Domino Falls (10 page)

Piranha glanced up at him, wiped a fleck of food from his chin. His eyes looked like a baptism of fire. He needed a doctor. Piranha leaned closer, whispered in his ear. “I'm going. Drop it.”

His whisper drew stares from the Twins. Piranha squirmed when the others' eyes were on him. “Mind your own business,” he told the table.

“You're a lot of fun when you're like this,” Sonia said sarcastically. Piranha concentrated on his food, ignoring her. Sonia's ears turned pink with irritation.

Terry wanted to say
His eyes are hurting,
but if Piranha hadn't told the others, even Sonia, he thought he had a good reason. The mayor had told them point-blank that Threadville
didn't welcome the halt and the lame. Terry was sure that was why Piranha wanted to go scavenging.

But if Piranha couldn't see, he might get someone killed. Like . . . Terry, for instance.

“I won't go,” Terry said quietly.

“Then don't,” Piranha said.

Van Peebles vaulted onstage, breathing hard from the display's exertion. He reminded Terry of his high school principal before the pep rallies, trying to rouse them into a cheer. “We've had another day of life, folks!” he said.

“Still here!” the crowd hooted in unison, a practiced custom. The room thundered with applause. No one took a day of life for granted. There were a few scattered
amen
s.

“We'll have announcements and open mic in a few,” Van Peebles said, “but right now we have a few words from the Man himself. Author, director, actor, and savior of Domino Falls, California . . . Joseph ‘Josey' Wales!”

Sonia's eyes widened. “He's here?” she whispered. She sat ramrod straight, searching for him.

The room applauded, although not as loudly. The Threadies rose to their feet, but everyone else stayed seated. As Terry had thought, about half were townies. A group of girls in the corner chanted,
“Threads, threads, threads!”
in quick unison, and then fell silent. Josey Wales might be the most famous person left in California, Terry thought. But in the old world, he might have been bumped off
Celebrity Rehab
by Zeppo Baldwin.

“He looks so much better in person,” Sonia said, mostly to herself.

He did look like a movie star, Terry had to admit. The man who walked to the stage was in his late fifties, maybe sixties, a little chunky, but he had a deep tan and a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair he kept gelled in place—the kind of grooming that
took time. Or a good rug. His gut sagged, but he had a movie star's klieg-light smile.

Three Gold Shirts flanked the stage near Terry. Were the Gold Shirts the town's security force, or Wales's? Or both?

“Folks,” Wales said, hands up, bringing the crowd to silence, “you're not here for speeches, but we have twenty-two newcomers since I talked to you last—a crop of seven young people popped in just yesterday. I understand a couple of 'em can really shoot.”

He nodded toward their table, and Terry felt the eyes of the room on them like a warm spotlight, and people applauded. Darius and Dean waved, and three boys cheered. Even Ursalina smiled. Wales's spotlight was a bright one. Terry had never heard a room clap for
him.

“We are
so
in,” Ursalina murmured.

“I love this place,” Sonia whispered.

Kendra looked like she was still making up her mind about Wales. She leaned closer to study his every word and gesture.

“Old friends.” Wales raised an imaginary glass. “We've had another week, and grow stronger every day. For my new friends, welcome to Domino Falls, California. We're one of fifteen surviving townships we know of in the western United States, and there are probably more out there, just lyin' low. You could take your chances on the road or some of you will stay with us. Let's get to know each other and see if we can make a home together. The world gets rebuilt one family at a time.”

The crowd hooted. Terry noticed he'd called the town Domino Falls, not Threadville. And he wasn't pushing his Threads philosophies at dinner.

“Did you hear that?” Kendra said. “Fifteen townships.” But what if Threadville was as good as it got?

Terry watched the families that were barely listening,
completely at ease while they ate and spoke in low tones. The longtimers were simply living their lives of hot food, running water, and soft beds. The novelty had worn off.

“One thing: if you're new, please come on out to the ranch. I built it to share—anyone who knows me knows that. Take a look around the grounds. Pick up some of our literature . . .”

The hard sell, right on schedule.

Wales gave a parting grin. “Take a look at us. And let us take a look at you. Oh! And folks, don't forget next week's Christmas parade—” He had raised his arm midway for his good-bye wave when a man's voice boomed from the dining hall's doorway.

“I want to see my daughter,” he said. “Please let me see her.”

His voice was loud, but his tone was gentle. Pleading.

Van Peebles looked embarrassed, jumping to the stage and standing in front of Wales as if the man had pulled a gun. “No one's keeping you from Sissy,” he said, looking pained. “We've been through this, Brian. I'm a father too—I know how you feel—but Sissy wants something different. You know this isn't the time—”

The dinner crowd stirred, restless. “Leave it alone, Brownie!” a woman called.

The patient smile never left Wales's face as he watched it all unfold.

Kendra was disappointed. She'd just started to think maybe . . . just
maybe.

Now real life was creeping inside the dream, pulling up the pretty rugs. This problem with Brownie was giving her a stomachache, as if she'd just feasted on stolen food. The man
was standing erect, a SF Giants baseball cap politely held across his chest. A grown man was near tears, begging to see his daughter.

Brownie spoke slowly, like a tourist who hoped the locals would magically comprehend English if he slowed his speech. “I just want to talk to my little girl.”

“That's no little girl!” a man called from the back, and a few men laughed. Brownie stood stoically, ignoring it all, trying to catch Wales's eyes. Van Peebles bobbed his head between them.

“My office, Brian,” Van Peebles said. “Not here.”

“I just want five minutes.”

“Brownie?” Van Peebles said gently. He gestured with his eyebrows, and Kendra noticed the Gold Shirts sidling up to him on either side of the hall.

The air crackled. In that instant, something terrible was poised to reveal itself. Then Brownie nodded and turned away, leaving the hall with loud, solitary footsteps in the room's silence. The skin on the back of Kendra's neck itched.

Kendra whispered to Terry. “That was . . .”

“Don't worry about it,” he said, cutting her off. She was annoyed, but his pointed gaze told her he merely didn't want to be overheard.

Wales went back to the mic, waving. “Enjoy Nettie's chicken! Good night!”

Like nothing had happened. Or like it happened all the time.

A spattering of applause, although Brownie had changed the mood.

Kendra kept studying Wales and his smile, looking for signs of anger as he walked down the stage steps, came close to their table almost as if he meant to greet them . . . and walked past, unruffled.

Sonia leaped up, blocking Wales's path. A Gold Shirt walking
behind Wales moved as if to touch Sonia, but Wales winked at him and gave a subtle shake of his head. Sonia looked oblivious to everything except Wales's face.

Sonia awkwardly held up her hand to shake Wales's, but he raised it and gave the back of her hand a polite peck. Clark Gable style. Sonia blushed.

“I've seen all your movies,” Sonia said. “You have no idea. I still have my
Better Thread Than Dead
button in my locker.” Her eyes defocused with sudden remembrance. “I mean . . . I used to.”

Sonia had transformed into someone unrecognizable. Wales eyed her carefully.

“Your name, young lady?”

“Sonia,” she said. “Sonia Petansu.”

Wales looked at the closest Gold Shirt. “Did you get that?” he said.

“Yessir,” the Gold Shirt said. “Sonia P. with the Washington crew.”

Wales still held her hand, lingering. “Be sure you come to the ranch, Sonia.”

“I wouldn't miss it.”

When Wales woke from a kind of momentary daze, he gestured to the table. “Bring your friends. We love new people. You're all welcome.”

This time he stared squarely at Kendra, and his charisma jolted her like static electricity. The power of his eyes startled her. His eyes were like a laser light portal that made his features exotic. Warmth rushed to her face.
What the
—

Wales went past them to the next admirer on the way to the door.

“I may never wash this hand again,” Sonia said.

“That was pathetic,” Piranha said. “You were drooling.”

“What do
you
care?” Sonia said.

Kendra felt Terry watching her, but she avoided looking at him. She didn't want Terry to see any sign of Wales's appeal in her face. She was already embarrassed enough.

“He's got a dozen just like you back at the ranch,” Piranha said.

“You don't know a damned thing about him,” Sonia snapped. Piranha and Sonia usually hid their arguments. Maybe it would be harder for them to stay together now that they had other choices. Would that be true with her and Terry too?

“And one last thing, 'fore I forget,” the mayor's voice rang from speakers. “Let's give a warm welcome to our visiting traders from Santa Cruz Island, off Santa Barbara. They've hauled us building supplies and lots of other goodies you'll want to take a look at. Next three days, they've set up camp out by the old thrift shop on Washburn.”

A man in rumpled clothes at a table near theirs waved his hand. Santa Barbara was in Southern California, Kendra remembered. That must be close to Devil's Wake! Grandpa Joe used to say that when God closes one door, he opens another.

Kendra jumped up. She'd had her eye on another drumstick, but food could wait.

“Where are you going?” Terry said.

“I have to hear about Devil's Wake,” she said.

She went to the islander's table. He was thin-faced and professional, like a college music teacher. His upper lip had been smashed sometime in the recent past, and he was missing fragments of his front teeth. Other than that, he looked fine after his trip.

She introduced herself.

“David Crisp,” he said. “Nice to shake hands and use manners again.”

“What have you heard about Devil's Wake?” she said. “It's an island.”

He nodded. “Sure. Hard to get in—they're at capacity, or near it. We're not built up like they are.”

Kendra's heart bounded. “It's not just . . . a myth?”

Crisp shook his head. “It's as real as Domino Falls, although I'd never get a dinner invitation there. Wish I could. On an island, you don't need the fences. It's a fortress.”

Kendra felt as if a stone had rolled off her heart. She suddenly imagined herself back in the truck with Grandpa Joe, seeing his frightened eyes as he told her to go to Devil's Wake. Grandpa Joe seemed to be standing beside her again.

“I have an aunt there,” Kendra said. A great-aunt, actually, but the details were none of his business. “My grandfather said she can get us sanctuary.”

Again, he nodded. “They take care of their own,” Crisp said. “To a fault, some of us say. Hell, put in a good word for Donald Crisp. C-R-I-S-P.”

“And . . . my friends?”

He shrugged. “Depends. Some they let in, some they don't. Their reasons don't always make sense.” He thought of an idea. “But they broadcast on 3950 kilohertz. Try to talk to them. Can't hurt. Be sure you know your kin's name.”

Kendra had forgotten that her heart could race with joy and excitement, not just fear. She didn't remember meeting her great-aunt, but she was a piece of her family left behind. She had memories Kendra wanted to learn, or no one would be left to put the pieces of her family's story together.

Devil's Wake was real! The possibilities left Kendra speechless.

“Thanks, sir,” Terry said, steering Kendra away from the table while the man repeated his campsite's location. “I don't know what that look on your face means,” Terry told her, “but
it's not that easy, Kendra. We don't know if we have a bus yet. And even if we did . . . that's a long way down.”

“I have to talk to them,” Kendra said. “Right now.”

Terry looked flustered, but he trailed after her as she searched the crowd.

“Who are you looking for?” he said.

Kendra almost didn't know. Her plan was formulating by itself. “The mayor,” she said. “I need a shortwave. He said to ask him any questions.”

Van Peebles was standing over the dessert table, picking over the last crumbs in a pie tin. Kendra wasn't as brazen as Sonia, but she put on a bright smile when she reached him. He looked delighted to see her.

“Having a good time?” Van Peebles said.

“Very much,” Kendra said, remembering Sonia's charm. Smiling a bit longer.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I need a shortwave,” she said. When he asked why, she told him. Would he try to keep her from communicating with the outside?

Van Peebles didn't hesitate or blink. “Few of those in town,” he said. “Closest one's the gas station. They might let you use it, might not.”

T
he
mom-and-pop Arco station was a block's walk south. It was after dark, but a man was lighting the lamps and a few people were still outside, men and women. Citizens Patrol teams strolled the streets, recognizable from their powerful flashlights. A sole Gold Shirt astride a horse passed at a steady clip, another guardian. Despite the incident at dinner, Threadville seemed a safe place to walk after dark.