Strange Medicine

by Jim Stein

  I exhaled through my teeth and nodded. Red Team only had Manny’s magic to fall back on, and by all reports they seldom had need of it. Pete and his trusty pump-action shotgun had gotten me out of a few jams, especially when he loaded up with rock salt—the darker critters really hated that. We hadn’t tried the salt trick on creatures from the third world, but if they were as corrupt as Koko claimed, the mineral should disrupt their magic just fine.

  “Settle down everyone!” Billy’s voice boomed from the band’s speakers.

  With a thousand people spread across the old terminal, amplification was a necessity. Faces turned to the tall man as a hush fell and the boss stepped up. Billy nodded, shaggy beard splaying across his chest, and stepped back from the microphone stand.

  A ripple of laughter swept through the crowd. Mr. Conti’s pursed lips set his whiskers on end as he glared at Billy, reached high over his head, and collapsed the stand down to a reasonable height. Billy looked mortified, but relaxed when Mr. C winked. The boss knew the power of comedic relief.

  “That’s better.” He stopped the mic just below his chin and swept out an arm. “These are sad times, but I am so very proud of how you have all pulled together. We’ve lost, and grieved, and persevered. Now, my friends, it is time we found a new home.”

  Nodding heads were accompanied by grumbling and a few cat calls. Not everyone was pleased about leaving, but what choice did they have? It was either move on, or stay and disappear.

  “I know how you feel. Our homes are here, our traditions live here, and our hearts ache. Cheese steaks, soft pretzels, and raviolis are our food. We pride ourselves on hard work, family, and dare I ask if a few mummers still dance on New Year’s Day?” That earned chuckles, and an old man with pants hiked up to his armpits by garish suspenders strutted in a circle while other old timers in folding chairs slapped their knees. “These things we do—things we make—come with us. Our heritage is in us and will rise in another New Philadelphia.”

  “Where?” a woman with wild gray hair called from the front.

  “First stop is Baltimore.”

  Mr. Conti assured them we would use every means possible to locate a place meeting our needs. We’d talk to other towns, but also speak directly with truckers and maintenance crews to ensure the location was accessible and well maintained.

  No one was happy. Most just wanted life to go back to normal. The undercurrent of concern wasn’t just due to being dislocated; there was palpable fear of the unknown and the supernatural force driving us out. Yet, there were smiles and laughter as a portable mic passed through the crowd and people asked questions or made recommendations. They turned away from the absurdity to focus on the task at hand, more than happy to wall off things that couldn’t be explained.

  In the end, the plan didn’t change. A few suggestions to detour around bad roads and juggle vehicle assignments proved useful. But such a large group did not make an effective committee. The migration would continue in the morning as planned. We’d have a truly impressive string of vehicles. Our convoluted route to Baltimore was less than a hundred miles. Not that I was heading that way.

  Since Pioneer already powered the A-Chords’ speaker stacks, they closed the meeting with an impromptu show. Nobody wanted to slog back to their tents and worry about tomorrow. Chairs and blankets materialized as an air of comradery settled over those that stayed. Billy kept the volume down. I usually considered talking during a performance rude, but the low buzz of conversation meant people were pulling together.

  “Are you leaving when the first group heads out?” Piper asked when the band took a break.

  “I think that’s best. Ralph can steer us to the farm, but who knows how many twists and turns there’ll be along the way. We won’t be lucky enough to score another sheltered cemetery if nightfall catches us on the dunes.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that place. You felt power there, but nothing elemental?”

  “Definitely not elemental. There weren’t any distinct flows with sharp edges. The place was saturated with quiet energy.” I shrugged away the effort to describe it in more detail.

  “I bet the Easton farm had the same feel.”

  “No, their farmhouse was bustling—totally different.” But was it? People had been climbing all over Pete’s place, sealing the structures, repairing the tractor, and gathering supplies. I thought back to the quiet times when Pete and I sprawled on the floor to sleep. It had felt secure and inviting despite being surrounded by desert and critters from another dimension. “Well, maybe it did feel similar. What are you thinking?”

  “Ancestral energy.” Piper beamed, her enthusiasm for the occult shining through. “I bet that’s what both places have. Generations walking the same path, reinforcing traditions and customs—even when it comes to burying their dead—adds power bit by bit.

  “Over time, the thresholds and perimeter of such places become hardened, immune to entry by evil. It’s the same with sacred ground, all that ceremony and reverence translates to power, and when it’s the same family, the same bloodline—poof, instant sanctuary!”

  “I just hope it lasts when nobody’s home,” I said as Charles tapped out a beat and counted the band into the next number. “If the farm disappeared after we left, it might mess up Ralph’s navigation.”

  Our friendly kung-fu-learning imp sat on my shoulder nibbling a marshmallow. Meg had sent me down to the stores bus to outfit our party. Whoever had the marshmallow fetish must have thought we’d be singing songs and cooking over a campfire for years to come. Grabbing a few bags of the fluffy treats didn’t even make a dent.

  “How’s Dad doing?” I asked, breaking my own rule about not talking over the band.

  He’d put on a good front about Mom staying behind, but his sad eyes and the little cough whenever the topic arose told me the truth.

  “He’s a trooper, but it’s hard.” Piper sagged against me and idly ruffled Ralph’s ears. “Do you think we’ll find her in there?”

  “We will certainly try,” I said to highlight the fact my sister would not be on this mission, no matter how much she insisted. “You keep Dad and the others safe. They need experienced eyes, someone who won’t let their brain dismiss what they see. You can spot issues with the world veil and Dark Court players better than anyone.”

  She seemed on the verge of arguing, let out a big breath, and handed Ralph another treat. We both smiled as the imp lapped at the marshmallow with his skinny, forked tongue—a sure sign he was full. But the little guy never passed up a treat. Soon enough, Ralph lost his self-control and a moment later frowned at his empty hand.

  The other hand was on his taut, round stomach, which gurgled as something close to a moan escaped him. Ralph didn’t get full often, but when he did it usually resulted in a stomach ache. Piper swept him into her lap as he hugged his middle and thrashed. The theatrics would only last a minute thanks to his hyper-fast metabolism. Anna, Manny, and Pete were among the few who turned to watch.

  Although the imp came and went with impunity among the townspeople, it was clear he only let himself be seen by certain individuals—be they Bright, human, or other. Manny was one of those others. And so was Dwain, who skipped over to check on his small friend. Everyone could see Dwain, but—much like Pina—his magic aura put people at ease and simply kept them from wondering about his size and origins.

  “You know he can’t resist.” Dwain shot us both a reproachful look.

  “Ralph has access to candy twenty-four-seven thanks to his magic pockets,” I said. “We just gave him the marshmallows you asked for.”

  Dwain shook his head as he knelt to examine the imp. “Just give him the whole bag next time. If it’s more than he can hold, he’ll squirrel them away. Out of sight is out of mind. If you hand him one at a time, he’ll eat until he bursts.”

  What Dwain said made sense. Ralph never left sweets just lying around. Early on, I’d decided he had a secret bottomless storage method. Although candy appeared from his
magic stash more often than not, the few times he’d gotten sick could well have been when I’d metered out his treats—ironically to keep him from gorging.

  “I should have figured that out earlier.”

  Ralph’s thrashing slowed. He sat up looking much improved and eyed the two bags of marshmallows peeking out from behind Piper. I grabbed both and, after a moment’s hesitation, ripped the plastic bags open and dumped two pounds of spongy sugar into my sisters lap, filling the space between her crossed legs.

  “Hey! A little warning would be nice!” Piper glared at me. “I don’t need ants deciding I’m their new dining room.”

  “Sorry.”

  I gave a shrug of apology and bent to re-bag the marshmallows. They were gone. Ralph leaned against her knee with arms crossed over his chest. Fang tips poked from the corners of his self-satisfied grin. The little guy certainly hadn’t eaten all that in the blink of an eye.

  “You sure called that one, Dwain.” I stuffed the empty bags in my pocket and joined the spatter of applause as the current song ended on a keyboard flourish.

  “We’re going to take a short break,” Billy announced. His voice came through the speakers with scratchy feedback that made everyone wince. He tapped the mic—standard troubleshooting procedure—producing staccato explosions from the speakers. “Sorry, a short lunch break and we’ll play one more set this—”

  The feedback grated like nails on a chalkboard and drowned out his words. Billy quickly unplugged the mic and speakers. Impossibly, the noise continued, like being inside a tin can full of marbles or—

  “Sand!” The cry came from the back of the audience nearest camp.

  13. The More the Merrier

  T

  HE SAND came on fast, sluicing down the creek running through base camp. Most of the cars were on the far side, but the parking lot around Pioneer held a dozen vehicles including our little pack of ATVs.

  “If it’s coming up the streams, the river’s not far behind,” Dwain said.

  Mr. Conti stood onstage in frantic discussion with the band. He called something out, but there was no way to hear him over the panicked crowd. Billy stepped up and sucked in a huge lungful of air.

  “Everyone to your vehicles. Move out now!” His bellow cut through the bedlam. “Let’s be orderly. Lend a hand to those who need it.”

  The simple act of providing direction calmed much of the panic. People hustled across the intersection over the stream. Engines roared to life throughout camp as the word spread. Thanks to Meg’s and Mr. Conti’s organization, we were ready to go on a moment’s notice. And it looked like that moment was upon us. Manny and Vance headed for the ATVs.

  “Dwain, set Ralph up. Quinn and I will join you. We need to get to the Pennsylvania side before sand undermines the bridge.” I turned to Piper. “Take care of Dad. We’ll firespeak if we can, but that’s been a crap shoot. If I don’t—” I didn’t know how to finish the thought.

  “You’ll be back, little brother.” She gave me a fierce hug. “Just don’t take unnecessary chances.”

  Pioneer’s big diesel fired up, effectively ending any further discussion. Piper broke away and headed for the RV, while Quinn jogged over and we went to meet the rest of our small expedition.

  By mutual agreement, we sat astride our idling rides watching cars and buses head south. Dust clouds billowed up obscuring much of the scene. Pioneer lined up behind the cars crossing the stream. The wide, shallow waterway ran brown with clots of sand. Three cars crossed the intersection and merged into the fleeing traffic, but the next one in line slammed on its brakes. Brake lights cascaded all the way back to Pioneer as the procession came to an abrupt halt.

  Thunder rumbled over the thrum of engines. Rather than rolling off into the distance, the roar grew louder. Off to our left, where the stream bank curved around a point covered in tightly-packed pines, brown clouds roiled low. Beneath them raced a twenty-foot-high wall of sand.

  White backup lights sprang to life on the RV and cars at the end of the line. I thought for sure they’d crash into each other, but miraculously everyone reversed in unison and gained enough separation for each to start a three point turn. Honking and pointing drew the other drivers’ attention to the threat, and the remaining cars slammed into reverse—all except the red sports car that had been about to cross. The dark-haired driver looked to his passenger, then back out at the speeding wall of sand. He gunned the engine and surged forward, but his rear wheels slipped in sand blowing across the road. He fishtailed toward the intersection, refusing to yield.

  Halfway across, the wave slammed into the small bridge. Cement guardrails exploded in a spray of sand. Fragments of concrete shattered the left side windows a split second before the tidal wave smashed through the crossing and the car vanished. The dune slid on to our right, obscuring the fleeing refugees.

  “Manny and Vance, get these cars in line with Pioneer. We have to get out of here.” I scanned the grim faces of our little group.

  We needed to cross the Delaware Memorial before we got cut off. The band and cars could escape down the Pennsylvania side. It wasn’t a direct route, but at this point the objective was to get away from the desert. They could worry about hooking up with the others later.

  Camp was just over a mile from the river. Rusted metal girders loomed ahead, supporting the graceful arc of suspension wires that held the bridge surface. Rust and moss dripped from the cables, and many of the vertical wires had snapped and lay curled on the roadway or dangled over the side.

  “We’ll have to split off once we cross,” I said over my shoulder. “Keep your eyes peeled for a good spot to pull over. There ought to be enough room just past the old toll booths.”

  Quinn nodded just as our front right tire dipped into a nice deep pothole. Her head cracked into mine with a painful crunch, making me wish we’d strapped on helmets. I focused on the rutted bridge, picking a path through potholes and strewn rubble to give the street vehicles a fighting chance.

  “Water’s cloudy,” Quinn studied the river as openings in the guardrails flashed past. “I think it’s—”

  The roadway lurched left. I knew without looking that the wall of sand had just smashed into the bridge’s foundation. The roar of tons of sand echoed through clouds of dust rising like smoke to either side. The roadway bucked and swayed, and I imagined dunes piling high around its supports.

  A glimpse downstream showed the river’s surface changing from rippling white caps, to brown sludge, to flowing sand sprouting tufts of spikey green plants.

  I took the leftmost lane through the ruined toll booths, slowed, and scanned the roadway for an exit heading south. The street signs were little help. Most of the massive green placards had rotted or blown away. Aluminum posts arched overhead like the dull gray ribs of some massive dinosaur. I stood on the floorboards to look down the road curving off the far right lane.

  “Aw crap!”

  “We’re trapped,” Quinn said, echoing my own thoughts.

  Eight lanes merged down to four with spurs curving off to right and left. Each exit lane extended perhaps thirty yards before disappearing into a rising dune. Sand glimmered beyond the elevated surface on both sides. Even the main roadway vanished a hundred yards ahead where it turned to unbroken desert stretching off into the distance. We stopped. We had to.

  Billy and the band piled out of their RV, and more than a dozen people spilled from the cars that followed. Pete’s sister Melissa and her friend Brent hopped out of a pickup. Brent waved at Ralph—of all people. When I’d first met the buff blue-eyed redhead I’d unfairly judged him a stuck-up frat boy with a weak stomach. But he’d proven me wrong, helped us come to terms with Ralph, and adjusted remarkably well to the supernatural strangeness we’d thrust upon the poor guy. The fact he could see Ralph meant that even our imp had accepted him.

  “You tried to ditch me,” Melissa clomped up and punched Pete in the arm.

  “Little sisters are like boomerangs coated with superglu
e.” Pete dodged her second swing, then turned to me. “So, fearless leader, what now?”

  “Level up our skills and horde weapons.” It was a stupid kneejerk answer from our video gaming days. A mix of smiles and scowls flickered through my small audience, yet they still hung on my every word. Since when was I in charge? “Well, the cars with four-wheel drive might do okay on the sand, but…” I waved at the hulking outline of the band’s ride, at a loss for words.

  Familiar faces graced our group. Anna must have been backstage during the show, and Maggie Parker’s curly gray-blond hair was easy to spot because I’d stopped at her bakery for a jelly doughnut every chance I got. I couldn’t put a name to several others. So much for a small expedition.

  “We could go back,” Brent offered. “Maybe catch one of the rural roads between the river and camp.”

  All heads turned to the rippling sand beach that had been the Delaware River. Rising dust enveloped the stanchions and suspension cables halfway across.

  “Don’t think that’s an option,” Pete said.

  Manny climbed back over the guardrail off to my right and joined the group. I hadn’t seen him leave and couldn’t believe he’d risked walking out onto the sand without backup.

  “We’re cut off all right.” He jerked a thumb at a rusting skeleton rising above the roadway. “I climbed that old billboard. It’s desert as far as I could see.”

  “Damn it, we need Bertha,” Pete said.

  “Unfortunately, she’s back at base camp. Any other ideas?” I worried we didn’t have enough daylight to make the farm.

  A hunched figure in the back, an old man with face averted, reminded me of Koko. It would be just like the old trickster to slip into our group, but the profile was wrong. Although his hat was pulled low, the protruding nose was bulbous rather than beak-like and scruffy whiskers covered craggy skin from cheeks to chin. He pulled his cap lower and tried to hide behind Reggie, the retired police mechanic.