Darkly The Thunder (28 page)

“You just left her there to die?” Sand asked softly.

“Please!” Jeffery screamed. “Yes! I know it was wrong. But we were drunk and scared and . . . didn't know what to do.”

“Good God,” Morg said. “Robin never hurt nobody in her whole entire life.”

“That is truth,” the Force whispered. “She is good in heart and thought. She has been judged thusly.”

Sand squatted in front of Jeffery. His only emotions were fire and ice and steel. The music began.

The Force whispered, “You know what you came to do.”

Sand jacked back the hammer on the .45 auto and shot Alan Jeffery in the face, the slug hitting him just above the nose, tearing out the back of his skull. Jeffery fell through the shattered wall, one foot catching on a hole in the floor. He dangled headfirst.

“Excellent. Very good,” the Force said. “Everything is on schedule.”

“We're on a timetable?” Morg asked.

“Certainly. Everyone is. The list of names is very long. Every time some medical breakthrough occurs, it really throws us off.”

Sand looked at Morg. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Jane's waitin' for me.”

“Not . . . exactly,” the Force said. “But it can all be worked out to everyone's satisfaction, I'm sure.”

They headed for the frat house, the dark shape of the Force sitting in the back seat of the Mercury, complaining about the quality of the rock and roll music pushing out of the hi-fi speakers.

Only a handful of young men were in the frat house. They were herded to the basement. The walls were thick and windowless. Morg had cut the telephone wires from the outside.

Lenton, Murphy, Marlson, and Branon stood together. All of them were trembling from fear.

“Alexander and Center,” Sand said. “Where are they?”

“They had dates in Willowdale. They were sleeping over.” The young man's eyes were on the big .45 in Sand's hand.

“They better not run into Carl Lee,” Sand told him.

“I know a secret,” the whisper came, echoing around the basement.

Sand knew then that Carl had found Alexander and Center.

“My God!” a young man said. “What is that . . . that
shape
over there in the corner?”

“Only the Shadow knows,” the Force whispered, then chuckled.

Sand's eyes touched all the young men, lingering on Marlson. “Allen Jeffery told me what happened. I didn't like the ending. I killed him about an hour ago. You boys tell me your version. I might like it better.”

He looked at the frat brothers standing apart from Marlson and his bunch. “You're all liars. Everyone of you. You lied to protect Halsey after he killed Jesse last year. You lied to protect those who killed Reb and raped Gloria. And now I find you bastards lied to protect those who killed my wife. I should kill every goddamned one of you.”

“No,” the Force said. “That would be a mark against you. You do not need another.”

“Sand!” a college student said. “Don't do this.”

The room seemed to shift.

“You know, man,” Morg said, leaning up against a wall. “I feel really weird. Like a part of me is gone from my body.”

“Yes,” Sand said. “I felt it leaving.”

“That is truth,” the Force spoke. “Your fate is settled. Your life's clock has stopped for you both.” It chuckled. “Among others in this dingy room.”

A frat boy fainted.

“No shit!” Morg said. “Outta sight.”

“Bill, you said we wouldn't get caught!” Lenton cried.

“Shut up, you fool!” Marlson screamed.

Lenton pointed a shaking finger at Marlson. “It was all his idea. He did it all.”

“Liar!” Marlson screamed. “You all helped me fix the brakes on the Jew-boy's car. You all took part in kicking Robin on that hill.”

Sand leveled the .45. “Tell it all, Lenton.”

He told it all in a shaking voice. With much more brevity than Jeffery. But it was as Jeffery had said.

“Sand,” an older student said. “Don't do this. All right, we were wrong. I'll admit that to the police, and take whatever punishment the courts hand us. But don't do this.”

“Fuck you, boy,” Sand told him.

“For such an intelligent and usually grammatically correct young man,” the whisper came, “you certainly do retreat to the gutters in times of stress.”

“I suppose all that will change shortly?” Sand asked.

“We shall try.”

Sand shot Lenton in the knee, knocking the young man off his bare feet. Calmly, he shifted the muzzle and shot Branon in the stomach. He allowed them both to thrash in agony on the floor before shooting them in the head. He pulled the trigger twice on Murphy, tearing great holes in his stomach.

The stench in the basement was foul.

Marlson slobbered down the front of his T-shirt.

“Jesus God, Sand!” a student cried. “This is barbaric. You don't want justice. You want revenge!”

Sand laughed at him; a bitter bark that was void of humor. “Revenge? You bet your silly asses I want revenge. You arrogant bastards – all of you – helped destroy everything I loved in this world. And you sons of bitches did it deliberately. You stripped me bare, and now you have the nerve to talk about justice?
Justice!
None of you know the meaning of the word. Courts of law? Shit! Would those guilty have suffered like my wife, like Reb, like Gloria or Boom Boom or Joey and Tuddie? No. And you all know that.” He held up the .45. “This is justice.”

He shoved the .45 behind his belt and took out a heavy knife from his jacket pocket. “And this is justice,” he added, opening the blade. “Shoot anybody who moves, Morg.”

“Gotcha, man.”

Sand walked to Marlson and faced him. “Marlson, since you're so proud of your pecker, I'm going to give it to you. You can have your mother put it up in a Mason Jar.”

“No!” Marlson screamed.

The whispering Force became a howling.

Sand knocked Marlson down and kicked him into moaning submission. He looked up at the knot of badly frightened frat boys . . . who only wanted justice.

“If you boys act quickly, Marlson will live. And I want him to live a long, long time. I want him to remember me for the rest of his miserable, worthless, lying life.”

The beast within and without roared as Sand's knife flashed, dripping crimson.

The screen on the TV set went dark and Watts stood up. Sand, are you going to finish it this night? he projected.

Pestered?

“Pestered?” Megan questioned, after Watts had briefed them all. “What does he mean?”

“I don't know. I guess you people will find that out when you get there.”

She touched his arm. You and Mack haven't changed your minds, Colonel?”

“No.” He smiled at her. “You better get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy, busy day.”

UP, UP, UP, PEOPLE! Fury woke them all at dawn. WE'VE GOT A LOT OF WORK TO DO. HUP TWO THREE FOUR. MARCH, MARCH, AROUND THE FLOOR. GET THAT BLOOD CIRCULATING.

“Do we get to eat breakfast before you start cracking the bullwhips?” Gordie asked.

THAT'S NOT A BAD IDEA, GUNFIGHTER. THIRTY LASHES MIGHT HELP STRAIGHTEN YOU RIGHT UP. OH, GO ON AND EAT. I WAS JUST HAVING SOME FUN.

“He's gone,” Howie called. “Back to the mountain.”

“Major,” Gordie said. “Right after we eat, start planting the rest of those explosives that you can detonate electronically. We can have that much done. Lee, start soaking those piles of tires with kerosene. Al, you and Mack can start placing fire bombs around some of the older houses. The rest of us will be burning bodies.”

They worked until noon, with Fury popping up every now and then to inspect their work.

“You have any objections to us breaking for lunch?” Gordie asked.

NOT A BIT, BOY SCOUT. ARE YOU GETTING ANY CLOSER TO A DECISION?

“Yes, we are. We'll vote this evening after work. Are you going to allow us a secret ballot, or will you be snooping around?”

UMM. OH, VERY WELL. WHEN YOU KNOCK OFF FROM WORK, I WILL LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR ONE HALF HOUR TO EXERCISE YOUR DEMOCRATIC PROCESS.

“We're almost finished with this sector. We'll probably work late this evening. If that's all right with you.”

THAT'S JUST PEACHY WITH ME. SINCE YOU PEOPLE ARE GOING TO BE SPENDING HUNDREDS OF YEARS IN THIS PIGSTY – SERVING ME – I WANT IT AS CLEAN AS POSSIBLE.

“You shall certainly have everything wiped clean, Fury. I promise you a place befitting a being of your caliber.”

Sunny looked up at that and could not hide her smile.

GOOD. YOU'RE LEARNING YOUR PLACE WELL. SEE YOU LATER, ALLIGATOR. DO BOP DE DO BOP DE DO BOP, DE DO.

“Insufferable asshole,” Gordie muttered. “Let's break for lunch, people.”

 

 

The government people had already begun packing up equipment and moving out, a few at a time. The preachers continued to rant and rave, the reporters continued to ask questions of anyone they could corner, and the police had been forced to close down any roads leading into the area for as far out as fifty miles. The area simply could not sustain any more people.

“Leave these temporary quarters, Larry,” Martin ordered. “Leave the portable toilets and anything else that might draw attention to our pulling out.”

“The bomber is fully fueled, and the crew is awaiting orders to arm the weapon, sir.”

“That's up to the president, Larry. That is his decision and his alone.”

“Sir, do you believe President Marshall will really level with the people of the world about this matter?”

Martin sighed. Thought for a moment. “I don't know, Larry. ”Like an attorney, he'll try to be as honest as he can be.”

“That's an ... interesting reply, sir.”

“Quite.”

 

 

President Marshall had canceled all appointments, clearing the day and night. At 2030 hours, the president knew his life would be forever changed, altered as surely as the valley where the neutron bomb would explode at near ground level.

He decided he would try to take a nap. There damn sure would be no sleep tonight.

 

 

“Megan,” Howie said. “I've been doing some computations, and I'm not at all sure I like what I've found.”

“Explain, Howie.” She sat down beside him.

“We know that Fury thrives on the souls of the just-departed. We know that it's been doing that since the beginnings of time. What we don't know is what forms it ingested in other worlds, and in earlier times here on earth.”

“I'm ... not sure I'm following you, Howie.”

“The neutron bomb will destroy the bulk of the energy mass. It will not destroy it completely. And we don't know, none of us, in here and outside, not the smartest scientists in all the world, what changes these two clashes are going to produce. See what I'm getting at?”

“Are you talking about some metamorphosis; energy into . . . whatever?”

“Yes.”

“My God, Howie. I haven't given that any thought.”

“Neither did I, not until this morning. But it's frightening. The impact of two large energy masses – one an unknown factor – could spin off . . . ” He shrugged his shoulders. “Anything.”

“Are you suggesting,” Megan spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully, “that since the Fury is made up of once-living souls, or still-living souls, the clash might produce some form of life that could exist . . . once more. I mean, like us?”

“Yes. It's possible, I think. And it would be quite a danger to us all.”

“Have you discussed this theory with anyone?”

“My CIA contact up north of here.”

“Your . . . CIA contact?”

“Yes. He's quite a nice fellow. Major Jackson okayed the link for me.”

Megan left the computer room, shaking her head. The CIA never missed a bet.

The major and the others had returned from their work. Gordie walked over to him. “Everything go?”

“Ready to pop.”

Watts said, “Joey just spoke to me. He's ready to wrap this up so we can store the final tapes. Gather around. But I warn you, it isn't pretty. I know. I was there.”

 

OUT OF TIME

 

Captain Al Watts was at the state patrol barracks ten minutes after receiving the call. Some campers had heard the shot and had investigated, finding Alan Jeffery. They had hiked out and called the state police.

Sand and Morg had been spotted, each in their own vehicle, driving aimlessly in the mountains.

“They're not driving aimlessly,” Watts said, a grim expression on his face. “They're letting me have time to get ready. They'll head for Thunder Mountain.”

“Why there, Captain?”

“Why not? They have nothing to lose now. Sand is telling us to come and get him. Goddamnit!” he cursed.

“Four college boys dead. Another with his privates cut off. God, what a bloody night.”

“How is the Marlson punk?” Watts asked.

“He's going to live. But he doesn't have any equipment left.”

“Good,” Watts said. “The son of a bitch won't be able to sire any like him.”

“We got more troubles,” a trooper said, entering the room. “Carl Lee was spotted about one hour ago, getting gas. He had two German Lugers stuck in his belt. Then he was seen following two college boys pretty close. They looked scared. Carl looked grim.”

“Names of the boys?” Watts asked, quickly putting it all together.

“We think they're Alexander and Center.”

“Get some people on it,” Watts ordered.

“Captain?” another trooper stuck his head into the room. “The hospital just called. Judge Wentworth and the D.A. were just admitted to the emergency room. Both men have been stomped and it was Carl Lee who did the stomping. I guess he's getting back at them for all the times they refused to indict and prosecute those Monte Rio shits. And for the times they hassled Sand. The judge is in bad shape.”

“Goddamnit!” Watts hollered. “Where the hell is the sheriff?”

“The sheriff took off for Denver about two hours ago. His deputies have cleared out. They're running scared, now that Sand has flipped out.”

“With good reason,” Watts said. “All the times they applied a double standard of law enforcement. All right, roll every man.” He walked to his office and got his rifle. “Are the roadblocks in place?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, boys. Let's stop Sand and Morg.”

“Shoot to kill, Captain?”

Watts gripped his .30-06. “Yes. I somehow always knew it would come to this; felt it would. Sand was a genius; Morg was a genuine national hero. Something ... somebody, has to take part of the blame for what has happened, and will happen. But, I suppose as badge-toters it isn't our position to analyze or criticize the present mores of society, is it, Sergeant?”

The sergeant wasn't really sure what Watts was talking about. “Ah ... I guess not, sir. Sir, you used the past tense talking about Sand and Morg.”

Watts sighed heavily. He looked as though he had aged ten years in one hour. “Yes, I did. Sand told me just a few hours ago that I would soon Know, Kill, and Create. Very well.
I know
that much of what has occurred and will occur is not altogether the fault of Sand, I suppose that I will be the one to
kill
Sand. But what am I
creating?”

The sergeant didn't know it at the time, but he was being very profound when he replied, “A legend, sir.”

 

 

Sand took Morg back to his customized hearse, and they both headed for Thunder Mountain. Both now knew why that had to be. They took high risks when they discovered the roads were blocked off to traffic and that they were in no danger of killing some innocent. They laughed grimly at the gods of fate and chance. They took mountain curves at speeds no other hot-rodder had ever done – and lived to tell about it.

Morg pulled up alongside Sand and yelled over the rush of wind and roar of engines, “I'm goin‘ out first, Sand. See you, pal!”

Sand laughed with the now constant Force and lifted one gloved hand in a final salute.

Watts and his troopers intercepted the hot-rodders at a roadblock just inside Blue Smoke Valley. The hot-rodders went through the blockade at eighty miles per hour, sending troopers scattering for cover as the wooden sawhorses were splintered and tossed high into the air.

“Fire!” Watts yelled. The rifle slammed his shoulder and bucked in his hands.

The night rocked with muzzle blasts.

“I'm hit!” Morg yelled, losing control of his hearse. He went over the high side, shouting as he went down. Not a cry of fear, but a shout of defiance, directed at a world that does not care nor attempt to understand the nonconformist; to a society that decorates genuine heroes and then refuses to associate with them; to a society that would prefer a nation of clones, patterned after a very narrow concept of right and wrong, dress codes, social behavior, and arrogance.

The polished hearse sailed through the air, headlights blazing, spinning in crazy space as Morg held on, laughing as he experienced his last ride. The tank exploded on contact with the rocky canyon floor, and Morg got his wish: he met Jane.

Sand had slowed, spun around, and stopped, watching as his friend met what he had been born to meet. He got out of his car and watched the flames far below him. He could not see Watts raise his rifle.

“Are you ready?” The Force asked.

A line from Kipling came to Sand. “God help us,” he spoke to the night. “For we knew the worst too young.”

“Yes,” the Force agreed. “But you also knew the best, and were able to see the middle ground and the flaws in what your world calls justice. And that is an accomplishment that few are able to achieve.”

“Didn't help me much, did it?”

“Your contribution is still years away. Are you ready?”

“I'm ready.”

Watts shot him twice, in the stomach and in the shoulder, knocking him down on the road. Sand staggered to his boots and reached his Mercury. He dropped it into gear and roared out, tires smoking. He floored the gas pedal, tearing through the night, heading for Thunder Mountain, climbing upward. The pain from his wounds sent brilliantly flashing lights through his head.

So this is how it feels to die.

He didn't care. Up the lower slopes of the mountain, faster and faster and higher and higher. He weaved from side to side in the gravel road.

“Do it!” the Force commanded.

Sand spun the wheel to the left and went over the side. The Mercury impacted with earth and sent him flying through the windshield. He landed on his chest and belly, one leg bent under him. He heard ribs crack and a leg pop as he hit the rocky ground. Sand lost consciousness for a few moments.

When the blackness lifted, he lay still for a moment, disoriented in his pain. His nose and mouth were smashed and bloody. He ran his tongue over broken stubs of teeth. He was so confused that for a moment he thought that he was on his honeymoon with Robin, in Key West. He called for her. Something began shimmering far above him; but only silence answered his summons. He could hear sirens below him.

Reality stuck him hard with hot agony. Fighting the pain, Sand began climbing and crawling toward the shimmering lights far up the mountain. He used the powerful muscles in his arms to pull himself upward.

After several minutes of painful climbing, he stopped and looked down the mountain. Men and lights moved below him. Death circled below him, death circled above him. The shimmering shapes were closer. Sand shivered, as if the icy finger of the reaper had lightly touched him.