The Influence (35 page)

“I think we’d better go,” Dave said. 

Ross nodded, but made no effort to leave. He was waiting for Jill, and while she was no doubt smart enough to find them if they waited by the side of the road outside of town, he was worried that something might have happened and that he might need to go after her. He considered calling her cell, but at the moment driving might require her full attention. Besides, cell phones usually didn’t work around here these days.  

He looked to the left. 

The crowd was getting ugly. 

So to speak. 

For some of the people in the rear of the crowd seemed to have…changed. The individuals were moving, shifting, but here he saw a pig nose, there some teeth that looked like tusks. Overlarge eyes bored into him from within a face covered by far too much hair. 

It was not only the people in the back, though. Ben Stanard, the old man from the market, was now not so old. He was meaner looking than he had been before, but appeared years younger. And the big-breasted bimbo married to the internet guy was no longer so big-breasted. Her formerly pretty face was haggard and drawn, and her chest was as flat as a boy’s. She was standing not next to her husband but next to the mushroom lady from the farmer’s market, whose red face was twisted with rage.  

Everyone seemed angry, though not at anything in particular. It was the type of mob, Ross thought, that would require only one incendiary word to graduate to a riot. 

They needed to get out of here. Now. If only…  

He saw Jill’s van turn on to the street. 

Filled with relief, Ross put the car in gear, honked his horn and swerved around the growing mob. Jill had seen him, and instead of pulling into the gas station, she remained on the street, waiting. She motioned for him to pull in front of her, and he did so, turning right, heading out of town. 

There were still no red flowers, but there were people on the street, and he drove slowly so as not to hit them, Jill’s van following closely behind. Many of those they passed ignored the vehicles, but some individuals stared, openly hostile. Ross thought of Jill’s painting depicting a line of armed and angry men with long animal shadows, the street littered with bodies of mutilated women. 

And of course that painting of a monster looming over the smoldering ruins of Magdalena was never far from his mind. 

He wondered what the thing in Cameron Holt’s smokehouse looked like right now.  

Ross slowed the car as they reached the end of town. Standing forlornly in front of an empty adobe house, looking lost, was Father Ramos. The priest stood next to an overturned red tricycle, his collar open and partially ripped, a dark bruise on his cheek. Ross pulled over, concerned. Stopping before the house, he got out, shooting Jill a look through the van’s windshield as he moved around to open the back door of the car. “Hop in, Father.” 

The priest stared at him blankly. “They won’t listen to me,” he said, perplexed. “I tried to get them to stop, but…” His voice trailed off. 

Ross felt a chill caress his spine. “Stop what?” 

The priest shook his head. “It all got away from me.” 

“Get in the car,” Ross said gently. “We’re leaving. We’re getting out of here. We’ll take you with us.” 

Father Ramos hesitated. “This is my flock. I’m responsible—” 

“Not any more, Father. And you know it. You need to come with us. We need to get out of here. It’s dangerous to stay.” 

It was obvious that the priest didn’t want to leave, but while he’d probably be wracked with guilt later, he was dazed enough to be pliable, and, at the urging of all of them, he reluctantly got in the back seat of the car next to Lita. 

Apparently, they were not the only ones to feel that it was time to leave, because other vehicles were also on the road heading in the same direction. It was a virtual caravan out of town, and Ross was glad to see it. The more people who left Magdalena, the better. They’d be safe. 

But the ones who remained… 

He didn’t know what would happen to them and tried not to think about it. 

When the monster hatched… 

He
really
didn’t want to think about that. 

Father Ramos, atypically, did not seem to be in the mood to talk, and none of them pressed him. He looked as though he’d gotten into a fight, and Ross wondered what had happened, but unless and until the priest wanted to share, neither he, Lita nor Dave had any right to demand answers. 

“I think it’s time we told someone about this,” Dave said as they were travelling toward the highway. “Sheriff, National Guard…someone.” 

Ross looked over at him. “You think they’ll believe that—” 

“We tell them there’s been looting, a riot, civil unrest. Magdalena has no police force. They’ll have to come out to investigate.” 

“Not a bad plan,” Ross said admiringly. 

“And when they go out there, they’ll find…what they find.” 

“I’m going to tell the diocese.”  

They were all surprised to hear Father Ramos’ voice—Ross had not even been sure he’d been paying attention to the conversation—and not only was it a relief to discover that the priest was alert and aware of what was going on, but it was reassuring to think that the Catholic church would be getting involved. As heathenish as he might be, deep down Ross thought that Jill was right: this was something that might require a religious solution. 

“It is not an angel,” Father Ramos said. “I know that now.” 

“What is it?” Lita asked. 

“That is what we need to discover.” 

There were lineups at nearly all of the gas stations in Willcox, mostly Magdalena refugees. While Ross filled up at a Shell, Lita and Dave got out to talk to some of their friends and acquaintances and compare notes. Jill had pulled up to the pump behind them, and Ross set the clip on his gas nozzle and walked over to her. They hadn’t spoken since their short conversation on the phone this morning, and the first thing he said was, “Are you all right?” 

She nodded, smiling tiredly. 

“Did you have any trouble?” 

“Not getting out. It took me awhile to pack everything I needed, but that was no big deal. Last night, though…” She exhaled deeply. 

“What happened?” Ross heard his nozzle click as the gas tank filled up, but he made no effort to take it out. 

“There was that storm?” 

“Yeah, it woke me up.” 

“Well, I was already up, and I was baking cookies. I thought I’d make angel cookies.” She smiled wryly. “It seemed appropriate. Anyway, my cookies…came alive. I don’t know any other way to describe it. They were in the oven, and they were trying to get out, and I had to burn them up.” 

“Jesus.” 

“I stayed awake all night after that. So I’m really tired. But after that, and once I saw those red flowers—” She shivered at the recollection. “—I knew it was time to get out.” 

The hose was between them, but he stepped over it and gave her a hug.  

“What do you think’s going to happen back there?” Jill asked. 

“Dave had a good idea. We’re going to call the county sheriff, maybe the national guard, tell them there’s civil unrest in Magdalena. Riots. They’ll go out to investigate. And Father Ramos is going straight to the leaders of the diocese…” 

“What do you think is going to happen?” she repeated. 

He met her gaze. “I don’t know.” 

Jill’s pump clicked off, and while she attended to that, he returned to his own car, withdrawing the nozzle and placing it back on the hook. Father Ramos had walked over to visit with some of his parishioners in other cars, and he returned to inform Ross that one of the families had offered to take him to Tucson, where he intended to inform officials of the church about what was going on. “I should have done this immediately, on New Year’s Day,” he said. “It’s my fault that I did not.” 

“You’re doing it now,” Ross told him. “That counts for something.” 

“Thank you for the ride.” The priest took Ross’ right hand in both of his, clasping it with genuine warmth. “Bless you.” 

Lita and Dave returned. “I talked to Armando Rascon,” Dave said. “He was already planning to go to the sheriff and tell him what’s going on in Magdalena. I convinced Jed and Marla Weaver to go there, too. We can’t afford to get bogged down, so instead of going with them, I’ll just call 911 on the way. I don’t know why I didn’t do it already. Stupid!” Lita put a hand on his shoulder. He patted it. “Anyway, the law should be heading over there pretty soon. I’m going to tell them about New Year’s Eve. They won’t believe me, but when I tell them there’s a dead body in Cameron Holt’s smokehouse, they’ll have to check it out.”  

“What do you think will happen?” Ross asked. In his mind, he saw a group of sheriff’s deputies kneeling before the smokehouse in prayer or eaten by pig people or overwhelmed by a mob of villagers. 

Dave shrugged. “All we can do is hope for the best.” 

“Father!” a man’s voice shouted from two islands over. “Are you ready?” 

“I’m coming!” Father Ramos called out.  

Lita turned to face him. “Are you leaving us?” 

“I must. I am going to Tucson.”  

Bursting into tears, Lita threw her arms around the priest, giving him a big hug. 

“I will pray for your mother,” he said gently. “And for all of you.” 

Lita would not let him go, but sobbed into his shoulder. Dave had to pull her away, and he nodded at Father Ramos. “If I ever
did
go to church,” he said, “I’d go to yours.” 

The priest smiled wryly. “You might be the only one there now.” 

“What did happen back in Magdalena?” Ross asked. 

Father Ramos shook his head, a dark look passing over his face. It was clear that he still wasn’t ready to talk about it, and Ross backed off.  

“Goodbye,” the priest said. “And God bless you. I pray that we will meet again under happier circumstances.” Waving, he headed between cars toward a white SUV. 

Ross felt a hand on his.  

“So where are you going from here?” Jill asked. 

“Albuquerque. Lita has to make the arrangements.” 

“I’m thinking I’ll go back to Mesa, to my mom’s.” 

Ross nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.” 

“Meet me when you’re done in Albuquerque?” 

“I plan to.” 

They worked out the arrangements while Lita and Dave got back in the car, and he agreed to call her tonight, from wherever he ended up. 

“No matter how late,” she told him. 

“No matter how late,” he promised. 

She kissed him on one cheek, on the other, on the forehead, on the mouth. “Be careful,” she said. 

THIRTY TWO 

It had been a long time since Ross had seen his Aunt Kate, and she looked older than he remembered. Her body had been cleaned up after the accident for easier identification, but even though she was dead, he could tell that she had aged a lot since he had last seen her. He was reminded that this was his mom’s
younger
sister, and the thought made him depressed. How much time, he wondered, did his mom have left? 

Ross hadn’t wanted to see the body at all, but Lita had insisted. He was family, and she wanted him there, so he did it for her sake. In the back of his mind—and in the back of hers, no doubt—was the idea that her mother’s death was connected to that
thing
in Magdalena. Lita’s luck had changed, as had so many other people’s, and though he still had no idea how the chrysalis-enveloped body of a monster that had been shot out of the sky could enact such widespread and far-reaching damage, he did not doubt that it was possible. 

But why? 

Revenge? 

That seemed plausible, and he marveled at how far his worldview had shifted, and how quickly and easily he had adjusted. 

They were staying in adjoining rooms at a Holiday Inn on the western outskirts of Albuquerque. They’d driven nonstop and had checked in after midnight, grabbing a quick five hours of sleep before going to the hospital. After identifying the body, they headed over to a Denny’s for breakfast, where they sat around the table, drinking coffee and orange juice as Lita tried to decide what sort of funeral her mother should have. As far as she knew, her mom did not have a will, but she didn’t yet feel strong enough to go over to the house and start looking through her mom’s belongings. Lita’s dad had also been notified, but apparently he had not arrived yet, even though he lived in Farmington, which was a good deal closer than Magdalena. Left unspoken was the thought that something might have happened to him, too. 

Although they’d traded off, Ross had done most of the driving, and he was still tired. There were things Lita and Dave had to do, and though she wanted Ross along, he convinced them to drop him off at the motel so he could catch up on his sleep. They could pick him up later, after lunch. 

Only he couldn’t sleep. He was exhausted, but his mind would not rest, and as hard as he tried, he could not force himself to nod off. So after twenty minutes of lying there with his eyes closed and his brain churning, he got up to phone Jill. He’d made a quick call to her last night while Dave was driving and they were on the road, and he’d promised to let her know this morning what was going on. His cell phone worked fine here in New Mexico, and while he hadn’t checked his messages last night, he did now, and was surprised to see how many were waiting for him. Most were from the various firms offering him work, and he listened to each and every one of them before finally dialing Jill. 

She was at her mom’s house, she was fine, and nothing unusual had happened overnight, although this morning she’d tried calling a friend of hers who’d remained in Magdalena and the call had not been able to go through. She’d then dialed the Cochise County sheriff’s department, but when she’d asked if anyone had been sent out to investigate the situation in Magdalena, the dispatcher had become curt, taking down her name and phone number and telling her only that someone would contact her later. 

Ross reported that they, too, were all right, if tired from lack of sleep. He told her that they’d identified Lita’s mother’s body, and that Lita and Dave were now trying to track down Lita’s father before settling on funeral arrangements. He paused, cleared his throat. “And I think I’m going to take the job in San Diego.”