but not close to here. And for some reason they didn’t completely blow up the world either. The middle of the country is pretty bad, He said, and He also said it wouldn’t be easy to get to New York. He told me not to worry about radiation either… I guess that sounds really nuts, but I’m not going to. If He wanted me to take some sort of precautions, you know, gas masks or, I don’t know, He would have said so. He just said not to worry about it…”
“…That’s all I know, except he wants us to go help Frank. I’ve never even met the guy, I swear, but I know he must be there, and he must need help, or, you know, God wouldn’t have asked me to go.”
He still felt a little uncomfortable from holding her. He hadn’t had a lot of experience with women, or with comforting anyone for that matter and he wasn’t sure if it had been all right to hold her.
He supposed it had been, and it had also given him some comfort as well. He realized that he needed her to come with him. He missed people more than he ever thought he would have, and it was a good feeling to know that you could just hold someone, and be able to derive so much comfort from such a small act. It had obviously been something she had needed to do too, he thought, and so decided it had been the right thing to do.
She stood, still wiping at her eyes, and said,
“Well, if we’re going, I suppose we should.” Arlene looked around her at the small apartment and realized it held nothing she wanted to take with her.
“Will we need this?” she asked, picking up the gun.
“As much as I’d like to say no, I can’t,” Joe said. “There are probably a lot of bad people still left. I think it will do for now, but I think it would be smart to pick up a couple of rifles… just to be safe.”
“I guess you’re right,” she agreed. “You know I never thought I’d find myself wishing for a cop,” she said shaking her head. She smiled.
A small smile, Joe noticed, but a smile. Seeing her smile made him smile in return.
She really is pretty, he thought. The thought made him blush slightly, but he smiled through it.
“I know a couple of places to look,” she said, “for guns, I mean, and I’m hungry too. Do you think the food is safe to eat?”
“I hope so,” he said. “I’ve already tried some, so if it’s not, I guess I’m in trouble.”
Arlene looked apprehensive.
“Seriously, almost everything has preservatives in it, and as long as we’re careful we should be fine,” Joe said quickly once he realized he had alarmed her.”
She walked out into the darkened hallway with him and then turned to lock the door, as she did she noticed that she had picked up her purse. Force of habit, she thought.
She debated for a second, and then tossed the purse back into the apartment. She walked away leaving the door open. No sense dragging the past along with me, she thought as she followed Joe down the stairs and out into the Street.
Even though Joe had told her, she was still surprised when she saw how terrible the city looked. The avenue was choked with stalled cars and buses, and debris from fallen or damaged buildings lay everywhere. It was almost over-powering, and she had to fight to keep the tears from coming again.
She had stopped to look, and Joe had stopped as well.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so, it’s just such a waste,” she replied quietly.
She began to move again, staring around at the damaged buildings as they walked off down Beechwood Avenue.
Good bye, she thought, as she walked the silent avenue, I don’t think I’ll miss you.
FREE PREVIEW EARTH’S SURVIVORS SETTLEMENT EARTH: BOOK TWO
One
“So, what do you think?” Frank asked Gary.
Frank, as well as Annie, stood facing the road along with Gary and John.
The group had stopped just ten minutes before, when they had come to the turn off for Route 104 in the tiny town of Mexico, New York. The vines that they had been struggling with seemed to be growing less numerous, and as they had arrived in the small town, had all but disappeared. The vines that were in evidence here were smaller, and seemed to be just approaching from the north, while farther back the vines had been so thick in places that the Jeep vehicles bounced roughly over them no matter how slow they drove.
Fornearly ten miles they had been reduced to a crawl as they crept slowly forward down the road, passing over the thick vines that in some places were better than six inches around the middle.
The vines had been brown, and the texture was more wood-like than an actual vine. Here the vines were thinner, and long green runners shot from their twisted brown surface searching over the roadway for purchase.
To the small group of people trying to negotiate the road it had sometimes felt like driving through a jungle. The vines were everywhere, not just on the road. They hung down from the trees, and climbed up and over any structure they came upon, seemingly bent on swallowing all in their path and covering it in green.
Gary was bent over a map which was spread over the hood of one of the Cherokees. The other two Jeeps were parked beside it, tailgates down as the rest of the group sat eating a lunch of cold canned-meat sandwiches they had made. Frank and the others stood talking and studying the map. They sipped at warm sodas and ate, talking between mouthfuls.
“This,” Gary said, “leads straight into Rochester.” He pointed with one finger down the roadway as he spoke. “Of course…” he said, pausing to swallow, “there’s no real way to know what shape it’s in, or how much traffic we’ll run into.”
They had decided farther back not to take either of the turnoffs that could have shortened their trip, because of the traffic they contained. They seemed to have been more popular, and therefor much more heavily traveled.
Both of the turnoffs had been built after the main route, and had been designed to bypass the small towns, offering a more direct route, and both had been blocked with large tractor-trailers, several of which had been involved in accidents.
They had stopped momentarily to gaze at the scene, walking quietly through the twisted and blackened steel shells. They had expected to find bodies, but none of the trucks had any passengers, dead or alive. They seemed to have been driven by no one at all, wrecked, and then abandoned to the vines that were already covering them.
As far as they could see down the road they were now at, there was no traffic at all, however.
In fact the entire small town seemed to be completely deserted. They had met no one as of yet, and had begun to wonder aloud to one another whether or not they were completely alone.
It felt that way. It seemed as though everyone had simply decided to leave at the same time. Perhaps a mass exodus of some sort had occurred.
“It can’t be any worse than the alternate routes we’ve stopped at,” Frank said, staring down the empty road.
“No,” Gary said, and then continued after taking a deep drink from the warm can of soda he held. “This tastes horrible,” he said, making a grimace. “Anyway, I would bet that we’re going to hit some of that truck traffic again before we get to Oswego. The last alternate we passed, 104 B, comes back into 104 just before we get there, at…” he paused as one finger traced the route on the map, “…New Haven. Have you been there, John?”
“Wide place in the road is all it is,” John replied, looking at the map as well. “Problem I’m concerned about is Oswego. Mighty damn close to the lake.”
“True,” Gary said, “but I don’t think we have too much to worry about. It’s a good twenty seven feet above lake level, according to the map. I guess the big worry would be damage from the quake though. Road might be all busted to hell, maybe some buildings down, no way to tell ’till we get there, for sure anyway, but I think we ought to count on a tough time getting through there…”
“…All that truck traffic will be back, and they do a lot of container shipments from the Oswego docks, mostly by train, but a good portion by truck, so that’ll add even more traffic. It’s also a college town, and even though most of the kids there would’ve been gone on summer break, they do run classes’ year around.”
“There’s another problem too,” John said. “Although the map doesn’t show it, there are two bridges that we have to cross… dead downtown too. I think one’s a canal of some sort, and the other spans the Oswego River. You think the quake took them out?” he finished, looking at Gary.
“It’s possible I suppose. But, like I said, there’s no real way to know till we get there,” Gary replied, frowning.
“What about a boat?” Annie asked.
“No good,” John replied, “good idea, but the banks are too high. It might be something to keep in mind though. If we have to we can take to the lake and skim around the roads. There are quite a few marinas all along 104, so if we had to go a ways before we could get back in, it would at least get us back somewhere down the line, even if the water’s still down.”
“You think it is?” Frank asked, looking at Gary.
“Well, it was farther back. A lot depends on whether the locks in the Sea Way held or not…”
“…I don’t imagine they could possibly have all been down. I’m not positive, but I think it drops somewhere around twenty two feet from the Atlantic to Ontario, and the levels of all the lakes are different too. Most people don’t know that, ‘less you live up here of course. I’d bet though that they held, at least so far, or at least the ones that were closed. If not I think the lake level might have already started to rise again. Unless… Well, could be like I said before. There could be a whole new river cutting through the middle of the country. If so I wouldn’t want to bet on anything.” Gary drew a short breath and then continued.
“I got side tracked with that damn fault line right after I read the article about it. You know, one of those things that sort of grabs your attention. Hell, until I read it I wasn’t even aware we had any fault lines up here. You hear earthquake, you think California, not northern New York.”
“But I thought you said you read about it in school?” Annie said.
“No… What I said was you could. I checked it out at the library. You know, I just couldn’t believe it, and I learned a long time ago not to always believe what you read in the paper, so I went to the library and asked. No offense Frank,” Gary said grinning.
“None taken, hell, I used to write some of those articles, and I didn’t even believe them myself half the time.”
Gary chuckled. “Well, as it turned out I wasn’t the only one. I had to wait better than a week to get the book I wanted. It was worth the wait though. The book was written by a fellow name of Jack Frederick. Guess he was living somewhere up here at the time. I haven’t ever heard of him though. He told all about the fault line, and the locks. Got into a lot of boring shit, and used a lot of fancy words, but the gist of the whole thing was that he felt the thing was getting ready to go at any time. Course he wrote it back in the fifties, and I suppose when nothing happened right away people just forgot it. Till the article in the paper anyway…”
“…He thought it was more likely to go before the big one ever hit California, and I guess writing that book was his way to call attention to it. I’m running at the mouth here, but bear with me and I’ll try to get to the point. See, he thought the whole damn continent would crack right down the middle, with a hard enough quake. The newspaper article was aimed at that side of it too. He also thought that it would eventually drift apart, course that goes back to the theory that the continents are not finished moving yet. But he thought it would move pretty quickly initially, leaving a huge gap more than three or four miles wide and running from north to south. If that’s true then it’ll probably be even worse through the middle states, as the land’s all low to begin with.”
“So,” Gary continued, after a brief pause, “you’d have one hell of a big river, and then almost an inland sea in the middle of the country. In effect it would pretty much cut the country in half, I guess. Course, who knows? Science ain’t based entirely on fact like most people think it is. It’s just a bunch of theories, and whoever gets the most people to believe their particular theory comes out on top, I guess. Thing is a lot of people forget it’s just theory and start to believe everything they say.”
“This guy though, he did a lot of research on it, and I think the reason no one wanted to believe him is ’cause it’s a scary thing to think about. So, I guess that’s it. It still boils down to the same thing. Maybe, maybe not. We’ll never know till we get there, and we ain’t going to get there if I keep running my mouth, are we?” Gary smiled, as he finished.
“You do talk up a storm,” Frank agreed, “but at least to me it’s interesting stuff. I spent a long time as a reporter, and I have to agree with a lot of what you said. Hell, like I said, half the time I don’t even believe what I myself write, let alone anyone else,” he laughed as he finished.
“Seriously though,” Frank continued, the smile leaving his face. “I still don’t know what the hell was going on in those caves back in Glennville, not entirely anyway, and it bugs the hell out of me. I’m convinced that they were up to something no good, bad enough to kill for anyway.”
Frank had talked as they had traveled along the road, and filled them in on what he had known. Including some of the details he had initially left out when he had met them back in Glennville, he still did not feel that he should talk to anyone but Gary about the specifics of what he knew though.
They had all known that something had been going on. The Army had kept Gary’s gravel pit running day and night, and he had sent so many truck loads to the base that he had lost count. “The thing was,” he had said, “we off-loaded right into their trucks, and off they went right back into the city with it. It was pretty clear they didn’t want us there, and when they ordered concrete mix they sent their own trucks out to get it.” Gary had been forced to invest in a new computer system just to keep track of things, and had been hiring as much extra help as he could get just to keep up.
They all agreed that something was going on, but they had no idea what, and Frank could not bring himself to tell them what he had learned, no matter how he reasoned it. “It makes no difference anymore,” Gary had said, “the whole downtown section of Glennville’s a good thirty feet below the lake level, and in a couple of weeks whatever they were up to won’t matter. That lake will probably keep filling, and that complex they built, can’t be far below, probably no more than eighty feet, or so, it’ll flood”
It still ate at Frank though, and he wasn’t completely sure they had heard the end of it. The tunnel floor had seemed to slope down a hell-of-a-lot more than eighty feet. At least what he had seen of it did. He had also seen air-lock doors before, and the ones at the beginning of the tunnel had definitely looked the same.
“Here,” John said, walking back from the rear of the Jeep. He held a warm six pack in his hand. “Stole this for us, to wash down the taste of that orange soda.”
“Aren’t you afraid we’ll get pulled over for drinking and driving?” Frank said, smiling as he opened one of the cans.
“Hell no,” John said, smiling back. “Course I ain’t the one driving, you are. Don’t worry though; we’ll post bail if you get arrested.”
“Ha, Ha,” Frank said, as he climbed in behind the wheel of the Cherokee, “you’d probably let me sit there.”
Annie had also grabbed one of the warm beers and grimaced at the taste as she climbed in beside him, and said, “So, you going to keep this buggy? I mean this was supposed to be a short test drive, and I don’t know how I’m going to explain the scratches to my boss.”
Frank reached over and picked up the factory sticker from the floor boards where he had tossed it, after tearing it off the rear window back in Glennville. They had been playing this little game most of the day. After the dreams of the night before, they had all attempted to lighten one another’s moods, and it seemed to be working, at least most of the time, except with Bob. Bob had simply withdrawn into himself, and no one seemed to be able to draw him out.
Frank let out a long whistle as he looked at the sticker price at the bottom. “I haven’t made up my mind yet, lady, do you suppose your boss would mind if I kept it awhile longer?”
“No, I guess not,” she replied, “but you’ll have to keep me along with it,” she finished, laughing.
“Well, okay,” Frank said, playing along. “I guess that kind’a makes the sticker price worth it. What did you say those payments would be?”
They joked back and forth as they drove along the road, and Gary and John joined in from the back seat. It helped to take their minds off their situation a great deal of the time, and Frank was actually growing to like Annie. After she had decked the young kid back in Glennville, he had immediately liked her. Not because she hit the kid, although the kid had deserved it, but because she seemed to have her wits together, and wasn’t afraid to do whatever she had to, to protect herself and stay alive. She had seemed pretty shaken over her kids, and he had wondered whether she would be able to get past it and go forward. He missed his kids as well, and knew that she was still worried, just as he was, but she was trying to see past it. That was all any of them could do, Frank thought, just try to get past it to whatever was in front of them.
The whole group had begun to tighten up, he realized. The others had all gravitated towards Gary, himself, John and Annie. They had discussed that. It had made Gary especially nervous. While it was true he was used to taking charge, this was not the same thing as running a business, he had pointed out, and he wasn’t so sure he liked it. He accepted it though, as did the others, although it was a reluctant acceptance.
Eventually the subject turned towards the more serious topic of Rochester, and what to expect when they got there.
“I can’t tell you everything about it,” John said, and then continued. “Most of what I know about it is a couple of years out of date anyway,” he said pausing.
“Well, anything you know is more than we know now. For instance, when we get there what’s the best way to get into the city? Or should we stay out of it?” Annie asked.
“Well, it’s a big city. I think we should go in, but I think we’ll probably have to give up the Jeeps, due to too much traffic. The best thing to do would be to get off 104 when we get to Fairport.”
“Fairport?” Gary asked, looking at the map once more.
“It’s a long ways around, sort of, but I think it might be the best way in. I think we have to get down in the city, at least at first anyway, just to see what there is. Like Gary said, who knows? Could be that the police are still there, or at least someone in authority.”
“Nice pipe dream,” Gary returned.
“You’re probably right,” John answered, “but I would bet that glow we could see across the lake last night was Rochester, and if it was, that means the power is at least still on. They just gave the okay last year to Rochester Gas and Electric to fire up that new nuclear plant out in Livingston County.”
“Where’s that,” Frank asked.
“Well, Rochester is in Monroe county, Livingston county starts out past Henrietta, which is a small suburb of Rochester. It’s maybe fifteen miles or so away from the city itself, I guess. There was a lott’a bitching when they first proposed it, but it ended up being built anyway. Anyway, I’m starting to sound like Gary now I guess. The whole thing’s computerized from top to bottom. Oh they have people working there, but they’re only there in case something goes wrong, not to run the place. Even if something does go wrong, the computer shuts the whole thing down, not people. They supply electric for the entire city with it, with some to spare. All the excess power that the place produces gets sold to New York City. They built a new plant to handle it downtown, on Broad Street. It’s a ways from the lake, so if that was Rochester we saw last night, the plant must still be up and running. That means there may still be some sort of control there, you know, police, or something, at least other people I would guess anyway…”
“…You know, I think I am becoming a Gary clone. I guess I should get back to what I was saying before I started running at the mouth. Fairport looks like the best route in. We can get off at Webster and shoot across 250 straight into Fairport, and from there we have several routes to choose from. There are quite a few loops that surround the city, Can-of-Worms it’s called. Most of the traffic would be there. They rebuilt the whole system just a few years back so it would be easier to get around the city. Almost all of the old routes in and out were pretty much secondary after that, you know, really light traffic. But all of those routes in should be pretty well open.”
Gary traced the route on the map as John spoke. “Looks good to me too,” he said. “Looks like we can get pretty much anywhere on the east side of the city from there.”
“We can,” John agreed, “but don’t let that map fool you. It’s not as straight forward as it appears. I think we’ll head out on East Avenue from Fairport. Try that first, and see.” Gary looked for East Avenue on the map, but couldn’t find it.
“Thirty one,” John said.
“Route 31? Gary asked.
“Yes, straight out of Fairport. It’s really East Avenue still to me, but I think they list it as Route 31 on the map,” John said.
“Got it,” Gary replied.
“It doesn’t go straight in anymore like the map shows,” John warned, “They changed it. But it goes far enough to hit Winton road.”
“According to the map,” Gary said, “it’ll take us north or south, and that opens a lot of ways in to the city.”
“Sounds like a done deal,” Frank said, as he turned on the air conditioning in the Jeep.
“Hey,” Gary said, “don’t you feel a little guilty driving around in a stolen Jeep with the air on?”
“Nope, If you’re gonna steal something make it something nice, I always say,” Frank replied, with a smug look on his face. “Besides, it’s getting hotter out, isn’t it?” he asked, turning the conversation back to something more serious. “I mean I’m from Washington of course, and you never know what it’s going to be like there. Cold in the mornings, usually, even this time of year. Summer doesn’t last for long, and I guess I expected it to stay cooler here too.”
“It does stay cooler, or at least it did,” Gary said. “It can get hot in the summers, maybe edge up to the eighties, even low nineties on very rare occasions, but not this high. I really gotta believe that there’s another reason for it. Could be its heat from the missiles, depends on where they hit, but I really doubt it. Maybe Frank’s right, maybe the poles have changed. Of course its right back to the friggin’ scientists you know,” he continued, “only time will tell on that one, I guess. Remember that Japanese island that had the quake about five, six years ago?”
“I did a short article on that,” Frank said. “Moved it, right?”
“About six feet,” John said, “and that was just a quake, not a nuclear blast. Who’s to say what a large blast would do? Or several large blast’s for that matter? I don’t pretend to know.”
“I don’t guess we’ll be finding that out right away,” Annie said.
“No… More wait and see,” Gary said. “I’d sure like to get my hands on a compass though, but who knows if a compass could tell us much? Probably not anymore, I’d guess. Shit, where the hell can you find a good scientist when you need one?” Everyone laughed, breaking the tension that had been building, as it always did, when the conversation turned serious.
“Hey,” Frank said, as he thrust his open hand over the seat back, towards the rear. “You guys hogging all the beer back there? No wonder you’re both starting to sound like a couple of fifth grade scientists.” Gary laughed as he passed Frank another beer. “Your license,” he said.
“Guy’s?” Annie asked. She waited until they looked at her. “Well, I was wondering, if, well… When we get to Oswego, if we could stop and get some clean clothes? I’ve been in these for two days now, and if there’s no one there, in Oswego, I mean, I’d like to stop and get some clean ones.”
Frank looked down at his dirty shirt; he could use some clean clothes too. He had tossed the suit coat, and the tie had gone the same way, but the white shirt he had put on three days ago was still on, and it looked it. Come to think of it, he thought, we could all use some clean clothes. And a shower wouldn’t be bad either. Aloud, he said, “I vote yes, does anyone know where there’s a shopping center, a mall?”
“There’re a couple just inside the city limits,” John said, “they should have just about anything you’d want.”
“It would probably be a good idea to stop,” Gary said. “It would give us all a chance to clean up too. Of course that’s if there’s running water.”
“Even if there isn’t,” Annie said, “there’s the lake, right?”
“True enough,” Gary replied, “but we may not be able to get close to it. I’ll hope for running water myself.” A chorus of “Me too” greeted Gary’s last statement.
W.W. Watson makes his home in Rochester New York. His given name is Jason but he writes under the pen name W.W. Watson. He has been involved in photographic design and graphic arts, realism and photo manipulation being his favorite areas. For the past several years he had concentrated on beginning a serious writing career.
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