New Cthulhu: The Recent Weird (62 page)

This morning, Junior bubbled with enthusiasm, a big kid going to the zoo. He took a look at Chocko, who had recently been sloshed with red paint, and pantomimed cringing shock.

Leech knew the actor’s father sometimes came home from work in clown make-up and terrified his young son.

The fear was still there.

Unit Number Two was scrambled before Charlie was out of his hammock.

They waited. Constant, sticking to a prearranged plan, shut down his face, covering a pettish irritation that others did not adhere to such a policy, especially others who were theoretically in a command position.

The Family Führer eventually rolled into the light, beard sticky as a glazed doughnut, scratching lazily. He grinned like a cornered cat and climbed up onto Unit Number One—actually, Unit Number Four with a hastily-repainted number, since the real Number One was a wreck. As crew, Charlie cut a couple of the girls out of the corral: the thin and pale Squeaky, who always looked like she’d just been slapped, and a younger, prettier, stranger creature called Ouisch. Other girls glowered sullen resentment and envy at the chosen ones. Ouisch tossed her long dark hair smugly and blew a gum-bubble in triumph. There was muttering of discontent.

If he had been Charlie, Leech would have taken the boy who could fix the motors, not the girls who gave the best blowjobs. But it wasn’t his place to give advice.

Charlie was pleased with his mastery over his girls, as if it were difficult to mind-control American children. Leech thought that a weakness. Even as Charlie commanded the loyalty of the chicks, the few men in the Family grumbled. They got away with sniping resentment because their skills or contacts were needed. Of the group at the Ranch, only Constant had deal-making potential.

“Let’s roll, Rat Patrol,” decreed Charlie, waving.

The set-off was complicated by a squabble about protocol. Hitherto, in column outings—and two Units made a column—Charlie had to be in the lead vehicle. However, given that Junior was truffle-pig on this expedition, Unit Number One had to be in the rear, with Number Two out front.

Squeaky explained the rules, at length. Charlie shrugged, grinned, and looked ready to doze.

Leech was distracted by a glint from an upper window. A gush of dirty water came from a pipe. Janice Marsh’s fish-face loomed in shadows, eyes eager. Stranded and flapping in this desert, no wonder she was thirsty.

Constant counter-argued that this was a search operation, not a victory parade.

“We have rules or we’re nothing, Kaptain Kraut,” whined Squeaky.

It was easy to hear how she’d got her nickname.

“They should go first, Squeak,” said Ouisch. “In case of mines. Or ambush. Charlie should keep back, safe.”

“If we’re going to change the rules, we should have a meeting.”

Charlie punched Squeaky in the head. “Motion carried,” he said.

Squeaky rubbed her nut, eyes crossed with anger. Charlie patted her, and she looked up at him, forcing adoration.

Constant turned the ignition—a screwdriver messily wired into the raped steering column—and the engine turned over, belching smoke.

Unit Number Two drove down the track, towards the arch.

Squeaky struggled to get Unit Number One moving.

“We would more efficient be if the others behind stayed, I think,” said Constant.

Unit Number One came to life. There were cheers.

“Never mind, li’l buddy,” said Junior. “Nice to have pretty girlies along on the trail.”

“For some, it is nice.” 

The two-buggy column passed under the arch.

Junior’s
feelings
took them up into the mountains. The buggies struggled with the gradient. These were horse trails.

“This area, it has been searched thoroughly,” said Constant.

“But I got a
powerful
feeling,” said Junior.

Junior was eager to help. It had taken some convincing to make him believe in his powers of intuition, but now he had a firm faith in them. He realized he’d always had a supernatural ability to find things misplaced, like keys or watches. All his life, people had pointed it out.

Leech was confident. Junior was well cast as the One Who Will Open the Earth. It was in the prophecies.

Unit Number Two became wedged between rocks.

“This is as far as we can go in the buggy,” said Constant.

“That’s a real shame,” said Junior, shaking his head, “ ’cause I’ve a rumbling in my guts that says we should be higher. What do you think, George? Should we keep on keeping on?”

Leech looked up. “If you hear the call.”

“You know, George, I think I do. I really do. The call is calling.”

“Then we go on.”

Unit Number One appeared, and died. Steam hissed out of the radiator.

Charlie sent Ouisch over for a sit-rep.

Constant explained they would have to go on foot from now on.

“Some master driver you are, Schultzie,” said the girl, giggling. “Charlie will have you punished for your failure. Severely.”

Constant thought better of answering back.

Junior looked at the view, mopping the sweat off his forehead with a blue denim sleeve. Blotches of smog obscured much of the city spread out toward the gray-blue shine of the Pacific. Up here, the air was thin and at least clean.

“Looks like a train set, George.”

“The biggest a boy ever had,” said Leech.

Constant had hiking boots and a backpack with rope, implements, and rations. He checked over his gear, professionally.

It had been Ouisch’s job to bottle some water, but she’d got stoned last night and forgot. Junior had a hip-flask, but it wasn’t full of water.

Leech could manage, but the others might suffer.

“If before we went into the high desert a choice had been presented of whether to go
with
water or
without
, I would have voted for ‘with,’ ” said Constant. “But such a matter was not discussed.”

Ouisch stuck her tongue out. She had tattooed a swastika on it with a blue ballpoint pen. It was streaky.

Squeaky found a Coca-Cola bottle rolling around in Unit Number One, an inch of soupy liquid in the bottom. She turned it over to Charlie, who drank it down in a satisfied draught. He made as if to toss the bottle off the mountain like a grenade, but Leech took it from him.

“What’s the deal, Mr. Fish? No one’ll care about littering when Helter Skelter comes down.”

“This can be used. Constant, some string, please.”

Constant sorted through his pack. He came up with twine and a Swiss army knife.

“Cool blade,” said Charlie. “I’d like one like that.”

Squeaky and Ouisch looked death at Constant until he handed the knife over. Charlie opened up all the implements, until the knife looked like a triggered booby-trap. He cleaned under his nails with the bradawl.

Leech snapped his fingers. Charlie gave the knife over.

Leech cut a length of twine and tied one end around the bottle’s wasp-waist. He dangled it like a plum-bob. The bottle circled slowly.

Junior took the bottle, getting the idea instantly.

Leech closed the knife and held it out on his open palm. Constant resentfully made fists by his sides. Charlie took the tool, snickering to himself. He felt its balance for a moment, then pitched it off the mountainside. The Swiss Army Knife made a long arc into the air and plunged, hundreds and hundreds of feet, bounced off a rock, and fell further.

Long seconds later, the tumbling speck disappeared.

“Got to rid ourselves of the trappings, Kraut-Man.”

Constant said nothing.

Junior had scrambled up the rocky incline, following the nose of the bottle. “Come on, guys,” he called. “This is it. El Doradio. I can feel it in my bones. Don’t stick around, slowcoaches.”

Charlie was first to follow.

Squeaky, who had chosen to wear flip-flops rather than boots, volunteered to stay behind and guard the Units.

“Don’t be a drag-hag, soldier,” said Charlie. “Bring up the freakin’ rear.”

Leech kept pace.

From behind, yelps of pain came frequently.

Leech knew where to step, when to breathe, which rocks were solid enough to provide handholds and which would crumble or come away at a touch. Instinct told him how to hold his body so that gravity didn’t tug him off the mountain. His inertia actually helped propel him upwards.

Charlie gave him a sideways look.

Though the man was thick-skinned and jail-tough, physical activity wasn’t his favored pursuit. He needed to make it seem as if he found the mountain path easy, but breathing the air up here was difficult for him. He had occasional coughing jags. Squeaky and Ouisch shouldered their sweet lord’s weight and helped him, their own thin legs bending as he relaxed on their support, allowing himself to be lifted as if by angels.

Constant was careful, methodical, and made his way on his own.

But Junior was out ahead, following his bottle, scrambling between rocks and up nearly sheer inclines. He stopped, stood on a rocky outcrop, and looked down at them, then bellowed for the sheer joy of being alive and in the wilderness.

The sound carried out over the mountains and echoed.

“Charlie,” he shouted, “how about one of them songs of yours?”

“Yes, that is an idea good,” said Constant, every word barbed. “An inspiration is needed for our mission.”

Charlie could barely speak, much less sing “The Happy Wanderer” in German.

Grimly, Squeaky and Ouisch harmonized a difficult version of “The Mickey Mouse Marching Song.” Struggling with Charlie’s dead weight, they found the will to carry on and even put some spit and vigor into the anthem.

Leech realized at once what Charlie had done.

The con had simply stolen the whole idea outright from Uncle Walt. He’d picked up these dreaming girls, children of postwar privilege raised in homes with buzzing refrigerators in the kitchen and finned automobiles in the garage, recruiting them a few years on from their first Mouseketeer phase, and electing himself Mickey.

Hey there ho there hi there . . .

When they chanted “Mickey Mouse . . . Mickey Mouse,” Constant even croaked “Donald Duck” on the offbeat.

Like Junior, Leech was overwhelmed with the sheer joy of the century.

He loved these children, dangerous as they were, destructive as they would be. They had such open, yearning hearts. They would find many things to fill their voids and Leech saw that he could be there for them in the future, up to 2001 and beyond, on the generation’s ultimate trip.

Unless the rains came first.

“Hey, George,” yelled Junior. “I dropped my bottle down a hole.”

Everyone stopped and shut up.

Leech listened.

“Aww, what a shame,” said Junior. “I lost my bottle.”

Leech held up a hand for silence.

Charlie was puzzled, and the girls sat him down.

Long seconds later, deep inside the mountain, Leech heard a splash. No one else caught the noise.

“It’s found,” he announced.

Only Ouisch was small enough to pass through the hole. Constant rigged up a rope cradle and lowered her. She waved bye-bye as she scraped into the mountain’s throat. Constant measured off the rope in cubits, unrolling loops from his forearm.

Junior sat on the rock, swigging from his flask.

Squeaky glared pantomime evil at him and he offered the flask to Charlie.

“That’s your poison, man,” he said.

“You should drop acid,” said Squeaky. “So you can learn from the wisdom of the mountain.”

Junior laughed, big belly-shaking chuckles.

“You’re funnin’ me, girl. Ain’t nothing dumber than a mountain.”

Leech didn’t add to the debate.

Constant came to end of the rope. Ouisch dangled fifty feet inside the rock.

“It’s dark,” she shouted up. “And wet. There’s water all around. Water with things in it. Icky.”

“Have you ever considered the etymology of the term ‘icky’?” asked Leech. “Do you suppose this primal, playroom expression of disgust could be related to the Latin prefix ‘ichthy,’ which translates literally as ‘fishy’?”

“I was in a picture once, called
Manfish
,” said Junior. “I got to be out on boats. I like boats.”

“Manfish? Interesting name.”

“It was the name of the boat in the movie. Not a monster, like that Black Lagoon thing. Universal wouldn’t have me in that. I did
The Alligator People
, though. Swamp stuff. Big stiff suitcase-skinned gator-man.”

“Man-fish,” said Charlie, trying to hop on the conversation train. “I get it. I see where you’re coming from, where you’re going. The Old Lady. What’s she, a mermaid? An old mermaid?”

“You mean she really looks like that?” yelped Squeaky. “The one time I saw her I was tripping. Man, that’s messed up! Charlie, I think I’m scared.”

Charlie cuffed Squeaky around the head.

“Ow, that hurt.”

“Learn from the pain, child. It’s the only way.”

“You shouldn’t ought to hit ladies, Mr. Man,” said Junior. “It’s not like with guys. Brawlin’ is part of being a guy. But with ladies, it’s, you know, not polite. Wrong. Even when you’ve got a snoutful, you don’t whop on a woman.”

“It’s for my own good,” said Squeaky, defending her master.

“Gosh, little lady, are you sure?”

“It’s the only way I’ll learn.” Squeaky picked up a rock and hit herself in the head with it, raising a bruise. “I love you, Charlie,” she said, handing him the bloody rock.

He kissed the stain, and Squeaky smiled as if she’d won a gold star for her homework and been made head cheerleader on the same morning.

Ouisch popped her head up out of the hole like a pantomime chimneysweep. She had adorable dirt on her cheeks.

“There’s a way down,” she said. “It’s narrow here, but opens out. I think it’s a, whatchumacallit, passage. The rocks feel smooth. We’ll have to enbiggen the hole if you’re all to get through.”

Constant looked at the problem. “This stone, that stone, that stone,” he said, pointing out loose outcrops around the lip of the hole. “They will come away.”

Charlie was about to make fun of the German boy, but held back. Like Leech, he sensed that the kid knew what he was talking about.