Day 9

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  We call Free's name, but he does not answer. I wonder if it's because he can't answer.

  Or because he isn't here.

  Kitty says something, but I can't quite hear her. "What was that?"

  She's thirty yards away, and she's stopped walking. "I see two sets of tracks," she says. "One heading this way..." She points directly ahead of her. "And one heading your way." She waves her hand at a forty-five degree angle from the path she's been following. The line of the tracks, if extended along that angle, would intersect my route a few yards up ahead.

  Without another word, I hurry forward, looking for the tracks. Praying they will lead me to Free.

  Of all the Willows, he has always been closest to me...probably because opposites attract. That artsy fartsy peacenik hippie freak could not be more different from me.

  But that never stopped us from looking out for each other. From putting our lives on the line to save each other from the brink of death.

  And it never stopped us from learning from each other, either. He taught me violence isn't always the answer. I taught him it's the answer more often than he thinks.

  So the thought of finding him dead is making me crazy. Making me reckless. I don't see the tracks, but I keep rushing forward, looking for my brother's body or a piece of it.

  I continue to propel myself across the basin, fearing what I'll find...and finding nothing. Breathless, I finally stop and look around, wondering if I got off track.

  That's when I hear the engine start.

  I turn just as the Hummer's headlights flash to life, pointing right at me. It's then that I realize what has happened.

  Squinting, I see Kitty and Quincy running toward the Hummer, almost there. Thanks to Kitty's misdirection, I've been following nonexistent tracks in the sand while she and Quincy doubled back.

  As for Dunne, he must be behind the wheel. Mr. Scaredy-Cat slipped off my radar right around the time Quincy took a piss in front of me. Right after I saw Dunne crouching to pick something up.

  The sight of him juggling a small object in his hand rushes back to me. Now I know what it was.

  The key to the Hummer. Quincy must have dropped it there for him.

  Not bad. Even as I raise my guns and start running, I'm impressed. The three of them worked out a plan and pulled it off real well. I'm especially impressed that Dunne made any kind of move.

  As Quincy and Kitty leap into the Hummer and I fire my first shot, I realize something that should have occurred to me sooner. Dunne's cowardice was an act from the beginning. Instead of letting it lull me into complacency, I should have been on extra guard against him.

  The Hummer backs up fast, kicking up clouds of sand. I run straight toward it, bouncing shots off the grill and hood, getting a bead on the windshield.

  Before I can pump rounds through the glass, Dunne spins the wheel, whipping the Hummer around to face away from me. Dust billows, obscuring my shot, and Dunne floors the accelerator.

  I keep running, eyes locked on the shrinking tail-lights. I zing a few more shots off the backend, but I might as well be chucking rocks.

  The Hummer isn't stopping.

  It bolts away into the night, heading toward El Capitan and the road. Then on to New Justice, New Mexico. Leaving me behind.

  They think.

  I stop shooting, but I don't stop running. They're not the only ones who know where the road is. I'll just get there a little behind them.

  I smile as I run. Everything the three of them did was an act, and everything they said was a lie. They've gotten the jump on me...but that actually makes me feel better. At least now I know I'm perfectly sane.

  At least now, I'm totally sure they deserve to die when I catch up to them.

  CHAPTER 33

  Dunne smiled to himself as the Hummer hurtled over the sand. He couldn't believe he'd done it.

  Couldn't believe he'd escaped.

  The gunshots stopped, but he didn't slow down. He wanted to get as far from War Willow as he could, as fast as possible.

  Behind him, Quincy sprawled across the back seat, gasping for breath. "Now that's what I call...a getaway."

  White-knuckling the steering wheel, Dunne veered around rocks and debris. His heart hammered, and his blood sizzled with adrenaline.

  But he wasn't afraid. For the first time since Gaudíland, Mississippi, he wasn't trapped in a haze of mortal terror.

  It was a good feeling.

  "I can't felieve that plan worked," said Quincy. "I thought for sure we were gonna end up bomb biscuits."

  "Me, too," said Dunne.

  "That's why we did it in the Salt Basin." Hannahlee sat beside Dunne. "So we wouldn't take anyone else with us."

  "Maybe he'll blow himself up without us," said Quincy. "On account of hurt feelings."

  "If only we could be so lucky." Dunne cut the wheel hard left to avoid a boulder, then swung the Hummer right to dodge a dip.

  "Too bad we didn't take care of the job ourselves." Quincy leaned forward between the seats and glared at Hannahlee. "Whatever happened to the kill signal? 'War Willow is dead,' remember?"

  "I wasn't ready to sacrifice you," said Hannahlee. "We still have an assignment to finish."

  "Sacrifice us?" said Quincy. "You think we're that lame, that we couldn't take him?"

  "Don't feel bad," said Hannahlee. "The time may yet come."

  Quincy frowned. "What if I don't want to be sacrificed?"

  Hannahlee ignored his question. "What do we know about him at this point, anyway? Other than that he thinks he's War Willow."

  "Nothing," said Dunne. "He gave us nothing."

  "He, on the other hand, knows everything about us," said Quincy. "Our underwear sizes, our feepest secrets...where we're going next."

  Suddenly, something occurred to Dunne. "What was that about him having an Amish mentor?"

  "Hey, that's fright," said Quincy. "In what universe did that ever happen?"

  "The War character never spent time with the Amish?" said Hannahlee. "In the novels, fan fiction, slash fiction, anything?"

  "Say now!" said Quincy. "Amish/War slashfic filk? Now there's a jim-dandy idea!"

  "No." Dunne shook his head. "War Willow never spent time with the Amish."

  "That's interesting," said Hannahlee.

  "Interesting how?" said Quincy.

  Hannahlee didn't answer.

  Just then, Dunne rolled out of the salt desert and onto the road. "Finally!" He felt a surge of relief as he pointed the Hummer west.

  "So where are we headed?" said Quincy.

  "New Justice, New Mexico," said Hannahlee. "We have to finish our mission, and we have to help whoever's there get ready."

  "Ready for what?" said Quincy.

  "For War," said Hannahlee. "He knows where we're going, remember?"

  Quincy hiked a thumb over his shoulder. "But we left him back there in the middle of nowhere."

  "He's got a mission, too," said Hannahlee. "He's determined to finish it, and he's insane."

  "By mission, you mean killing us," said Quincy. "And Cyrus Gowdy."

  "And maybe blowing up the whole town," said Hannahlee.

  "Shoot me now and get it over with." Quincy threw himself down on the back seat. "Just so I don't have to spend five more minutes with that fasshole."

  "I don't think you'll have to worry about that," said Hannahlee.

  "But you just said we'll see him again in New Justice," said Quincy.

  "And he'll kill us all the second he gets a chance," said Hannahlee. "He won't be spending time with you."

  "Gee," said Quincy. "When you put it that way, a little bonding doesn't look so bad anymore."

  CHAPTER 34

  Barcelona, Spain - 1925

  I have become his home.

  I just realized it today. Gaudí never leaves me anymore.

  For years, he came to work in the morning at his studio above the rector's house on my grounds. He left at the end of the day, trudging toward his home at Park Güe
ll.

  But lately, he has been sleeping here, on a simple iron-framed bed in his studio. He wakes in the morning and goes right to work on his models and plans, designing my future.

  He is a part of me now. I am one with my creator.

  Finally, I feel like things are the way they were always meant to be.

  It is the culmination of our journey from the first day we met. We joined together, then grew apart—then nearly lost each other forever in the Tragic Week. In the sixteen years since, we have reached the greatest heights yet. Gaudí has devoted himself to perfecting me, and I have risen with a spirit free of delusion or conceit.

  My four bell towers stab the sky, nearly finished. They are meant to represent Christ's apostles—but to me, they are pillars of my friendship with Gaudí, symbols of our towering unity and mutual devotion.

  Truly, I have never been happier.

  I think it's been good for him, too. I think it's helped that I've stood by him as others have gone. As they've died, one after another.

  His niece, Rosa Egea. His friend, Doctor Torras i Bages. His greatest patron, Eusebi Güell. All of them gone...and so many others, besides. Not much left of his family and friends.

  But I'm still here for him. We're still together. I made a promise long ago, and I've kept it: to always support him and never leave him.

  Never mind that this is exactly what he dreamed of and feared so long ago—being left alone with me, with no human contact.

  I know that's why he's often sunk in gloom. He tells me sometimes, as he's working in his studio—how he misses the ones who've died. How lonely he feels. How he's glad to serve God by building me, helping lead the people of Barcelona back to the flock.

  But sometimes he wishes the price were not so steep.

  I take no offense. It is an honor to listen to my creator's thoughts and feelings. To know I'm able to help him in this small way.

  But I always wish I could do more.

  Today, Gaudí is downcast again. As he performs his solitary work on a sculpture of a cypress tree, he frowns and sighs. His hands move more slowly than usual as he chips away at the stone.

  And he talks to me. "They see us now," he says. "That is what I believe. The dead are always with us."

  I don't see them. I never have. But if I had a voice Gaudí could hear, I would still agree with him. I would say anything to make him feel better.

  "It's good to know," says Gaudí. "A comfort. I am grateful.

  "But not always. I confess." Gaudí stops chipping and dabs the sweat from his brow. "Sometimes, I wish they would just go away. It's too hard, knowing they're here, but I can't touch them."

  I know what he means about how hard it is. I can't touch Gaudí, and I want to...but I would never wish him away.

  That's where we're different.

  Gaudí stares off into space for a while, then shakes his head hard and snaps back to the moment. "I wonder if you'll say the same thing about me someday? That you'll wish I'd go away?"

  Never. I would never say that.

  "Things change. You'll see." Gaudí smiles just a little. "When you're old and gray, you'll see."

  I won't change. Not the way he thinks.

  Or is he teasing?

  Gaudí sizes up the cypress-in-progress and starts chipping at a new spot. His smile fades. "When you're old and gray and talking to yourself like me."

  The last thing he said...it hurts. It stings.

  He said he's talking to himself, as if I'm not really here. Not really listening or able to listen. As if I'm just a big stone building that's all he has left now that the people he cared about are gone.

  I know it's not true, and in his heart he has to know, too—but it still hurts. It reminds me of the one thing that truly separates us.

  Gaudí misses his loved ones. He would bring them back if he could, take things back to the way they used to be.

  But not me. I am happier than I've ever been. Happier than I ever imagined I could be.

  And I could go on like this, just the two of us together, forever.

  CHAPTER 35

  New Justice, New Mexico - Today

  The town was right about where it should have been...the right number of miles in the right direction from Antelope. Dunne had taken the Hummer off-road to find it—going the distance marked on the drawing they'd found in Gaudíland—then drove a perimeter through the desert at the same distance.

  And there it was. What looked like a good-sized town, spread out in a semicircle on the slope at the base of a desert mountain. An oasis of buildings and green in the blazing sunlight.

  "New Justice," said Dunne. "It has to be."

  Quincy was leaning forward between the seats, gaping at the sight. "Looks like it's in pretty good shape. Looks like it's open for business."

  Hannahlee rested a hand on Dunne's arm. "Nice and easy, now. Give them a good look at us."

  "A good shot at us is more like it," said Quincy. "Don't you think they know there's a Willow killer headed this way by now?"

  "Maybe not," said Hannahlee. "This is the middle of nowhere, after all."

  Dunne slowed the Hummer to thirty-five miles an hour, then twenty-five. As the town drew closer, he picked out more details: a ranch at one end, a farm at the other; neighborhoods of houses laid out between them; a square green park at dead center, studded with trees; and in the streets around it, rows of bigger buildings—blocky offices and storefronts of brick and adobe and cement. Two towers flanked the park—City Hall's cylindrical bell tower at one end, the white steeple of Everyfaith Temple at the other. Above it all, further up the slope of the mountain, fanned the bleached stones and monuments of a cemetery.

  It was all so familiar, Dunne tingled with déjà vu as he approached it. He had seen it so many times before...written about it so many times, too.

  "It's perfect," he said. "Just like the first shot from the opening of Weeping Willows."

  "Not perfect," said Quincy. "Where's the 70s-style logo sliding in over top of it all?"

  "Amazing." Hannahlee shook her head. "I wonder how long it's been here?"

  "And what's it for?" said Dunne. "Why haven't we heard about it till now?"

  "I still say it's all about Godseye," said Quincy. "Gowdy's secret project."

  "You and your Godseye," said Dunne.

  Quincy grabbed his shoulder. "Gowdy told Enrique he was working on a big film project. So check this out. Gowdy builds a life-size, fully-functional New Justice as the set for his movie. Not Halcyon Studios' reimagined, reinvented remake, but a movie that captures his vision of the show he created!"

  "He couldn't make a movie like that," said Dunne. "Halcyon owns Willows."

  "Which is why he needs to make the movie out here, in secret." Quincy shook Dunne's shoulder. "It's a true underground film! The only way he can reclaim his beloved creation!"

  Dunne sighed. "I don't think so, Quincy."

  "I wonder."

  Dunne was surprised to hear Hannahlee say it. "What do you mean?"

  "I wonder if Halcyon wanted more than Gowdy's signature on a release," said Hannahlee. "Maybe they had another reason for sending us to find him."

  "Exactly!" said Quincy. "And what about killer War? Maybe he's Halcyon's flunky, too! Maybe that's why he didn't kill us...because we're working for the same people!"

  Dunne shook his head. "War's a nut job."

  "Which makes him the perfect agent to flush out Gowdy!" Quincy's voice rose as he got more excited. "Otherwise, isn't it a fimpossible coincidence that he shows up just as we're flooking for Gowdy?"

  "Whatever." Dunne said it disdainfully...but the fact was, Quincy's loopy theories had finally gotten under his skin.

  Maybe there was a kernel of truth to them after all.

  "It's a fig conspiracy," said Quincy. "Halcyon doesn't want Gowdy compromising their intellectual property!"

  "We need to be careful," said Hannahlee. "Just in case."

  "Driving up unannounced to a town that's o
ff the map in the middle of the desert with a crazed killer on our tail." Dunne swerved the Hummer around a pile of cactus remains—the matchstick skeleton of an enormous saguaro. "Doesn't sound like 'careful' to me."

  The streets of New Justice ended at the edge of town.

  It was the first piece of movie-set logic Dunne saw in the place. There were lovely, paved streets everywhere...but none of them extended beyond the town limits.

  At Hannahlee's suggestion, he headed for the widest one—Main Street, which cut through the middle of town up to the park. One minute, the Hummer was bumping along over the sand...and then it crossed the threshold and rolled smoothly onto level pavement.

  That was when the déjà vu really took over. The streetscape was lined with familiar buildings, decorated just the same as their TV counterparts. The cars parked along the curb were 1970s specials straight out of Willows—a Camaro, a Dart, a Torino. Everything, down to the parking meters and streetlamps, was out of the 70s by way of TV reruns.

  Dunne felt like he had driven through a space/time warp, straight into the world of Weeping Willows circa 1976.

  Dunne also felt like he was cruising through a ghost town. He didn't see a soul on the street or in any of the windows. "Is everybody hiding and sizing us up," he said, "or is it just we're the only ones here?"

  "It's quiet." Quincy said it overdramatically. "Too quiet."

  "Park and let's find out," said Hannahlee. "There's the Oven Mitt." She pointed at an exact replica of the aluminum-skinned diner from the show, half a block away. "Quincy wanted to stop there, anyway."

  Quincy rubbed his hands together. "Chicken fried steak and vidalia onion pie, here I come!"

  Dunne parked in front of the diner, taking two spaces, and everyone got out of the Hummer. That was when the illusion really took hold.

  It was one thing to see the town from a distance...another to drive through it...and something else entirely to walk the street. To see New Justice from the camera's-eye point of view.