Footprints of Thunder (24 page)

Terry flipped through the book again to a chapter called “Extinct?” A highlighted section described a fish called a “coelacanth” caught in a fisherman’s net off the coast of South America. The 120-pound armored fish was half-fish and half-land animal, and thought to be extinct for seventy-five million years.

Terry flipped through the pages to other highlighted sections on Sasquatch sightings in the Pacific Northwest, yeti sightings in Tibet, and dinosaur sightings in Africa. A big section was devoted to things falling from the sky. Fish, frogs, seeds, ice, and rocks have fallen out of a blue sky and pelted people and homes. In Singapore on the morning of February 16, 1861, fish had poured from the sky and the Chinese and Malays had collected hundreds of pounds in baskets. Terry jumped over reports of fish falls in 1920, 1941, and 1968 to a similar report from Kamilla, India, in 1975, when thousands of sardine-size fish poured out of the sky. In this report the fish were dried.

Probably the strangest story told of a group of archaeologists working in the Egyptian desert who were found in the shambles of their camp, dead. They had been drowned. No one could explain how the archaeologists and their workers had drowned in the middle of the desert. There were no signs of foul play, and obviously there wasn’t enough water to drown in.

Terry found himself peculiarly attracted to the stories in the book. They had the same kind of appeal that had brought people into freak shows for centuries, and took them to slasher movies today. The excitement wasn’t in seeing someone merely killed, but in seeing someone killed in an unusual way.

Despite his affinity for the book and its stories, Terry could not see the common thread that tied the stories together. Spontaneous combustion, Big Foot, and prehistoric fish added up to nothing but a waste of time.

Terry put the book back on the shelf and looked through the stacks of papers and other books. An overstuffed file of newspaper clippings next to the computer told stories similar to those in the books on the shelf. The first was only two paragraphs long, describing a woman walking down a street in Seattle. A man passed her in the other direction. Suddenly there was a “whoosh” and a “pop” and when the woman turned around the man was on fire. Not just flickering with flames, but a human torch that burned so hot the body was nearly consumed. Terry immediately remembered the old woman burned in her room, but still could not see the significance of these events. The next clipping was of an event in Hiroshima, Japan. Several people in a park repotted a strange shower of flowers. Not just a few, but thousands; they fell in torrents, burying a woman and a child. Something about the event suddenly tickled Terry’s mind, but Bill interrupted his thoughts. “I can’t make heads or tails out of this. Let’s go.” Terry started toward the door but Bill began taking the computer apart and putting the pieces into a computer pack—the monitor, the keyboard, and the mouse. There was no place for the hard drive, so Bill stacked it on top of the pack. Then he noticed Terry watching.

“Don’t stand there, Terry. Gather up anything and everything.”

Not certain enough to resist Bill, Terry gathered up the file folder with the clippings, then the books, using Kenny’s bedspread to make a sack. Bill followed his example, and they filled a bedspread, a blanket, and a sheet. When Terry reached up for the last of the books, he noticed a jar at the end of the shelf. He picked it up and shook it. It was full of dried corn.

When Terry and Bill left, dragging their improvised bags behind them, Terry, guilt-ridden, knew Bill felt like they had accomplished something, but Terry was sure only that they had just burgled Kenny Randall’s room.

As planned, Angie and Ellen were in the coffee shop. Ellen’s face told Terry something was wrong before his wife blurted it out.

“We’ve got to get home, Terry. We’ve got to find John.”

“What is it, Ellen? What’s happened to John?”

“Maybe nothing. I don’t know, but Portland is gone.”

24. Rogues’ Gallery

He was found on the piaza in Mexico City, dressed in his resplendent uniform and carrying a strange gun. He was very confused and thought he was in Manila, Philippines. He said he was looking for the governor’s palace, to which he had been posted that morning. We were later to confirm he was telling the truth. In what manner he was so instantly transported no one has yet to explain.

—
Mexico City, October 1593

Washington, D.C.

PostQuilt: Sunday, 1:40
P.M.
EST

E
lizabeth’s organizational instincts expanded well beyond the President’s needs, and it was no surprise to Nick when she presented him with a schedule of activities. He was only mildly irritated by Elizabeth’s intrusion. Nick admitted to himself he was stumbling blindly.

He had accessed the PresNet, the computer network of presidential science advisors. PresNet was Dr. Gogh’s achievement. One of his strengths was in organization. He’d managed to negotiate an appropriation out of Congress to fund his dream. Using the prestige of the White House, and the money from Congress, he’d recruited a far-flung group of scientists from all disciplines to serve as the “President’s Science Advisor Associates.” The networked scientists received the prestige of being part of an elite group, state-of-the-art computer equipment, and perceived access to the White House. More practically they received unlimited database access, on-line supercomputer time, and the means to communicate with colleagues across the country through the sophisticated computer network.

Nick guessed that Gogh never imagined the network would be used in the way Nick was using it. Unfortunately, big chunks of the network were down, and those coming on-line were seeking as much information as they were providing.

The few on the network reported that physical changes had been wrought, apparently instantly, in widespread parts of the country, with no obvious connection. Nick had two assistants working on assessing the amount of affected acreage, and once he had enough data, patterns might present themselves, and theories could be generated. At least that was the idea. But the only pattern Nick could discern was no pattern.

There were now “confirmed” reports of changes in other parts of the world, including Russia. Cannon had sent over these new reports with a note emphasizing that “only confirmed reports were reliable and only these reports should be shared with the President.” Nick wondered what criteria the CIA used to decide if a report was “confirmed”? Three reliable witnesses ? Ten ? Did one of them have to be a CIA agent ? N ick also had a copy of the administration’s policy on leaking information and an admonition to keep the Security Council discussions to himself. The note ended with Cannon’s scrawled signature and a handwritten note stating, “we still have no confirmed reports of dinosaurs.”

The schedule Elizabeth imposed on Nick was grueling. She checked with Nick on the hour to see if he had a solution to the problem yet, and at the same time scheduled a series of interviews for him with people who claimed to know what was going on. The list included three psychics who had predicted cataclysmic events, two religious fanatics from cults that preached the end of the world, and a man who had been arrested in front of the Capitol Building for taking off his clothes and masturbating. He later explained that the masturbation symbolized what was soon to happen to the world. Nick thought about it but could see no connection between a public orgasm and time displacement. The last person on the list was a college kid who had been arrested for holding tourists hostage in a cave put in Oregon. He too had anticipated the end of the world.

Each of Elizabeth’s rogues’ gallery had an individual file. Nick thumbed through them and whistled silently through his teeth. The psychics each had a thick bundle of papers, including faxed air force reports. “Why would the air force keep files on psychics?” Nick wondered. The religious fanatics had FBI files and the masturbator a thick police record. The college kid’s file was empty except for a note saying an air force colonel and a psychologist were bringing him out from Oregon. Now that was curious, Nick thought. A psychologist and a colonel; not a lieutenant, or a sergeant, but a colonel! Nick put the kid’s file to the bottom and prepared himself to meet “Madame Sylvia.”

Madame Sylvia was large but not fat—instead, what Nick’s mother liked to call “big boned.” Her hair was a mass of dyed brown ringlets. Fond of makeup, Madame Sylvia used it generously. She was also delighted at being called to the White House. Madame Sylvia’s file noted she had a contract with a supermarket tabloid. Nick could only guess what a White House summons would do for its circulation.

“I understand you predicted the world would end?” Nick probed gently.

“I predicted catastrophe, not an end.”

“An end to the world as we know it.”

“The world as you know it. I am part of a greater world,” Madame Sylvia announced loftily.

“A different world than this?” Nick inquired.

“This world is part of a greater world. The essence of my being is part of the greater consciousness that is the spiritual fabric of the universe.”

“Is that what allows you to see the future?”

“It is an explanation your mind can grasp?”

“But not all of your predictions have come true, have they?”

“True. My physical self clouds my vision. Once I am released from my body I will see with perfect clarity.”

Nick thumbed through the file and pulled out a three-month-old tabloid clipping listing Madame Sylvia’s predictions for the next six months. Elizabeth, or someone, had circled one in red: “Earthquakes, floods, and storms will wreak unprecedented havoc.”

“Can you tell me more about this?” Nick asked politely.

“New York is gone. There are floods, landslides, hurricanes, tornadoes. These are the catastrophes I predicted and they have come true.”

Nick was surprised to hear her say New York was gone. The last Nick had heard the media people were still calling it a blackout. He made a mental note to check Cable Network News.

“What is the source of these catastrophes? Why did they happen all at once and why now?”

“It is part of a larger plan. A plan I cannot explain in terms you could understand.”

Nick dug deeper into the pile.

“I see you predicted cataclysms six … no, seven times in the past three years. In the last five years you also predicted contact with aliens three times, two presidential assassinations, that California would slide into the sea, and that cancer would be cured … you predicted that four times.”

“As I told you, my vision is sometimes clouded.”

“That physical-self problem?”

“Exactly.”

“Thank you for coming.”

The religious fanatic was next, painfully thin with a pinched, lined face and dark emotionless eyes.

“Mr. Love? Is that your real name?”

“That is the name I received upon sanctification. Jesus gave it to me,” Mr. Love intoned.

“It’s a
good
name. Why did you think the world was going to end?”

“Jesus told me. In a vision.”

“Something has happened, but the world did not end,” Nick countered.

“God has only begun.”

“What will happen next?”

“I see hellfire and brimstone. I see the wrath of God poured out from the heavens. Not a stone will be left standing. Not a being left living.” Mr. Love stood up, eyes burning.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord …” The man leaned forward, gesturing wildly,

“Guard?” Nick turned.

Mr. Love was still speaking as the marine led him away.

“… turn to Jesus while there is still time.”

The masturbator was nothing like Madame Sylvia or Mr. Love. Mr. Gauthier did not seem to take himself, or anything else, seriously. He was a short pudgy man, with a round cherubic face, a ready grin, and long wisps of golden hair combed across a balding head.

“I understand you predicted the end of the world.” As soon as Nick said it Mr. Gauthier began to laugh.

“That’s good. That’s good. I pre-dick-ted it all right. Right there on the Capitol steps.”

Nick flushed as he pressed on. “I mean you anticipated that something was going to happen to the world.”

“I never said the world was going to end. I jerked off to symbolize what is happening.”

“And what’s that?”

“We’re all getting screwed by the government. Here, let me show you.”

Mr. Gauthier unzipped his pants and began fumbling inside.

“I get the point, Mr. Gauthier, you don’t have to show me. Thanks for coming.”

Mr. Gauthier looked up and chuckled again.

“Well, I haven’t come yet but just give me a minute.”

He was laughing and masturbating when Nick left the room. After closing the door Nick turned to the marine guard.

“Tell Elizabeth Hawthorne she needs to see Mr. Gauthier immediately.”