Psychlone (16 page)

“Maybe because it's limited,” Silvera said, “whatever it is. And we're by no means sure you people are right in assuming it's supernatural. General Machen's staff has a long list of possibilities, among them biological warfare—"

Jacobs snorted.

“—which isn't farfetched, considering the increased growth of bacteria in the area."

“Or the death of plants?” Jacobs asked.

“That, too."

“Who would be responsible for that, the Russians?” Jacobs asked facetiously.

“Not necessarily."

“Oh, the Chinese, then. The Russians are the ones responsible for crazy-rays from space. Or a satellite came down in Lorobu filled with deadly space-dust."

“I saw that in a movie once,” Miss Unamuno said.

Silvera stood and gathered the papers on his desk into a manila folder. “I don't think any of those ideas are more farfetched than the possession of a whole town by ghosts. Mr. Jacobs, I'd like you to come with me. Mr. Trumbauer, Miss Unamuno, we'd like for you to return to Albuquerque and resume your normal lives—with the addition of a few security men. We'll need you in a few days, but Lorobu is not a pleasant place to stay. We'll call you back when—” He stopped and tapped the folder on his desk. “I've said too much already. I'll have your car waiting outside. I apologize for any personal distress. This isn't an easy time."

“I didn't know you were a Commie,” Jacobs whispered to Trumbauer as they walked out of the office in front of Silvera.

“Oh,” Trumbauer said, “I suppose that means it's obvious I'm a fag?"

Jacobs gave him a glance of mock shock and patted him on the shoulder. “Someday I'll let you know what I am."

“I know already,” Silvera said behind them. “You're a gardener."

Miss Unamuno smiled briefly.

Psychlone

Saturday morning was bright and warm enough to require only a sweater. Suzanne put one on Tim as Rick looked on, munching a donut.

“You're feeling okay now, you're sure?"

Tim made a face. “I'm sure,” he said.

“This boy, Archie, he's a nice kid, isn't he?” Suzanne asked, fussing around his buttons. “Is he a Mormon?"

“Oh, for rice cakes, Suzie,” Rick said. “Let the boy play and have fun. We can convert him later."

“I'll sing in the choir,” Tim said, grinning.

“Right,” Rick said, pushing him gently to the door. “Just be back by lunch."

“I will.” He stood on the doorstep and saw Archie walking down the street. “There he is now. ‘Bye!” He ran across the yard, calling for his friend, one hand digging into his pants pockets.

The forty-two dollars were there, all wadded up and covered with a gum wrapper and a rubber band. He didn't know how long it would take Rick and Suzanne to notice the money was gone. He had to act fast.

He wanted to tell Archie first, though. He had to tell someone. Of course, they'd probably go to Archie when he was gone, and Archie would have to tell them. But they might guess anyway.

“Hi,” Archie said. “All ready?"

“Sure. Where?"

“There's a nice park near here. I thought we'd go over there. I know a guy works in the hot dog stand. Maybe he'll shave a couple of dimes off some drinks for us."

“Great.” They walked along the sidewalk, Tim making sure not to step on any cracks. Archie noticed—he was sharp that way, Tim decided—and laughed. “Not going to break your Mom's back, huh?"

The little ugly bastard

“My Mom's dead,” Tim said. It seemed so far away, so long gone, and it hadn't been three weeks yet. The two weeks in the hospital had taken forever. (I like him, be quiet. Not now.)

“I thought that was your Mom in the door."

“That's my Aunt ... no, I mean my sister-in-law. Archie, are you a Mormon?"

“I don't know. Dad's a Catholic, Mom's a Mormon. Every week I go to a different place. They're pretty loose about it. I guess all the Mormons think Mom is a fruitcake, and all the Catholics think Dad is. Pretty good arrangement, nobody bothers us.” Then Archie thought a moment and saw Tim's pensive look. “Gee, I'm sorry. I guess it must be pretty rough."

“Let's not talk about it, huh? I've got a secret I want to tell you. Later."

The park was busy with children and picnickers. The boys took horseshoes from a stand and played in a nearby sandpit, but neither was very good. Tim felt vaguely embarrassed. Then they climbed a tree and sat on the lower branches, flicking ants off the bark and not saying much.

“You like car models?” Archie asked.

“Sure,” Tim said. “But I like airplanes better."

“I put together customized jobs. You know, the ones that take putty and sanding and stuff."

“I tried that once, but I could never get the pits out. And besides, I'm not very good at deciding what extra piece looks good on the front, or anything."

“I suppose it takes a knack,” Archie said. “I'm still learning. I want to work in a garage when I grow up, for a little while anyway."

Jim Townsend swam briefly before Tim's eyes. The voices came up again.

Don't let him talk to you that way

What way?

“I've been thinking a lot about what I'll do when I grow up,” Tim said. “My Dad worked in a garage."

“Where did you live before you came here?"

Tim didn't answer for a moment. “A town in New Mexico,” he said finally. “But I don't really want to talk about it."

“Where will you work when you grow up?"

“I might be a policeman. They help people. They get things done."

“Naw, policemen have all sorts of trouble. My uncle is a policeman. He says they can't arrest anybody because they might get in trouble if they look at the crooks cross-eyed."

“He was probably exaggerating."

“Maybe, but I went with him once in a patrol car. He had to pick up a drunk. Geez, the guy was all scuzzy, with stuff leaking out his mouth ... yechh."

Carrying the fire

Tim remembered Kevin Land and frowned. “I knew a drunk once,” he said, trying to appease the voices. “He was just sick, that's all. He was in bad shape. My Dad rented some land to him cheap so he could live away from the streets."

“Yeah, but I wouldn't want to go around handling them all the time, anyway. So cops have to do lots of dirty things, arrest pushers and whores—"

“Whores?"

“Sure. My uncle used to work on vice."

“What was that?"

“Boy,” Archie said, sighing, “you did live in a small town, didn't you?"

“Pretty small,” Tim said softly, looking down at the ground.

“Vice is where they arrest whores and pimps and raid porno joints. They used to be able to bust porno joints all the time, but now they have their hands tied. Both Mom and Dad say it's because Satan has control of the government."

“You ever seen a whore?” Tim asked curiously.

“Naw. My uncle still gets to bust them pretty often, though."

“What do whores do?"

“Geez, you don't know? Ever watch Police Woman on TV? She gets to play whores—hookers—all the time. My Dad watches that show. Mom likes Kojak better."

“Yeah, but what do they do?"

“They let you stick it in them for money."

“Stick what?"

Archie blushed and muttered something about not asking too many questions. “Ain't you been through sex ed yet?"

“Oh,” Tim said. “That."

“Yeah, that."

“I might have known a hooker once. At least, there was talk she went out with guys for money."

“I guess every town has them.” Archie adjusted his fake foot and swung down lightly from the tree limb, dropping to the ground. Tim noticed he let his good foot take the shock.

“You're pretty handy with that thing,” Tim said, landing beside him.

“Yeah. Lots of practice. I don't want to be gimpy.” Archie walked away. Tim bent down to tie the laces on his tennis shoe.

Put him out of his misery

Then he stood up and ran after the boy. “Anybody ever razz you about being ... you know?"

“Sometimes. I just punch their lights out. You know, I can kick pretty hard with this thing, like a horse hoof. Doesn't hurt me, unless I twist the leg wrong, but it sure kicks the hell out of anyone who bugs me. Like the Bionic Man, you know?"

“Yeah.” Tim laughed.

“You like comic books?"

“Some."

“Which ones?"

“Oh, I like Superman and Batman."

“Geez, those are old!” Archie said, snickering. “You should look at the Marvel stuff."

“They're dumb,” Tim said. “Everybody talking all the time, and that idiot Spiderman."

“Some of them are pretty good, though. I read a lot of DC stuff. Ever look at Howard the Duck?"

“What?"

“It's about a talking duck, wisecracks and all sorts of stuff. Pretty good. But if my Mom knew what the duck talked about, she wouldn't let me read them. He has this girlfriend, a woman, not a duck, and he sleeps with her and everything."

“A duck, with a woman?"

“Sure."

“That's really dumb."

“Yeah, but it's funny, too."

They came to the bushy edge of the park and simultaneously ran for the playground equipment. On the swings, they tried to outdo each other. They came out even. “Ever go around all the way?” Archie asked, yelling from the peak of his swing.

“No!"

“I did, once.” Swing. “Boy, was it great!” Swing. “I almost wet my pants."

“Hey, Archie.” Swing.

“Yeah?"

“I got to—” swing—“tell you something.”

“Your secret?” Swing.

“Yeah."

“When?” Swing.

“Now.” They skidded to a stop.

“Okay. What is it?"

“I'm going to run away."

Archie looked at him as if he was crazy. “Why would you want to do that?"

“I have to. I've got some money and I'm going to the bus station. I have the schedules and everything. I can pick up a bus near the park and it'll take me to the Trailways terminal. I'm going to buy a ticket and go back to my home town."

“Geez.” Archie looked abashed. “You don't like it around here?"

“No, that isn't it. I have to."

“Why?"

“I can't tell you that."

“You know what my uncle told me about runaways? He said that they get picked up by weird guys who take them out and bugger them. Or they get hopped up on dope by some pusher and he makes them go out and steal TV sets, or do the murders for gangs because they won't get the firing squad if they're caught."

“I have to do it. It's very important. I have to talk to people."

“You going to leave today?"

Tim nodded.

“Where'd you get the money?"

“I ... you won't tell anybody?"

Archie shook his head slowly.

“I stole it. Borrowed it, really, because I'll pay it back. But I have to find out something, tell people about things. People who'll believe me."

“I don't know,” Archie said. “Maybe you shouldn't have told me."

“Why?"

“I don't want anything to happen to you. Couldn't you just stay around here and play with me? I don't have all that many friends. I can't afford for them to run away."

“I don't have any choice."

“Tim, if I let you run away, I might have to be all kinds of guilty if you get caught, or ... you know ... if somebody buggers you and strangles you. You don't know what kind of monsters are out there. My uncle warned me about some of them, but sometimes my Mom makes him shut up."

“Nothing will happen to me."

“You don't know that! Tim, I'd be awful scared for you."

“You wouldn't tell, would you?"

Awful slimy crippled bastard coward

“Geez, I don't know. I don't think it would be right to let you do something stupid like that."

“You mean you'd tell?"

“You stole the money and everything."

Tim got off the swing, fists clenched. “You'd tell?"

The eyes

Archie climbed out of the swing backward. “Tim—"

“Goddamn you to hell, you fucking little snot!”

“Hey, enough of that! Nobody talks to me that way."

“I should kick your balls in, you wretch!”

“You try and I'll put you down for the count.” Archie looked at him levelly, arms raised in defense. “What's the matter with you?"

“I have to go,” Tim said calmly.

“Okay, but you touch me with one little finger and I'll—” He hefted his fake foot and made a jabbing motion with it. “Right in the crotch. I've had to fight before."

Tim laughed. Part of it sounded like a boy, but another part was cold and distant and full of hate. “You won't tell anybody. You know where I come from?"

“I don't know, I don't care."

“Lorobu, you fucker. I survived Lorobu."

Archie's eyes widened. “I don't believe you."

“I'm the little kid left alive. I'm the one left to carry the fire for the town."

“What are you talking about?"

“I can call things down on your head you wouldn't believe.” Is that true? he asked the voices, very frightened by the words coming out of his mouth. They didn't answer.

“Yeah? Try it. I dare you.” Archie backed away. “You're crazy. Go head and run away, get buggered. See if I care."

“On your head!” Tim said coldly.

“Up yours!"

Faster than Tim could believe, he ran forward, reached out and grabbed Archie's shoulder. The blood was on his hands clear as could be. Archie's fake foot lashed out automatically and caught him in the shin. His leg exploded in pain. He raised his fist, fingernails extended.

The eyes

“You squealing asshole."

A large, gnarled hand grabbed his arm, nearly lifting him off his feet. It was a tall, stocky old man in gray overalls. “What's the matter with you, kid?"

“Let me go,” Tim said slowly, looking directly into the man's tired green eyes. He tried to kick him but the old man hefted him away just in time to leave his foot flailing.

“He's crazy!” Archie said. “He just went nuts!"

“Where do you live?"

“I know where he lives,” Archie said.

“I'm going to call the cops and have them take you home right now."

“I'll kill you,” Tim said. “I'll make your skin fall off and your guts hang out. They'll get even for what you did. What all of you did."

“Who's that, kid?” The old man's nostrils were flaring. “You,” he said to Archie, “go over to the superintendent's booth—the equipment place—and have him call the cops. Tell him where this boy lives, too."