Darkly The Thunder (21 page)

Larry paused at the door, a serious expression on his face. “You know when it's really going to get interesting, Martin?”

The older man waited.

“When the preachers get word of this.”

Martin suppressed a shudder. “You're right. I hadn't thought of that. My God, they'll be pouring in here by the busload.”

“Yes. With many of them speaking in tongues and whooping and hollering and laying on of hands and snake-handling, and turning the entire matter into a carnival.”

“Perhaps we could get one of them to heal the Fury?” Martin suggested with a straight face.

Larry was startled for a moment. Then he smiled. “Of course, Martin. Surely we must ask.”

Martin was on the phone to the president before the door had closed.

 

 

“Look,” Hillary said, pointing to the TV. “Sand all bandaged up in bed.”

“I thought we saw that yesterday?” Bos questioned. “I know we did.”

“He's asleep,” Pat said. “He's dreaming.”

“My God!” Leon breathed. “I can see the dream!”

Sand was standing on the crest of a small hill overlooking a cemetery, watching a funeral service. Two graves had been dug, one smaller than the other. Rain ripped earthward in near blinding sheets, miniature silver shrouds from a blackened sky. A dog howled in the distance. Morg squatted about fifty yards behind Sand.

“What is that . . . thing swirling around Sand?” Megan asked. “It's almost human in form.”

“Maybe that's the Force Richard talked about,” Sunny said. “He said that when death is imminent, the Force is almost visible.”

“And that the Force could probably stop the Fury,” Howie added, walking up to look at the screen.

“Yes. But probably won't this time.”

The dream sequence faded. The TV screen darkened of its own volition.

Watts shivered and wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief.

“What's the matter, Al?” Gordie asked.

“I was at Robin's funeral. And that,” he pointed to the TV set, “was exactly the way it was. Sand knew his destiny, and the destinies of his friends, long before they were played out. It's eerie.”

“Sit down, Al,” Dr. Anderson said. “You don't look well.”

Watts sat.

“What Sand was telling us, Howie,” Megan said, “about the antenna on the mountain. Was he referring to the antenna – or the mountain?”

“Or both?” Sunny added. “And why was Joey cut off the way he was? Did the Fury do it?”

“No,” the boy replied. “I think a much higher power did that.”

“God?” Jackson asked. The boy shrugged.

“Perhaps there are some things they – Sand and the others – are not permitted to divulge,” Megan offered.

“That would be my guess,” the boy said. “Sand and the others, those that followed him, were chance-takers, so I've concluded. They tried to go over the limits placed on them—where they are—and got caught.” The keys to a computer rattled. Howie ran to the computer room, the others behind him.

The words on Sand's screen read:
You are correct in your assumption. We do have limits.

Howie typed: Can you help us further?

How are you monitored?

The screen was wordless for a few seconds, then:
That would be unexplainable to you. But does an eagle understand the winds that sigh around the mountain and any object that might be there?

Howie laughed. “He's still taking chances. It's both the mountain and the antenna.” He typed: What is the Fury doing?

Watts said, “Ask him if Robin and Tuddie and Jane are there with him?”

Yes,
the word flashed on the screen.
All as well as could be expected. Forever. Talk to you later.

Megan shuddered. “The endless enormity of it all is unnerving.”

“Yes,” Watts said. “Those were my thoughts, too.”

“At least we know there is life after death,” Bos said.

“And we're much closer to experiencing it than I would prefer to be,” Gordie added.

The motel had filled up rapidly, with reporters taking one entire wing and government personnel taking another wing. It made the motel manager very happy when he discovered his motel would be filled to capacity indefinitely.

It made him nervous when dark-suited men with suspicious bulges in their jackets started filling up rooms on the government side of the building.

“FBI?” he asked one man.

The man smiled. “If that's what you want me to be.”

“Secret Service?”

“If it makes you happy.”

“Forget I asked.”

Martin Tobias walked to the newly set up computer room. “Have you established a link with the boy yet?”

“I'm ready to go whenever you are.”

“Contact him.”

Howie read the simple message and typed: You may be free and open with your messages. The Fury does not understand computers. It has absolutely no understanding of the concept.

“This is a ten-year-old boy?” the computer operator asked.

“So I'm told. Ask him how things went last night.”

It was very quiet. Sand says the Fury is very tired and probably won't regain its full strength for another ten to twelve hours.

“Who is Sand, Mister Tobias?”

“A dead man. Been dead for thirty years. He's directing operations from the other side of the grave.”

The computer expert from NSA twisted in his chair and stared at the chief of staff for a long moment. “Are you sure this isn't a CIA operation?”

“Positive. Ask the boy if they need anything.”

Out, Howie typed.

Martin smiled. “That's a very brave little boy in there, Hank. Tell him we're trying.”

The teletype in the room began clattering. Martin walked over to it and read, a grimace on his face.

“Trouble?” Hank asked.

“In a manner of speaking. Willowdale was the lead story on every network's morning news program.”

“We're in for it now.”

 

 

WHERE IS MY SWEET CHICKIE BABY?

“If you're referring to Sunny, she's resting,” Gordie said.

GET HER ASS UP. I WISH TO CONTINUE WITH MY LIFE STORY.

“Your wish is my command, your majesty.”

SARCASTIC SPIC. I DON'T KNOW WHY I CONTINUE PUTTING UP WITH YOU.

“Perhaps it's because you're really very fond of me?”

Gordie was slapped out of his chair by an invisible hand. With the taste of blood in his mouth, he stared up into the air.

THAT'S HOW FOND I AM OF YOU, MUCHACHO. NOW GET ON YOUR DONKEY AND GET SUNNY OUT HERE.

“I'm here,” Sunny said. “Am I going to be bothered walking up the street to the newspaper office?”

OF COURSE NOT. NOT AS LONG AS YOU DON'T DISPLEASE ME.

It had been Sunny's idea to use the newspaper offices for further interviews with Fury. The being had not objected to the change in locale. It had said that was a good idea, since it preferred being alone with Sunny.

Sunny walked through the litter toward the newspaper offices, one block away. Bodies lay bloated in the street. Jill and Dean walked with her. All of them carried small tape recorders and notepads. And all of them tried to ignore the sights and smells of the dead.

“We're clear,” Howie called.

Gordie thanked him and looked over at Watts. Watts waggled a finger at him, and Gordie walked over.

“We can't be alone in this thing, Gordie. There have to be others in the town like us. Perhaps they're hiding.”

“Maybe. What do you suggest?”

“While Fury is occupied, why don't we have a look around. House-to-house in a designated area.”

“All right. We can use gathering up the bodies and bagging them as a cover.”

“All the military have volunteered. You were sleeping when this idea came to me.”

“Jackson needs to stay here to decode all the messages that are coming in. The rest can come along with the deputies.”

“You ready?”

“As I'll ever be.”

They filled up the beds of pickup trucks with body bags and moved out, a stake-bed bob truck moving out with them to haul away the bodies.

It was to be a gruesome day for all concerned, in more ways than one.

The men and women who were assigned to the body-bagging detail were forced to wear gas masks. In many cases they had to shoot carrion birds to get at the bodies, the big birds protecting their meals savagely. Against talons that could rip flesh like tissue paper, the body-baggers had no choice but to shoot any they could not shoo away. The bodies had to be cleared; it was now a major health hazard.

Watts, Lt. Kathy Smith, Chief Deputy Lee Evans, and Gordie started a house-to-house search along one block.

Gordie and Kathy did not have to enter the first house. They could smell death from the front door. Kathy moved to a window on the front porch and looked in. She shook her head.

“Slaughterhouse in there,” she said. “People literally ripped apart.”

Gordie lifted his handy walkie-talkie. Then he slowly lowered it, an odd look on his face.

“What's the matter?” Kathy asked.

“I was going to order the power cut to any house that's empty. But maybe that's not a good idea.” His smile was a grim curving of the lips.

“What do you mean?”

He lifted the walkie-talkie. “Mack, ask the whiz kid if we're clear.”

Howie had grinned when he was codenamed that the day before.

“You're clear, One.”

“When we decide to make our break, Kathy, say several hours before we do – if we do – we move out and turn on every gas and electric stove and heater in every house in this town. But we don't light the gas.”

She smiled, catching on. “Lots of explosions and a lot of fires with heavy smoke, right, Sheriff?”

“You got it.”

“I like it.”

“Senior to One,” Gordie's walkie-talkie popped.

“Come on, Senior.”

Watts said, “Found a young couple. They seem to be all right. Just scared.”

“Meet you on the corner.”

“Gene and Donna Harvey,” Lee told him. “He's a mechanic down at the Ford place; she teaches school.”

“Get us out of here!” Donna's plea was almost a scream.

“We can't leave, Miss Harvey. The Fury won't let us.”

“The Fury?” Gene asked.

“It's a long story. Lee, take them back to the station, and brief them on the way.”

When they had pulled away in Lee's unit, Kathy said, “They look in pretty good shape to me.”

“Yeah,” Gordie said. “Too good a shape, for my way of thinking.” He lifted his communicator and called in on tach, hoping that Lee would not switch over.

“Mack, keep an eye on the pair that Lee is bringing in.”

“That's ten-four, One.”

They moved on to the next house, the three of them staying together. Another slaughter-pen inside.

“Whiz kid says to watch it, One!” Mack's voice crackled from the speaker.

AND WHAT MAY I ASK ARE YOU DOING, RIVERA?

“Bagging up the dead, Fury. Do you object to our doing that?”

I SUPPOSE NOT. IF YOU INSIST UPON BEING SO FASTIDIOUS. WHERE ARE YOUR BAGS?

“In that truck right over there.” Gordie pointed.

The Fury sighed. YOU ARE SO TRUTHFUL YOU MAKE ME SICK, RIVERA. AREN'T YOU PEOPLE GOING TO FIGHT ME?

“Well, goddamnit,
how!”
Gordie yelled. “Yeah. You put yourself in human form, and I'll kick your stupid ass all over this town, you turd!”

Howling with laughter, the Fury left them.

“You took a chance,” Watts told him.

“Pissed me off,” Gordie said. “Come on, let's start bagging up the bodies, and look busy, in case that bastard decides to return.”

“I wonder how things are going on the outside?” Kathy asked.

“Not as bad as in here, that's for sure.”

 

 

The Rev. Willie Magee had traveled long and hard from Louisiana. He had set up his post under a shade tree, and with Bible in hand, and a few of his faithful flock gathered around, Magee went about drawing a crowd.

“Oh, Lord!” he cried to the heavens (and any reporter that might be listening). “There is evil in that there town yonder.” He pointed toward Willowdale. “Evil, I say! And it must be cut out like a cancer from the flesh!”

“Amen, Brother!” his flock called.

“When the roll is called up yonder,” Sister Adele sang sweetly.

Willie cut a good eye toward Sister Adele. Woman had a great ass on her, and could give a blow job that would put a vacuum cleaner to shame.

“When the roll is called up yonder, I'll be there,” Sister Adele finished.

“Thank you, Sister,” Willie said. “We ain't gettin' no action here, gang. I think we picked us a bad spot. That damn preacher from Mississippi is drawin' all the crowds.”

The Rev. Silas Marrner was working up a sweat, really putting on a show for the folks, and quite a few had gathered around.

Silas was jumping around on the ground like a man possessed. Speaking in tongues, as he sought to purge the town of Willowdale from whatever evil had befallen it.

Further down the barricades, Preacher Harold Jewelweed had traveled night and day from West Virginia to get to Willowdale. Along with some of his faithful flock and two crates of rattlesnakes.

Fortunately for Mister Jewelweed, the troopers did not know, yet, what was in the crates.

All that was about to change . . . among other things.

“My faithful flock,” Jewelweed cranked up. “We are facin' Armageddon here. The beast is upon us, ah haw. But we know how to frighten the beast away, don't we?”

“Amen!” his faithful called.

Jewelweed held up a much-used Bible. “Says so right here in the good book, don't it, ah haw?'”

“Amen!” the flock intoned.

“This might be where he grabs ‘em,” Willie said. “I've seen this act before. It always gets 'em.”

“What's he gonna do, Brother Willie?” Sister Adele asked.

“Watch.”

“Be not afraid to face your sins!” Jewelweed hollered.

“Amen!” his flock called.

“Be not afraid to pick up the serpent!”

“Amen!”

Jewelweed reached down, flipped open the lid on a crate, and hauled out a rattlesnake about five feet long.

“Behold!” he cried, holding up the writhing snake. “And fear not the beast.”

The crowd gasped, and the reporters told their camera crews to get it on tape.

The nearest Colorado State Patrol members had jerked iron and were preparing to blow the snake – and Jewelweed too, if he didn't put that ugly fucker away – right straight to hell.

Jewelweed looped the snake around his neck and marched up to the line of troopers. The rattlesnake looked all around, its forked tongue testing the air.

A sergeant pointed a finger at Jewelweed, the other hand on the butt of his pistol. “You take one more step toward me with that ugly bastard around your neck, and you're gonna be in Colorado for eternity.”

“The snake represents your sins, my son, ah haw,” Jewelweed told the man.

“I got a bullet that looks like your ass, too,” the sergeant told him. “Back up.”

Jewelweed backed up, muttering about heathens and Philistines.

“As if we don't have enough problems,” Martin Tobias said to Larry, as they watched from a distance.

“Yes, and here comes more,” Larry pointed out, as the press corps spotted them and came at a run.

“You ready for this, Larry?”

“No. But it has to be.”

Martin held up a hand, and the rampaging gang of newspeople came to a stop.

“Right over there,” he said, pointing to a spot where aides were setting up a rostrum. “Set your mikes up there, and I'll give you a statement as soon as you're ready.”

“Mr. Tobias!” a reporter called. “What is going on inside the barricades?”

“If you cannot comprehend simple English, young man,” Martin told him. “I might suggest that you seek other types of employment. Right over there is where I will take questions. And nowhere else.”

The White House chief of staff turned his back to the crowd and walked toward the rostrum, Larry with him.

“How to win friends and influence people?” Larry asked with a smile.

“They have a job to do, but so do we, Larry. It can all be done with some degree of protocol – or not at all.”

When everyone was ready, Martin stepped to the rostrum and nodded his head at a reporter.

“What is going on inside those barricades, Mr. Tobias?”

“Plague. On the order of bubonic. It is an entirely new strain, and our people at CDC are working around the clock to find some sort of vaccine.”

“It's called fury?”

“That is correct. That is what it was codenamed.”

“How many lives has it claimed so far?”

“Five hundred at the latest count – and climbing.”

“Why is the White House involved?”

Martin fixed him with a look guaranteed to melt ice cubes. “That is a totally asinine question. We are facing a plague of monumental proportions. Naturally, President Marshall wants to stay on top of matters. That is why I am here.”

“It's the Russians!” Willie hollered. “The Russians done started a germ war.”

“The Russians have done nothing,” Martin said, raising his voice to be heard over the babbling of Willie, the speaking in tongues of Marrner, and the snake-waving and shouting of Jewelweed. “We don't know where the disease originated; but I can tell you in all honesty, that it did not come from any foreign country here on earth.”