Day 9 (18 page)

The dead are always with us
. He said that once. Maybe he was right.

And maybe I will see him again. See him alive.

I ignore the body in the box and concentrate on reaching out to Gaudí's spirit. I focus all my energy on calling him back to me, just one more time.

I am still doing the same thing that night, after everyone has gone home. And the day after that. And a week later, too.

Gaudí
.

Gaudí, I need you.

 

CHAPTER 38

 

New Justice, New Mexico - Today

"He's dead," said Leif. "Cyrus Gowdy is dead."

Dunne felt light-headed as he thought about it. Was it possible he'd come all this way and gone through so much, only to find that his objective no longer existed?

Was the one person in the world who could make his dreams a reality already dead?

"That can't be." Quincy turned to Dunne. "Enrique Bocagrande said he talked to Gowdy in Willowtopia a month ago."

"When did Cyrus die?" said Dunne.

"A year ago," said Leif. "He died in a terrible fire...which is when the war started. Like I said, it was his fault."

"For dying," said Dunne.

Leif sighed and shook out his gleaming, golden hair. "If he was still alive, there wouldn't
be
a war. He was the one who always kept the balance between good and evil."

Dunne grimaced. He was having a hard time fitting the pieces together. "So, wait. You mean Cyrus was guiding the role-playing scenario?"

"He guided us," said Leif, "but there was no
playing
. He was the priest at Everyfaith Temple."

"Gowdy's a priest?" Quincy's eyes bugged, and his mouth fell open.

"
Was
a priest," said Leif.

Dunne was still confused. "What did you say your name was?"

"Leif Willow." Leif played with the starfish that dangled from his pukka shell choker. "And you're...?"

"Dunne Sullivan. This is Quincy Windsor." Dunne left out the part about the two of them being new Willow foster brothers. "Now what's your real name, Leif?"

"Real name?"

"Before you got here, bro," said Quincy. "Before you came to New Justice. What did they call you?"

Leif smirked. "Dummy."

"They called you Dummy?" said Quincy.

"
You're
the dummy," said Leif. "I've
always
been here."

Dunne rubbed his eyes hard. Leif sounded like he really believed he'd never been anywhere else...but that didn't make sense. Then again, that in itself fit with the rest of the picture. Nothing in New Justice seemed to make much sense.

Not yet, anyway.

"Look," said Leif. "We shouldn't be standing around out in the open like this. Weed's guardsmen will arrest us sooner or later." Leif revved his motorcycle. "Well, they'll arrest
you
, anyway. They'll
try
to arrest
me
."

"We need to rescue Kitty," said Dunne.

"I already told you, Kitty's been locked up for three months." Leif looked around nervously.

Dunne decided not to argue the point. "Our friend's also called Hannahlee...and Weed took her. We want her back."

Leif narrowed his eyes and directed a measured stare at Dunne. "I can try to pull together an operation, but it'll take time. There isn't much of a resistance left, you know."

"How much time?" said Dunne.

Leif shrugged. "Two, three hours. Hard to say."

"While you get that ready, the two of us can pay our respects to Gowdy." Smiling, Quincy clapped a hand on Dunne's shoulder. "You say he was head holy roller at the Everyfaith Temple?"

"Yes," said Leif. "But he's buried in Waystation Cemetery. Shouldn't you go there to pay respects?"

"We'd respect him more
alive
than
dead
," said Quincy. "We'll stick with the temple."

"Do you want to call us on our cell phone when you're ready?" said Dunne. "Assuming there's service out here."

"Cell phone?" Leif looked puzzled. "You mean like a
jail
cell?"

Dunne didn't try to fight the 1970s time warp act. "How about if you just meet us at the temple?"

"Okay," said Leif. "Like I said, it'll take some time. No one's attacked Jeremiah Weed's stronghold in ages."

"His stronghold?" said Quincy. "Where's that?"

Leif's expression darkened. "Posse Ranch," he said. "Former home of the Willows."

Then, without another word, Leif bent over the handlebars, revved the engine, and roared off on his motorcycle, leaving a trail of dust in the air.

***

 

Warpath Journal

Dateline: Las Cruces, New Mexico

As I check the dashboard clock again, the words of Amish Amos come back to me.

The hands of the clock are not afraid of you.

Meaning watching the clock won't make time run any faster...though I wish with all my heart it would. I wish I were closer to killing the Poison Oak imposters who got away from me.

Now that I'm
totally sure
of their wickedness, I can't get my hands on them fast enough. Even the three hours it should take me to reach them is three hours too long.

I hate to think it might take even longer, but it might. The truth is, I don't know the exact location of New Justice—only its direction and distance from Antelope. Just what was on the drawings the Oaks had.

At least I've got a fast ride to get me there. It's the third one I've stolen since Salt Basin, a Mazda—and third time's the charm. This baby's got plenty of horsepower...and a radar detector to keep my nose clean.

So life is good. And bound to get better soon.

As I drive, I play out scenarios in my mind: who I'll kill first, what I'll do to them, what happens after that. The only thing I've decided so far for sure is my pick for Number One on the dead Oak list.

That would be the Scaredy-Cat, the one who tricked me. Brother Dunne. As for what I'll do to him...

A rotten timber will bring the barn down on your head if you tax it.

That's what Amish Amos would say. He would counsel me to resist the urge to make the Oaks suffer. He would babble on and on about the immorality of torture and murder...and normally, I would agree with him.

But this time, I don't know. Time is running out, not just for the captive Willows, but for all America. I need fast, accurate answers, and that leaves no room for pussyfooting around.

Plus which, would it be fair to America and mankind not to put those Poison Oaks down permanently?

As wise as Amish Amos is, I can't let him skew my own wisdom. Or the sense of justice seeded in my heart by Father Law.

Or the outrage watered with the blood of my brother and sister Willows.

The white-hot afternoon sun blazes as I race toward it. Daydreams of justice and vengeance dim as the vision of the bloody church flares in the back of my mind. It hasn't stopped repeating since the diner in Alexandria, Louisiana...since Imposter Kitty asked me how she could know for sure I'm not a Poison Oak.

I wonder if I'm meant to see something in this vision. Is that why it won't go away anymore? Because there's something I've missed in this bloodbath, something vitally important to my mission?

Maybe it's meant to drive me harder to annihilate the Oaks. Maybe it's a vision of what will become of America if I don't destroy my enemies.

For that is how I know for sure I'm not a Poison Oak. Because I would never allow such a nightmare to happen. I would sacrifice
anything
to prevent it.

No matter what Amish Amos says.

I focus on the details of the vision, prying them apart for clues. I look harder at the familiar faces, their eyes and mouths lolling open in death.

Suddenly, I have an idea. If this vision reveals the future, who's to say it's a
bad
one? Who's to say the dead are
innocents
?

What if what I'm seeing are
Poison Oak
casualties? What if this is what awaits me at the end of my warpath?

What if this is what awaits me in New Justice, New Mexico?

I check the time on the dashboard clock. There is still too much of it left until I find my answers.

 

CHAPTER 39

New Justice, New Mexico

"That's him, all right." Quincy stared at the black-and-white eight-by-ten photo behind the glass. "'Father' Gowdy."

Dunne stood beside him in the lobby of Everyfaith Temple and nodded. The photo was indeed a head-and-shoulders shot of the man they'd been looking for, Cyrus Gowdy. He had short, silver hair, bright eyes, and a wide smile. He wore the reverse of a minister's traditional outfit—a white shirt with a black collar band instead of a black shirt with a white one.

The label under the photo identified him as
Brother
Gowdy, but Dunne didn't bother to correct Quincy. "So we came to the right town. He was here."

"But is the
rest
of the story true?" Quincy jabbed the display case glass over the photo with his finger. "Is he dead, or is he just
playing
dead?"

The two of them continued from the lobby into the main hall of the temple. As with everything else in New Justice, it was identical to its TV counterpart from the
Weeping Willows
show.

Everyfaith, as its name suggested, mingled the icons and instruments of multiple religions. On the walls of the vast, sunlit hall, Dunne saw a Christian cross, a Jewish Star of David, a Muslim star and crescent, a Hindu Om, a Buddhist lotus flower, a Taoist yin/yang, and more. Stations beneath the symbols featured components for services of each faith—an altar for Christians, prayer carpets for Muslims, an Ark and menorah for Jews, a statue of Buddha.

The middle of the big, white-walled chamber was full of benches facing in all directions—seating for any service of any faith at any time.

In
Willows
, it had all been part of Gowdy's statement about tolerance and community. All religions were equally respected in TV's Justice, Arizona, just as residents of all ethnic and social backgrounds were equally embraced. It had added up to a utopian vision that was popularly credited as one of the main reasons for the show's success.

Quincy led Dunne along the perimeter of the chamber, walking slowly and pausing often to examine what they passed.

"What're we looking for, anyway?" said Dunne.

"Trap doors." Quincy circled the Christian altar, running his fingers around the edge of the marble slab. "Secret tunnels. Hidden lairs."

Dunne walked over to the wall behind the altar and eyed it closely. "So we want buttons or switches or levers. Anything unusual."

"A flashing neon sign would be good," said Quincy. "'This way to escape hatch.'"

The two of them split up as they continued to search. Dunne worked his way along the wall, checking every square inch within reach. Quincy ranged among the sacred objects and furniture—not always handling them with the care they were probably used to.

"Why did he join this game or whatever it is in person?" Dunne said as he searched.

"Here's a thought," said Quincy. "Could it be that's the reason he built New Justice in the first place?"

"So he could relive the show?" said Dunne.

"So he could
become
the show." Quincy crashed into a gong, then grabbed hold of it to stop the vibration. "Maybe he wanted to escape inside it for good. After all, when was the last time he had a hit TV show? Or
any
TV show?"

"Maybe." Dunne reached a section of wall with an icon he didn't recognize—a gleaming golden figure, four feet high by six feet long, that looked like a "W" laid over an "M." The intersection of the two letters created a diamondback pattern in the middle.

On the floor in front of the "W-M" symbol, there was no altar or statue or other familiar furniture. Instead, Dunne found what looked like a desk from the set of a TV news show. The front of the desk was inlaid with strips of reddish cherry wood, and a square cutout on top revealed a video monitor screen underneath.

Heart pounding like a hammer on a nail, Dunne walked behind the desk. Two stools were built into the desk's frame, one on either side of the monitor.

As soon as Dunne sat down on a stool, the monitor fluttered to life. On the screen, he saw himself from behind, sitting at the desk.

Turning around, Dunne stared at the "W-M" symbol on the wall. "Hey, Quincy." He couldn't see a trace of a lens, but he knew it had to be there. "I'm on the air."

Quincy quit examining a big, golden Buddha and hurried over. "Hidden famera, huh?" He looked at the screen, then the symbol on the wall. "Smack in the middle of the double-W."

Dunne had another look at the symbol and frowned. He'd thought it was a combination "W" and "M," but maybe Quincy was right. It could be two "W's" put together—one right side up, the other upside-down.

Two "W's"...as in
Weeping Willows
?

"This
can't
be the fonly camera in this joint." Quincy looked around the huge hall.

Peering into the cutout around the monitor, Dunne noticed a gap beneath the desktop. "There's something under here." Gripping the edge of the desktop, he lifted. The news desk opened to reveal a control panel—seven rows of square, white buttons, along with knobs and a joystick.

"This just in!" Quincy said it in the overdramatic voice of a 1940s radio newsreader. "Boy writer discovers super-secret mystery control board! Can the elusive Father Gowdy be far behind?"

One of the buttons in the bottom row glowed dimly, and Dunne pressed the button to the right of it. The image on the screen changed to another view of the desk—this time, as seen from in front.

Dunne hit the next button, and a shot of the Hindu station appeared on the screen. Every button in the middle row, in fact, yielded shots of various corners of Everyfaith Temple.

When Dunne punched buttons in the top five rows, he brought up shots from elsewhere—familiar exteriors and interiors of City Hall, the Oven Mitt, Justice Commons, even Posse Ranch.

"The whole town's wired." Dunne kept pushing buttons, switching between shots of Highburn, Scratchtown, and Crucible Mountain. "We can see everything from here."

"The question is," said Quincy, "who
else
can see?"

Dunne thought about it. "If Gowdy's in hiding, he must be tapping the feed. He'd need to be able to see what's happening."

"You betcha," said Quincy. "Which means we have a direct line to our fig kahuna."

"But no trap doors or secret tunnels," said Dunne.

"Who needs 'em?" Quincy pulled out one of his fat black magic markers. "Punch up the double-W cam, Brother Dunne."

While Dunne hit the button on the control panel, Quincy wandered off with his marker. He came back a moment later with a white dry-erase board on which he'd scrawled a note. Standing in front of the news desk, he held up the board so the camera could see.

Gowdy! Help ASAP! Posse Ranch!

"Think it'll get his attention?" said Dunne.

Quincy shrugged. "Maybe not if he's dead. But who knows?"

"Don't you think he would've shown up by now if he could have?" said Dunne.

"As we say in the slashfic filk game," said Quincy, "it ain't over till the fat lady comes."

Dunne shook his head. "That just doesn't even make any sense, you know that?"

Just then, a motorcycle pulled up outside. Hastily, Dunne closed the desktop. Quincy set up the whiteboard sign on top of it, propping it against a brass urn from another station in the temple.

Leif marched in a moment later with his white motorcycle helmet under his arm. "I think we're almost ready for the rescue op. How's it going in here?"

"Very sad," said Quincy. "We can't believe Gowdy's gone."

"I can see that." Leif pointed at the whiteboard sign on the news desk.

Dunne thought fast. "That's a prayer," he said. "We're praying for Gowdy's intercession in the battle ahead."

Leif nodded. "That's cool. Everyone should do their own thing, man. We can use all the help we can get."

"So when do we get started?" said Dunne.

"Thirty minutes." Leif checked his watch. "We'll meet at Justice Commons and head out from there."

"You found enough resistance fighters?" said Dunne.

"Not really," said Leif, "but they'll have to do. If you want to get your friend Kitty away from Jeremiah, I don't think we should wait."

"So he was serious about this being her honeymoon, then?" said Quincy.

Leif scowled. "Weed's truly evil. Ever since Gowdy died, he's been out of control. I wouldn't put anything past him."

"So how many fighters do we actually have on our side, then?" said Dunne.

"Six," said Leif. "Counting the three of us."

Dunne swallowed hard. "That's it? That's all the resistance you have left?"

"Hopefully, that'll change soon," said Leif. "When we hit Posse Ranch, we're going after another objective. Kill two birds with one strike."

"What's the other objective?" said Dunne.

"We're going to take down Jeremiah Weed," said Leif. "Even if it kills us."

 

As the Hummer hurtled up the dusty dirt road, Dunne just wanted to get out of the car and run the other way. He wanted to be as far as possible from the so-called resistance and the danger ahead. Even the promise of writing a movie if he helped save Hannahlee and found Gowdy wasn't enough to make him want to keep going.

Up ahead at Posse Ranch, the villains were waiting...and possibly lethal. For all Dunne knew, they could be armed with live ammunition.

As for the good guys, they didn't amount to much. In addition to Dunne and Quincy, there were four more allies—two on either side of the Hummer, riding motorcycles. They all acted as if they thought they were characters from the TV show, brought to life—Leif Willow, Kenya Willow, Agent Mohican, and Gary Escuchar.

Dunne's fear grew stronger as the team split up, leaving the Hummer to approach the front gate alone. Two of the motorcycles raced off in one direction, and two darted off in the other, swooping between stands of saguaro cactus and mesquite.

"I don't like this plan," said Dunne. "What if they don't help us? What if they
can't
help us?"

"That's why
we're
driving the
tank
." Quincy patted the Hummer's dashboard. "We're gonna rip this place up!"

"It's not
bulletproof
, Quincy," said Dunne. "And it's a
rental
, for Pete's sake!"

"A
frental
, you say?" Quincy leered and waggled his eyebrows. "Good fing our Kitty bought the extra
insurance
, then!"

As the Hummer flew closer to the front gate, Dunne's heart hammered like the pistons in the engine. He noticed differences in the gate from shots in the TV show—the letter "Z" painted over the letter "W," barbed wire along the top of the fence, a trench dug in front of the gate. Men pointed rifles through the barbed wired—five on either side of the gate. It looked more like an armed compound than the headquarters of justice and peace from
Weeping Willows
.

"They're ready for us!" Dunne couldn't keep the rising panic out of his voice. "Turn around!"

"No fway, José." Quincy gripped the wheel tightly and leaned forward. "This here's a runaway train, son."

Dunne squirmed in his seat. "There's a
ditch
right in front of the gate!"

"I got it covered, kemosabe," said Quincy. "Say, you got that seatbelt buckled, right?"

"Yeah, but turn around!" said Dunne.

"Evel Knievel jumped Snake River Canyon." Quincy shifted to a higher gear, and the Hummer leaped forward. "I reckon
I
can jump that little
ass crack
."

The men along the fence opened fire. Dunne shrank down into his seat as far as he could without unbuckling his seat belt.

As the Hummer barreled up to the trench, Quincy shifted one more time. Another burst of speed seized the Hummer as it hit the mounded rim of the trench...and became airborne.

Quincy whooped like a cowboy as the Hummer flashed over the trench, wheels spinning in midair. Dunne held his breath and gripped the dash with both hands, unable to look away.

The Hummer came down on the other side with a big impact and kept rolling, breaking through the closed gates as Weed's men peppered it with rifle rounds. When one of the shots hit the window beside Dunne, he jumped...but the window didn't shatter.

As more of the shots hit the Hummer's body, thumping off metal and glass in rapid succession, Dunne finally got his answer about the ammunition in use. The shots all bounced off without penetrating the Hummer; the ammo wasn't live.

So why didn't that make Dunne feel any better?

"Yee-ha!" Quincy spun the wheel, and the Hummer whipped around in the dust, scattering gunmen. He stomped the accelerator and charged after them, chasing them toward a corral. "I'm roundin' up all the little dogies!"

Dunne braced himself on the dash and door. He crushed his feet against the floor, mashing a nonexistent brake pedal. After all he'd been through, he was starting to think he would end up dead in a Hummer crash at Quincy's hands.

The gunmen Quincy was chasing vaulted the corral fence and kept running. Instead of smashing through it, Quincy swung the Hummer around and bolted back the other way.

More gunmen waited in that direction, lined up and firing in unison. Instead of slowing down, Quincy accelerated.

"Take that, yew fugly
varmints
!" Quincy blasted through the line without managing to hit any of the gunmen. "Dance for me, ladies! Dance for your lives!"

The Hummer swooped around and charged again, taking more fire. One of the guards latched onto the side-view mirror and held on, bashing Dunne's window with the stock of his gun...only to fly off during another wild maneuver.

As the Hummer hurtled around the yard, Dunne felt dizzy and lightheaded. His stomach churned like he was on the verge of getting sick.

He wondered how much longer Quincy would have to keep up the diversion. Where was the expected sign from the resistance?

"This is my kind of fun!" said Quincy as he raced after a pair of gunmen. "All those years of driving like an idiot are finally paying off!"

The gunmen dove over a fence into a pigpen. Quincy stopped short, spinning the Hummer in a circle and pitching it toward the main ranch house.

The Hummer struck a porch roof post a glancing blow, kicking out chunks of pale wood on the way past. As Quincy bucked the vehicle hard left to miss the next post, a young blonde woman suddenly ran out in front of the Hummer.

"Shit!" Quincy wrenched the wheel hard to the right to dodge the woman...which put the Hummer close to the front window of the ranch house.

The window from which the burning bottle was thrown.