The Prophet of Yonwood (9 page)

A few blocks farther on and she was in downtown Yonwood. A few stores were open, but their lights were still off. They looked uninviting, like dim caves. Small clusters of people gathered in places where a TV was on, showing the news. Nickie heard snippets as she passed: Five days remaining until the deadline, said the presidents voice from the Cozy Corner CafAmbassador has been assassinated, he said from the newsstand. Group calling itself the Warriors of God has claimed, he said from the drugstore. The familiar nervous feeling started up in Nickies stomach as she heard these words, and she could tell that other people were nervous, too. A woman behind her was talking about how the tension was just killing her, and another woman answered that it was killing her, too, but that they had to have faith that theyd be all right, and the first person said, Yes, she did believe that, but she just wished everyone did. Nickie hurried on, not wanting to hear any more.

Half a block down, she suddenly heard the strange hum shed heard before:MMMM-mmmm-MMMM-mmmm. Where was it coming from? A machine inside a building? Some kind of car or engine on the street? She looked around but saw nothing. The hum grew slightly louder. Was it behind the grocery store? She peered up a narrow alley and thought she saw someone darting across the other endbut she wasnt sure. The hum faded.

Nickie turned around. Behind her were two of the people whod been watching the president at the drugstore a minute ago: a short bald man and a gray-haired woman. Did you hear that funny sound? she said. Do you know what it was?

Neither one answered. They kept on walking. The man cast a suspicious glance at her, and the woman pressed her lips together and shook her head.

I just wondered, Nickie said.

The woman stopped and glared at her. You shouldknow, she said. Why dont you know? Whose childare you? But she didnt wait for an answer. She reached for the mans arm, and they hastened away.

Nickie felt as if shed been slapped. She wasnt supposed to ask about the hum; that was clear. But why not? How was she supposed to find out if she didnt ask?

She went on. Toward the end of Main Street she came to the grocery store, and beyond that was the church shed seen when she and Crystal had first arrived. The Church of the Fiery Vision, the sign said, but she could also make out the old name that had been crossed out: Yonwood Community Church. Today the sign also said, Todays Sermon: Pulling Together in Dark Times. A lot of people were gathered here, milling about and greeting one another in low voices. Many of them were wearing the round blue button shed first seen on Mrs. Beeson. The doors of the church stood open, and beside them was a thin-faced man dressed in a sort of robe, dark blue with a white border. Was that the Reverend Loomis? Nickie wondered. She saw Mrs. Beeson standing near him, though she almost didnt recognize her at first, because Mrs. Beeson was wearing a woolly gray hat like an upside-down bowl, and her hair was brushed and fluffy instead of in a ponytail. She spoke to all the people as they went inside. Nickie waved to her, and Mrs. Beeson flashed her a smile.

Nickie turned around and walked back the way shed come, but on the other side of the street this time. She noticed a few things that might be examples of wrongness. By the park, she saw an old man spitting on the sidewalk. Surely that was a wrong thing to do. She also saw an angry little boy pulling a cats tail. She told him not to, and he scowled at her. It was wicked to hurt animals, but was it wicked if a six-year-old did it? She wasnt sure. In an alley beside the boarded-up movie theater, she saw three teenage girls smoking. She wasnt sure about that one, either. Was it bad to smoke? Or only bad before a certain age? She would ask Mrs. Beeson.

For a few minutes, she followed along behind a group of kids to see if they were being cruel to each other, the way kids sometimes were. She saw some teasing, and a little roughhousing, but nothing much. She looked for Martin in this group, but he wasnt there.

When she was back where she had started, at the north end of Main Street, she headed downhill. The houses were farther apart here than in Greenhavens neighborhood, and smaller. She saw a woman sitting on her front porch, reading the paper. A few children played ball in the street. No one was doing anything wrong, as far as she could tell. Really, Yonwood seemed like a very good town, so much better than dirty, crime-riddled Philadelphia. Following the words of the Prophet must be working.

Farther on, she came to what looked at first like a big, wild vacant lot. A high fence ran alongside it, and beyond the fence grew tall, unkempt trees. After a hundred yards or so, she came to a gravel drive with a mailbox beside it. H. McCoy, 600 Raven Rd. was printed in black paint on the mailbox, and a No Trespassing sign was nailed to a tree. She recognized the name McCoy. Mrs. Beeson had mentioned this person. He was the one she was worried about, for some reason. She peered up the driveway. At the end, rising from a tangle of trees and rangy shrubs, she could just glimpse the peak of a roof. Tree branches threw shadows across it, and the shadows danced in the wind like long, thin ghosts. Should she go in there and see what H. McCoy was up to? Not today, she thought. Some other time. She walked on.

A block or so farther on, an alley led off Raven Roadreally more of a wide path, rutted and unpaved. It went behind the houses on Trillium Street. Curious, Nickie turned that way.

From the alley, she could see into backyards. Most of them were empty and quiet. At one house she heard loud voices through an open window. She paused a moment to listen. The people inside were insulting each other and swearing. Surely that was bad. Did it mean they counted as sinners?

At the next house, a wire fence bordered the alley. Beyond the fence she could see the gnarled bare branches of fruit trees, and beyond those, the back of a house that badly needed a coat of paint. Just inside the fence, so close to the alley that she could have touched it if shed wanted to, stood a shed made of weatherworn planks.

At this place, there was a lot going on. Two small children charged around among the tree trunks yelling at each other. One of them had a toy truck that the other seemed to want, and he chased his brother wildly, falling down on skids of slippery leaves, shrieking the whole time. A window in the back of the house opened, and an old woman stuck her head out and cried, You kids quit that! but the kids paid no attention.

Nickie watched them, peeking out from behind the shed so she wouldnt be noticed. The shrieking boy finally grabbed the truck away from the other boy, and that boy wailed furiously. Another child appeared, a girl maybe four or five years old, and scolded the boy who was crying. And then a bigger boy, closer to Nickies age, burst out the back door. He had curly blond hair, big ears, and a strong, skinny body.

The boy leapt down the porch steps. Hey, Roddie, lost your truck? he called. Want an airplane instead? And he took hold of the little boys hands and whirled him around so that he flew off the ground, squealing with laughter.

Fly me! said the other boy, and the big boy did. He flew the girl, too. Then he said, Now, all of you quit making such a racket. Theres plenty of toys inside. Go on.

But I want the little boy started to wail.

Go on,said the big boy. And leave me alone.

Nickie expected that hed disappear back into the house, but instead he came toward the shed at the end of the yard. She ducked down quickly. He fiddled with the door for a momentmaybe it was locked, she couldnt seeand then opened it and went inside.

Nickie should probably have left at this point. She had no reason to think this was a trouble spot. But, as usual, curiosity took hold of her. What was the boy doing in this falling-down shed? Because the shed backed up against the fence, and because there was a dusty window in the back of the shed, just the right height for looking into, she might be able to see in without being noticed. She put her eye to the glass.

CHAPTER 12 ______________

Inside the Backyard Shed

It was Sunday morning and for once a sunny day. Grovers father was in the garage, getting ready to change the oil in the car. His mother had gone to church. Grover finally had some time to himself.

When the little kids had finished their breakfast, he shooed them outside. Get out there and tear around, he said. Theres sun today, but it might be gone tomorrow. They charged into the backyard, and he sat with Granny Carrie at the kitchen table while she finished her cup of coffee. He contemplated his grandmother. She was wearing a plaid flannel shirt this morning, with an old green sweatshirt over it, and orange sweatpants with thick, fuzzy socks and her duck slippers. Her short white hair was so wispy that her pink scalp showed through.

Going to sit out on the porch this morning, she said. Take in some sun.

Youd better wear a hat, Grover said. Its chilly out there.

I will, she said. Ive got that nice green-and-yellow one your mother knitted me.

Grover smiled to himself. His grandmother didnt care a bit what she looked like. Shed happily wear fifteen different colors, all clashing with each other. She sometimes looked like a heap of bright laundry with a little wrinkly walnut head on top. His mother was always trying to get her to spiff up, but Grover thought she looked fine the way she was: completely different from every other old lady in town.

From outside came five or six piercing shrieks. Granny Carrie rose from the table and hoisted up the window by the back door. You kids quit that! she yelled.

More shrieks followed, and then a wail.

Ill go deal with them, Grover said. Im going out there anyway.

He took his jacket from its hook by the back door and went out into the yard. For a few minutes, he fooled around with the kids, and then he shooed them back into the house and went down to his shed. If the kids behaved, and if his father didnt call him to help with the car, hed have at least an hour, maybe more, all to himself.

The sheds door was fastened with a combination lock, its combination known only to him. He twirled it, opened it, and went inside, closing the door behind him.

And as soon as he was in there, he became, as always, a different Grover. Not the funny Grover, not the big brother Grover, but the serious, brilliant, totally focused Grover, pursuing his passion.

A few rusted garden tools still hung on one wall of the shed, but hed cleaned out all the old broken flowerpots and half-empty boxes of plant food and bags of moldy potting soil that used to be in here. Along one side of the shed he had built a wide shelf, and on the shelf were the two glass tanks, each equipped with lights and sitting on a heating pad, where he kept his prized possessions: his snakes.

He bent down and peered into each tank in turn. Howre you doing, my beauties? he murmured. Both snakes were barely visible. Theyd burrowed under the dry leaves and bark hed put in the tanks for shelter. All he could see was a small patch of patterned scales pressed against the glass in one tank and the narrow tip of a tail lying across a twig in the other.

He checked the temperature in the tanks86 degrees for one, 80 for the other. Just right. Then he raised the glass top of the tank on the left and set it down on the shelf. He reached inside in a slow, unstartling way, and he took hold of the snake gently, a few inches behind its head, and raised it up into the air.

It curved and whipped, looping itself into anS and then aJ and then anS again, flowing like a moving rope between Grovers hands. It was a gorgeous creature, nearly two feet long. Rings of black and yellow and rusty red alternated all down its slim body. It looked like a beaded belt, except that at the top end was a head with glittering black eyes and a darting tongue like a sliver of black paper.

Pretty soon, said Grover, Ill have some dinner for you. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. Something delicious. He held up the snake and looked it in the eye. Okay?

This snakes name was Fang. Hed found it during the summer, sleeping at the base of a rock in the woods. It was the first milk snake hed captured, and he was very pleased with it. For nearly eight months now, hed kept it alive and healthy. Fortunately, it didnt have to be fed very often during the winter. Finding food for it wasnt easy, and he couldnt always afford to order from the reptile supply company. Of the dozens of snakes hed captured in the last three years or so, hed kept this one the longest. If he couldnt find food for his snakes, or if they started to look sickly, he always let them go.

Grover was on his way to being a snake expert. Four years ago, a snake had come out of the bushes and crossed the path in front of him as he was walking in the mountains. He had stopped and watched as it slithered along, moving without legs, swimming without water, a creature built all in one line, strange and beautiful and, to him, thrilling rather than frightening. Hed been nine years old at the time. The whole rest of that summer, hed scrambled around in the woods, looking under rocks and logs and in holes in the ground, hoping to find a snake to take home with him so he could see it up close and watch it live its life. He went to the library and got out books about snakes, and on the library computer he went on the Internet and found endless pages of information and pictures. Before long his head was packed with snake knowledge.

For a while, he talked to everyone about this new passionhis parents, his grandmother, his friend Martin. But his parents were too busy to be very interested, and Martin didnt understand how he could care about such dirty, slimy things. Only his grandmother really listened. She thought it was a fine idea to collect snakes as long as he didnt ever show them to her. She said she would scream like a fire engine if any snake got close to her.

So now Grover kept his snakes to himself. He fixed up the shed (his father didnt have time for gardening anymore, so he didnt mind), and he used every penny he could earn on snake supplies. So far, he had found, kept, and released thirty-seven snakes. Only two had died in his care. He knew all the kinds of snakes around where he lived. Now his ambitions had grown. He had a plan. All he needed to make it happen was money, and he was working on that. Success was near.