Day 9

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Everyfaith, as its name suggested, mingled the icons and instruments of multiple religions. On the walls of the vast, sunlit hall, Dunne saw a Christian cross, a Jewish Star of David, a Muslim star and crescent, a Hindu Om, a Buddhist lotus flower, a Taoist yin/yang, and more. Stations beneath the symbols featured components for services of each faith—an altar for Christians, prayer carpets for Muslims, an Ark and menorah for Jews, a statue of Buddha.

  The middle of the big, white-walled chamber was full of benches facing in all directions—seating for any service of any faith at any time.

  In Willows, it had all been part of Gowdy's statement about tolerance and community. All religions were equally respected in TV's Justice, Arizona, just as residents of all ethnic and social backgrounds were equally embraced. It had added up to a utopian vision that was popularly credited as one of the main reasons for the show's success.

  Quincy led Dunne along the perimeter of the chamber, walking slowly and pausing often to examine what they passed.

  "What're we looking for, anyway?" said Dunne.

  "Trap doors." Quincy circled the Christian altar, running his fingers around the edge of the marble slab. "Secret tunnels. Hidden lairs."

  Dunne walked over to the wall behind the altar and eyed it closely. "So we want buttons or switches or levers. Anything unusual."

  "A flashing neon sign would be good," said Quincy. "'This way to escape hatch.'"

  The two of them split up as they continued to search. Dunne worked his way along the wall, checking every square inch within reach. Quincy ranged among the sacred objects and furniture—not always handling them with the care they were probably used to.

  "Why did he join this game or whatever it is in person?" Dunne said as he searched.

  "Here's a thought," said Quincy. "Could it be that's the reason he built New Justice in the first place?"

  "So he could relive the show?" said Dunne.

  "So he could become the show." Quincy crashed into a gong, then grabbed hold of it to stop the vibration. "Maybe he wanted to escape inside it for good. After all, when was the last time he had a hit TV show? Or any TV show?"

  "Maybe." Dunne reached a section of wall with an icon he didn't recognize—a gleaming golden figure, four feet high by six feet long, that looked like a "W" laid over an "M." The intersection of the two letters created a diamondback pattern in the middle.

  On the floor in front of the "W-M" symbol, there was no altar or statue or other familiar furniture. Instead, Dunne found what looked like a desk from the set of a TV news show. The front of the desk was inlaid with strips of reddish cherry wood, and a square cutout on top revealed a video monitor screen underneath.

  Heart pounding like a hammer on a nail, Dunne walked behind the desk. Two stools were built into the desk's frame, one on either side of the monitor.

  As soon as Dunne sat down on a stool, the monitor fluttered to life. On the screen, he saw himself from behind, sitting at the desk.

  Turning around, Dunne stared at the "W-M" symbol on the wall. "Hey, Quincy." He couldn't see a trace of a lens, but he knew it had to be there. "I'm on the air."

  Quincy quit examining a big, golden Buddha and hurried over. "Hidden famera, huh?" He looked at the screen, then the symbol on the wall. "Smack in the middle of the double-W."

  Dunne had another look at the symbol and frowned. He'd thought it was a combination "W" and "M," but maybe Quincy was right. It could be two "W's" put together—one right side up, the other upside-down.

  Two "W's"...as in Weeping Willows?

  "This can't be the fonly camera in this joint." Quincy looked around the huge hall.

  Peering into the cutout around the monitor, Dunne noticed a gap beneath the desktop. "There's something under here." Gripping the edge of the desktop, he lifted. The news desk opened to reveal a control panel—seven rows of square, white buttons, along with knobs and a joystick.

  "This just in!" Quincy said it in the overdramatic voice of a 1940s radio newsreader. "Boy writer discovers super-secret mystery control board! Can the elusive Father Gowdy be far behind?"

  One of the buttons in the bottom row glowed dimly, and Dunne pressed the button to the right of it. The image on the screen changed to another view of the desk—this time, as seen from in front.

  Dunne hit the next button, and a shot of the Hindu station appeared on the screen. Every button in the middle row, in fact, yielded shots of various corners of Everyfaith Temple.

  When Dunne punched buttons in the top five rows, he brought up shots from elsewhere—familiar exteriors and interiors of City Hall, the Oven Mitt, Justice Commons, even Posse Ranch.

  "The whole town's wired." Dunne kept pushing buttons, switching between shots of Highburn, Scratchtown, and Crucible Mountain. "We can see everything from here."

  "The question is," said Quincy, "who else can see?"

  Dunne thought about it. "If Gowdy's in hiding, he must be tapping the feed. He'd need to be able to see what's happening."

  "You betcha," said Quincy. "Which means we have a direct line to our fig kahuna."

  "But no trap doors or secret tunnels," said Dunne.

  "Who needs 'em?" Quincy pulled out one of his fat black magic markers. "Punch up the double-W cam, Brother Dunne."

  While Dunne hit the button on the control panel, Quincy wandered off with his marker. He came back a moment later with a white dry-erase board on which he'd scrawled a note. Standing in front of the news desk, he held up the board so the camera could see.

  Gowdy! Help ASAP! Posse Ranch!

  "Think it'll get his attention?" said Dunne.

  Quincy shrugged. "Maybe not if he's dead. But who knows?"

  "Don't you think he would've shown up by now if he could have?" said Dunne.

  "As we say in the slashfic filk game," said Quincy, "it ain't over till the fat lady comes."

  Dunne shook his head. "That just doesn't even make any sense, you know that?"

  Just then, a motorcycle pulled up outside. Hastily, Dunne closed the desktop. Quincy set up the whiteboard sign on top of it, propping it against a brass urn from another station in the temple.

  Leif marched in a moment later with his white motorcycle helmet under his arm. "I think we're almost ready for the rescue op. How's it going in here?"

  "Very sad," said Quincy. "We can't believe Gowdy's gone."

  "I can see that." Leif pointed at the whiteboard sign on the news desk.

  Dunne thought fast. "That's a prayer," he said. "We're praying for Gowdy's intercession in the battle ahead."

  Leif nodded. "That's cool. Everyone should do their own thing, man. We can use all the help we can get."

  "So when do we get started?" said Dunne.

  "Thirty minutes." Leif checked his watch. "We'll meet at Justice Commons and head out from there."

  "You found enough resistance fighters?" said Dunne.

  "Not really," said Leif, "but they'll have to do. If you want to get your friend Kitty away from Jeremiah, I don't think we should wait."

  "So he was serious about this being her honeymoon, then?" said Quincy.

  Leif scowled. "Weed's truly evil. Ever since Gowdy died, he's been out of control. I wouldn't put anything past him."

  "So how many fighters do we actually have on our side, then?" said Dunne.

  "Six," said Leif. "Counting the three of us."

  Dunne swallowed hard. "That's it? That's all the resistance you have left?"

  "Hopefully, that'll change soon," said Leif. "When we hit Posse Ranch, we're going after another objective. Kill two birds with one strike."

  "What's the other objective?" said Dunne.

  "We're going to take down Jeremiah Weed," said Leif. "Even if it kills us."

  As the Hummer hurtled up the dusty dirt road, Dunne just wanted to get out of the car and run the other way. He wanted to be as far as possible from the so-called resistance and the danger ahead. Even the promise of writing a movie if he helped save Hannahlee and found Gowdy wasn't
enough to make him want to keep going.

  Up ahead at Posse Ranch, the villains were waiting...and possibly lethal. For all Dunne knew, they could be armed with live ammunition.

  As for the good guys, they didn't amount to much. In addition to Dunne and Quincy, there were four more allies—two on either side of the Hummer, riding motorcycles. They all acted as if they thought they were characters from the TV show, brought to life—Leif Willow, Kenya Willow, Agent Mohican, and Gary Escuchar.

  Dunne's fear grew stronger as the team split up, leaving the Hummer to approach the front gate alone. Two of the motorcycles raced off in one direction, and two darted off in the other, swooping between stands of saguaro cactus and mesquite.

  "I don't like this plan," said Dunne. "What if they don't help us? What if they can't help us?"

  "That's why we're driving the tank." Quincy patted the Hummer's dashboard. "We're gonna rip this place up!"

  "It's not bulletproof, Quincy," said Dunne. "And it's a rental, for Pete's sake!"

  "A frental, you say?" Quincy leered and waggled his eyebrows. "Good fing our Kitty bought the extra insurance, then!"

  As the Hummer flew closer to the front gate, Dunne's heart hammered like the pistons in the engine. He noticed differences in the gate from shots in the TV show—the letter "Z" painted over the letter "W," barbed wire along the top of the fence, a trench dug in front of the gate. Men pointed rifles through the barbed wired—five on either side of the gate. It looked more like an armed compound than the headquarters of justice and peace from Weeping Willows.

  "They're ready for us!" Dunne couldn't keep the rising panic out of his voice. "Turn around!"

  "No fway, José." Quincy gripped the wheel tightly and leaned forward. "This here's a runaway train, son."

  Dunne squirmed in his seat. "There's a ditch right in front of the gate!"

  "I got it covered, kemosabe," said Quincy. "Say, you got that seatbelt buckled, right?"

  "Yeah, but turn around!" said Dunne.

  "Evel Knievel jumped Snake River Canyon." Quincy shifted to a higher gear, and the Hummer leaped forward. "I reckon I can jump that little ass crack."

  The men along the fence opened fire. Dunne shrank down into his seat as far as he could without unbuckling his seat belt.

  As the Hummer barreled up to the trench, Quincy shifted one more time. Another burst of speed seized the Hummer as it hit the mounded rim of the trench...and became airborne.

  Quincy whooped like a cowboy as the Hummer flashed over the trench, wheels spinning in midair. Dunne held his breath and gripped the dash with both hands, unable to look away.

  The Hummer came down on the other side with a big impact and kept rolling, breaking through the closed gates as Weed's men peppered it with rifle rounds. When one of the shots hit the window beside Dunne, he jumped...but the window didn't shatter.

  As more of the shots hit the Hummer's body, thumping off metal and glass in rapid succession, Dunne finally got his answer about the ammunition in use. The shots all bounced off without penetrating the Hummer; the ammo wasn't live.

  So why didn't that make Dunne feel any better?

  "Yee-ha!" Quincy spun the wheel, and the Hummer whipped around in the dust, scattering gunmen. He stomped the accelerator and charged after them, chasing them toward a corral. "I'm roundin' up all the little dogies!"

  Dunne braced himself on the dash and door. He crushed his feet against the floor, mashing a nonexistent brake pedal. After all he'd been through, he was starting to think he would end up dead in a Hummer crash at Quincy's hands.

  The gunmen Quincy was chasing vaulted the corral fence and kept running. Instead of smashing through it, Quincy swung the Hummer around and bolted back the other way.

  More gunmen waited in that direction, lined up and firing in unison. Instead of slowing down, Quincy accelerated.

  "Take that, yew fugly varmints!" Quincy blasted through the line without managing to hit any of the gunmen. "Dance for me, ladies! Dance for your lives!"

  The Hummer swooped around and charged again, taking more fire. One of the guards latched onto the side-view mirror and held on, bashing Dunne's window with the stock of his gun...only to fly off during another wild maneuver.

  As the Hummer hurtled around the yard, Dunne felt dizzy and lightheaded. His stomach churned like he was on the verge of getting sick.

  He wondered how much longer Quincy would have to keep up the diversion. Where was the expected sign from the resistance?

  "This is my kind of fun!" said Quincy as he raced after a pair of gunmen. "All those years of driving like an idiot are finally paying off!"

  The gunmen dove over a fence into a pigpen. Quincy stopped short, spinning the Hummer in a circle and pitching it toward the main ranch house.

  The Hummer struck a porch roof post a glancing blow, kicking out chunks of pale wood on the way past. As Quincy bucked the vehicle hard left to miss the next post, a young blonde woman suddenly ran out in front of the Hummer.

  "Shit!" Quincy wrenched the wheel hard to the right to dodge the woman...which put the Hummer close to the front window of the ranch house.

  The window from which the burning bottle was thrown.

  CHAPTER 40

  Dunne caught a glimpse of the clear glass bottle as it flew through the air, a flaming rag stuffed in its neck. Then, the Molotov cocktail smashed into the hood of the Hummer and exploded in a ball of fire.

  "Shit!" Quincy spun the wheel, chucking the Hummer away from the house, but it was too late. The vehicle's front end was covered with blazing gasoline.

  So the battle wasn't so harmless after all. The enemy might have been armed with rubber bullets, but they had deadlier weapons at hand, too.

  And they didn't mind using them.

  "We're screwed, man!" Quincy swung the burning Hummer in circles. "We're gonna have to abandon ship!"

  "But we still don't have our backup!" Hurtling around under fire in the Hummer had been bad enough, but Dunne dreaded the thought of meeting the enemy face to face. His only option as a coward would be surrender, and who knew what would happen to him after that.

  Quincy slammed on the brakes and threw the Hummer into park. "You're welcome to stay inside if you like!" He heaved open the door. "But it's about to get really hot in here...and then it might even blow up."

  With that, Quincy bailed out. Dunne lingered a moment more, watching the flames leap on the hood. Then, he swung his door open and jumped out of the Hummer, too.

  As soon as Dunne's feet touched the ground, someone grabbed his elbow. Turning, Dunne saw he was in the grip of the blonde woman who'd run in front of the Hummer moments ago. She flashed a switchblade and pointed it at the ranch house. "Get moving!"

  Dunne didn't argue. Switchblade in one hand, the blonde ran toward the house, pulling him by the arm along with her.

  When they got through the front door, two more women were waiting for them—a tall redhead and a shorter brunette. Like the blonde, both were dressed in ultra-skimpy streetwalker-style clothes—bikini tops, short shorts, and stiletto heels. Between the three of them, they wore a jewelry store's worth of glittering gold earrings, necklaces, bangles, bracelets, and rings.

  Dunne knew who they were before anyone said a word. He recognized them from the TV show...and his own novels.

  Three of the Rainbow Brides of Jeremiah Weed.

  "Take him to our husband," said the blonde. "Kill him if he makes a wrong move."

  The redhead and brunette nodded, looking grim. Without a word, the redhead raised her rifle; the brunette drew a pistol from the waistband of her red short shorts.

  "Move." The brunette waved the gun at a doorway across the room. "Jeremiah's waiting for you."

  Dunne did as he was told. He wondered what had happened to Quincy, and if the backup resistance fighters had been driven off or killed.

  So much for the big rescue plan.

  At least Dunne knew where he was being led. The ranch house's layout was copied exactl
y from the Willows' Posse Ranch headquarters on the TV show. With the redhead in front and the brunette behind him, Dunne went from the front parlor to the dining hall to the library...and finally the Team Room.

  For a moment, as Dunne stood in the Team Room's doorway, he forgot how scared he was. A familiar face looked back at him, fiery green eyes burning from the far side of the room.

  Hannahlee was safe.

  Relief flowed through Dunne, and he smiled at her. Until that moment, he had not been sure if she was alive or dead. To his surprise, the thought of her being dead had upset him a great deal, and his relief at finding her alive was much stronger than he would have expected.

  But the relief was short-lived. As Dunne gazed at Hannahlee, another familiar face planted itself between them. This face, unfortunately, was not welcome at all.

  It was Jeremiah Weed's lookalike, the one who'd kidnapped Hannahlee. "We meet again!" His eyes glittered with malevolent delight. "Mi casa es su casa!"

  Weed stepped up and threw one arm in its gray fur coat sleeve around Dunne's shoulders. With a hearty laugh, he guided Dunne down the four carpeted steps into the sunken center of the Team Room.

  "You're too late, I'm afraid." Weed held up one hand and waggled the fingers in front of Dunne. Multiple gold wedding bands were stacked to the first knuckle of every finger. "The ceremony was an hour ago. We've already done the deed."

  Dunne flashed a look at Hannahlee...but she just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  Weed caught the exchange and chuckled. "Well, not that deed. Not yet. But we are man and wife. Wives, I guess, counting the other thirteen."

  Dunne nodded. He thought he heard the buzz of motorcycle engines in the distance...but then it was gone, if it had ever been there at all.

  "Didn't buy a wedding gift?" Weed patted Dunne's pants pockets, then tousled the hair on his head. "Well don't you worry. You've just given me the greatest gift I could ask for. In fact..." Weed leaned closer and sneered. "In fact, your coming here was the main reason I got married again."