by Penn Gates
CHAPTER 38: Prophet Motive
Lisa and Cash huddle in the rain on the crest of a rocky bluff overlooking a natural basin. The scrawny trees around them are naked and desperate, their sinewy roots grabbing any outcrop of stone in a death grip to keep from sliding to the bottom. The patter of raindrops on the dead leaves beneath her feet sound like the rapid panting of a dying patient.
“Why do I get the feelin’ we’re gettin’ farther from civilization the closer we get to Atlanta?” Hatfield drawls.
Even with Cash next to her, Lisa feels exposed and vulnerable. She reminds herself that the two of them are not alone. While Wade accompanied them in the VW, somewhere out there are Ed and Michael, settled into sniper positions.
The settlement below looks as primitive as it gets. Patched and faded tents are scattered around a large central fire pit, smoldering in the rain. On the edge of the bedraggled camp, Wade Tucker is engaged in a seemingly endless conversation with a skinny black kid. The teenager wears a fur hat that looks like it’s made from a real raccoon skin, and several rabbit pelts draped around his shoulders like a shawl. Below the waist he wears baggy jeans and an expensive pair of high tops.
If Daniel Boone was reincarnated as a skateboarder, this would be him, Lisa thinks. She shivers as a raindrop finds a gap between her neck and coat collar and trickles between her shoulder blades.
Wade turns and gives them a thumbs up. The next moment the wild child scurries away and disappears into the woods beyond.
“Apparently he hasn’t managed to convince that strange boy to meet with us after all,” Lisa says, her teeth beginning to chatter. “This has been a complete waste of time.”
“You’re readin’ it wrong,” Cash says. “Davy Crockett there is just the messenger - and now he’s deliverin’ the message to the guy in charge.”
Lisa never likes being told she’s wrong, but she decides to take a page from Cash’s playbook and try a little humor. “He looked more like Daniel Boone to me.”
“Always get the two confused,” he grins. “Which one wore the coonskin cap?”
“I’m pretty sure both of them did, but only one had his own TV show.”
Cash laughs, but Lisa finds it difficult to believe that he really finds her all that amusing. He’s only trying to put her more at ease - and it works. She feels the tightness in the muscles of her neck relaxing a bit. But the longer they stand there on the rocky ledge, the more foolish this whole endeavor seems. How long before the catcalls begin at the three dummies standing in the rain waiting for something that will never happen? And strangely, the thought doesn’t bother her - then she can go home with Ed.
“There,” Cash says under his breath.
“Where?” Lisa asks, wondering why he doesn’t just point.
“Don’t react,” Cash mutters. “Look past Wade - and beyond the tents.”
Lisa squints through the rain drops and spots a tall, good-looking black man emerge from the trees. He wears only a sleeveless denim jacket over his bare chest. Even his head is shaved. Lisa wonders if his disdain for the cold is supposed to show how tough he is - or maybe he just doesn’t feel it. She’s read of such cases.
Whether he’s freezing or not, the man strolls slowly toward Wade. Another show of control? After a lengthy consultation, Wade turns and gestures for Cash and Lisa to join them.
Lisa has new sympathy for the tenacious trees as she picks her way down the boulder-strewn slope. She’s so intent on navigating the big obstacles that she steps on a loose stone, which acts like a ball bearing beneath her sole. Cash’s hand shoots out and grips her arm before she falls.
The man with the sleeveless jacket turns to look at her, and for a second Lisa feels nothing but anger. He’s laughing at me, she thinks. The bastard.
“This here is Aaron Potts,” Wade says, as she and Cash finally reach them.
”Dr. Lisa Terrell is the lady I been tellin’ you about,” he explains to the man.
Lisa forces herself to hold out her hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Potts.”
“That name died when my granddaddy did,” he growls in a rumbling bass voice. “Just call me Aaron.”
“What about your father?” Lisa blurts before she can stop herself.
Aaron surprises her by looking amused at the question. “My daddy was a preacher man. He was called the Reverend Potts.”
“You might as well call me doc,” Lisa tells him, removing her hand from his over firm grip. “It seems to be my name these days, no matter what I say.”
“Aaron was just tellin’ me he’s the one we need to talk to about sneakin’ ya’ll into Atlanta,” Wade interrupts.
“You left out the part where I asked you what’s in it for me and my boys.” Aaron gives Lisa a sly look. “See, we’re what you might call a this-for-that type business.”
Cash throws Lisa a warning look: Don’t irritate this guy.
Why should she be pleasant to this unpleasant man? He doesn’t need to like her - just be open to making a deal.
“In other words, you’re for hire - for the right price,” Lisa says aloud.
“That’s about the size of it,” Aaron agrees. “Now tell me - what the hell you got I’d be interested in?” He stands there, daring her to answer. And Lisa doesn’t care at all for the way he looks her up and down when he says it.
“What would this buy me?” Lisa slowly pulls the engagement ring, with its ostentatious diamond, from beneath her shirt. She means for the gesture to be a tiny bit provocative - the big reveal to get his attention - but too late she realizes that he’s staring at her breasts like she’s going to flash them next.
She’s relieved when she sees Aaron’s greedy eyes widen at the size of the stone. Thank God he’s impressed.
Holden watches the scene below through his rifle scope, his finger on the trigger. That asshole has his eyes all over Lisa. If the guy makes one wrong move, he’ll make sure the pig loses his fuckin’ mind - literally. He brings the gun barrel up a bit and sites it to a spot just over baldy’s ear.
Lisa tenses as Aaron sneers, “Why would I make a deal when I can just take it from you?”
“Because you’d have to go through me - Air-bud,” Cash says. His voice is casual, and there’s no hint of tension in his body - but his eyes never move from his target.
Potts looks at him speculatively. “All right - I’ll set ya’ll up with a guy who knows his way around Atlanta. In fact, he used to work at Fox news - a stone’s throw from the CDC.”
“That’s wonderful,” Lisa breathes. “Perfect.”
“Not so fast,” Aaron growls. “First the ring.” His hand shoots out in Lisa’s direction.
Holden’s finger twitches, but, he waits for the signal he and Hatfield agreed on. If he pulls up his coat collar, the bastard’s dead.
“Ya better put that hand back in your pocket ‘fore I spit in it,” Cash drawls. Lisa has heard him speak exactly like that to one or another of the young men at St Clair farm. His words sound almost joking. There’s no real sign of hostility.
Aaron has the same impression. He pivots toward Cash and lunges. Hatfield reaches for him, moving so fast Lisa can’t make sense of exactly what happens - only that Aaron lands flat on his back with a thud.
Holden’s trigger finger relaxes. “Way to go, bro,” he mutters under his breath.
Cash looks down at Aaron. “Listen, pardner, I don’t have no fight with you. We come to ask for help, and we’re willin’ to pay handsome for it. But the deal is, that ring goes to Atlanta along with the doc, and I bring it back again.” He gestures toward Lisa. “See - it’s our insurance policy. Ya’ll don’t get the biggest score you’ll ever make unless she gets where she’s goin’ and I return safe and sound.”
Aaron leaps to his feet. “Who the hell you think you are? Whatever special training you be so proud of - you’re still just one guy against my crew.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Cash tells him. “And if need be, ya’ll can see how my bes
t sniper can shoot the nuts off a fly.”
Cash turns his back on Aaron - and even Lisa knows that’s meant as the ultimate insult. “If you want proof, I’ll just give a little whistle,” he throws over his shoulder.
His remark is met with stoney silence.
“C’mon, doc,” Cash says. “We’re wastin’ time here. We’ll just keep headin’ south. Hell - there’s lotsa other folks would jump at the price we’re offerin’ to pay.”
“Hold up,” Aaron mutters, working his shoulder and glaring at Cash. “It’s a deal.” He jerks his head. “Follow me - I’ll hook you up with that guy I mentioned—”
From his vantage point, Holden sees him before anyone else. Walking toward the little group is the spitting image of the bald guy except for a beard and a wild thatch of hair. He keeps his rifle aimed on the troublemaker because he knows Michael - wherever he is - has his sight on the newcomer.
Lisa stares at the bearded figure, wondering if her recent concussion caused more brain damage than she wants to admit.
Aaron snorts with laughter. “Me and my brother been gettin’ that same stupid look our whole, entire lives.”
I really don’t like this guy at all, Lisa thinks. Aloud, she says, “And you, sir, have a smart—”
A voice like rolling thunder asks, “Are you treating our guests with kindness, brother?”
“What else, brother?” Aaron’s question has a nasty undertone, but he introduces Lisa with impeccable courtesy. “Dr. Lisa Terrell, this is my twin, Moses Potts.”
He glances at Cash. “I guess you could call Moz, here, the spiritual head of this outfit.” He smirks. “But I’m still the head of operations.”
Moses Potts approaches Lisa slowly, as if he fears he’ll startle her if he moves too fast. He holds out his hand to her. “You are a doctor,” he rumbles. “Healing is the most noble profession.”
Lisa allows him to take her hand, and it disappears into his huge paw. He holds it lightly, like a small bird he’s afraid he might crush.
“Except for the quacks who were in it for the big bucks,” Aaron sneers.
“You’re absolutely right,” Lisa responds quickly. “But those days may be gone forever - and unscrupulous physicians are something I won’t miss.”
Aaron looks disappointed that she hasn’t taken the bait. “The doc, here, is a scientist, Moz. She’s convinced she can save the world.”
Moses Potts’ face creases in a smile of pure delight. “How wonderful! Might I persuade you to sit and tell me all about your plan?”
When Lisa glances at Cash, his expression is doubtful, but he says quietly, “Your call, doc.”
“I would be most happy to visit with you - Moz, ” she answers.
Aaron’s laughter booms. “Well, doc - it’s a freakin’ miracle. You got yourself an audience with the pope.”
Lisa has the feeling he’s ridiculing her as well as his brother. For a moment she wonders if Aaron’s twin might be delusional - a harmless lunatic who is allowed the freedom of the camp for his entertainment value.
Moz is already walking away from the group, accompanied by a small black boy she hasn’t noticed until now. They seem to be headed for what looks like a log cabin wall built directly into the rock face below the bluff. As she hurries to keep up with them, Lisa sees that tree trunks have been stacked together in a clumsy attempt to create a weather break across the mouth of a cave.
In his head Holden’s screaming, Jesus Christ, Lisa, what are you doing? but he picks his way along the top of the ridge, keeping her in view and his rifle ready.
“Be a good boy and bring us some sassafras tea - if you would be so kind,” Moz says to the kid, who beams with pride, like he’s been granted the biggest honor in the world.
“I’ll be back soon’s I can,” he says and takes off running.
“Please excuse the lapse in manners, doctor. I will enter first so that I may provide some lighting.” Moz bends and his bulk disappears, as if by magic, into the log wall.
Lisa takes a deep breath to steady herself against whatever may be waiting for her in the cave and bends to discover the narrow opening in the logs.
On the bluff above, Holden curses Lisa’s recklessness. How can he protect her if he can’t see what’s going on?
Lisa stands just inside the entrance - in case she needs to back out fast.
“Welcome,” the man’s deep voice says from the shadows. “Please remain still. I do not want you to injure yourself.”
There’s the sound of a match, a momentary flash of fire, and a kerosene lantern’s warm glow. Moz sits crosslegged next to it. He’s dressed in nondescript work clothes that have obviously had a lot of wear and, except for the beard and long hair, there is nothing that suggests the role of a prophet. Why then does she keep thinking of Old Testament patriarchs or Hindu gurus?
The cave echoes with the rumble of his knowing laughter. “I’m no self-styled leader of a cult,” he tells her. “My daddy was a preacher and he christened me Moses.”
Lisa is fairly sure he can’t see her blush, but for no rational reason, she has a feeling he knows, anyway.
He lifts a hand and beckons. “Come - sit next to me while you tell me about your own exodus.” And his laugh rumbles again.
Lisa suddenly feels ill at ease, like she did on the very first day she ever went to school. She shakes off the feeling and says in a voice that seems too loud inside the rocky cave, “I was stationed at the Pittsburgh office of the Centers for Disease Control. I’m a virologist - but I am a medical doctor, too.” Her memory flashes through a slide show of unwanted images. “I treated many Geezer victims during the pandemic - even though it turned out to be impossible to save any of them.”
“That must have been almost too much to bear,” Moz says quietly. “Trying so heroically, only to fail again and again.”
Lisa’s eyes fill with tears. “It was brutal,” she croaks. “I think the only way I could go on was to make all those deaths count for something. So I took a blood sample from each of them to study and compare.”
“You stayed behind in the chaos to do so?” Moz asks incredulously.
“I did not,” Lisa answers firmly, pulling herself together. “An Army National Guard unit decided they wanted to do something besides defend quarantine blockades against American citizens - and together we took the CDC mobile laboratory and headed out of the city. If not for the man who leads them, I would have been unable to search for a way to stop Geezer from killing the next generation of humans - and I think I’ve found the answer! Only - I need help in getting my research to the CDC in Atlanta.”
Moz’s roar of laughter bounces off the cave walls. “I like you, Dr. Lisa Terrell! You aren’t afraid to break man’s law for a greater good.”
He pats her hand. “Do not worry. We will assist you in any way we can.”
Suddenly, Lisa feels him tense and jerk his hand away. “You will be sorely tested,” he whispers. “Please, remember my words when the time comes: Remember the sign. You must not forget the sign.”
His promise of help is a Godsend. But his oblique reference to signs sounds like so much mumbo-jumbo - until she realizes he must be talking about street signs. She waits for him to continue, but he is silent.
“Aren’t you going to give me the directions?” she asks finally.
“What?” he mumbles, and he sounds like someone waking from a dream. He shakes himself like a St Bernard. “The others will tell you what you must know.” He smiles at her over the lantern light. “All will be well in the end, my dear doctor. You have my word.”
“I WAS THERE,” ANDY Bono says. “I saw it all with my own eyes.” He sits blinking at the campfire through glasses mended with what looks like electrical tape. Strangely enough, it gives him a jaunty, vaguely piratical look.
When Aaron grudgingly introduced Lisa and Cash to Andy, she wasn’t impressed. He’s a small man, with the sloped shoulders of someone who habitually spends more hours in front of a computer than
is good for anyone - did spend hours, she corrects herself. But she’s quickly discovered that the old saying holds true - you can’t judge a book by its cover. Andy is a journalist, and while he admits to doing a lot of his research online before Geezer, it seems he was never shy about getting out and into the thick of things to follow a story.
She glances across the flames at Cash, and as far as she’s ever able to read Cash Hatfield, he also seems to have a favorable impression of Andy.
“I was there,” Andy repeats. “Although, by that point, I honestly couldn’t tell you why. We weren’t broadcasting any more. The electric grid was on its last legs. Nobody was printing papers.” He laughs at himself. “But there I was - the cat curiosity was about to kill. Hell, somebody had already knocked me down and grabbed my camera.” He touches the taped hinge of his spectacles. “That’s how I got this - and a black eye.”
He gathers his thoughts. “I’d pretty much decided to give up and go back to the station - and that’s when I saw him. Moz, I mean.”
He grabs a long stick and stirs up the fire. “He didn’t have the beard then. He was just an ordinary-looking dude standing in the middle of the street. What made him noticeable was that he wasn’t fighting - or grabbing what he could - or setting fires. He was very calm. Looking up at the sky, like he could see past all the smoke to the stars.”
Andy looks almost embarrassed. “I know it sounds hokey - but you weren’t there. He was statue still, his eyes raised to heaven - and the gas tank on a car not a hundred feet away blew up. Flaming debris shot overhead like sky rockets and started falling everywhere. Around Moz, too. But he never even flinched when it exploded - and I was looking right at him when it did. And then he started walking - right up the middle of that street - like he was going for a stroll in the park.”
“Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another dude drop a box on the ground, like he suddenly didn’t want it anymore. And I did a double-take - because he looked exactly like the guy walking through the fires. He took off running after his brother. I mean, it was obvious they were twins. And - I just - found myself following the two of them. And I wasn’t the only one. There were a bunch of people who stopped what they were doing and trailed after them.”