Chariot - [Millennium Quartet 03]

by Charles L. Grant

  This time, however, he wasn’t sleeping.

  “Honey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  He stirred under her hand, pulling away, and she frowned.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, almost growling. “I don’t think I can, Steph. This whole thing ... I don’t think I can do it.”

  That didn’t surprise her. Once he’d stopped examining himself in the mirror just in case it was a trick and he hadn’t changed a bit, he had become quiet, almost sullen, and didn’t even take the hint when she’d stood at the foot of the bed and gave him a slow strip.

  She kept her voice even. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She sat up, suddenly punched his shoulder so hard he flipped onto his back with a curse, automatically reaching for her arm. She hit him again, on the chest, as hard as she could.

  “Jesus, Steph!”

  “No,” she said, leaning over him, grabbing his chin, squeezing his cheeks. “You will not screw this up for me, Cable, you hear me? You screw this up, you bastard, Trey isn’t the only one seeing angels in the morning.”

  He didn’t try to break free, didn’t try to hit back. “Steph, for God’s sake, what’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice. “Nothing. Not anymore.”

  She released him with a snap of her wrist, fell back onto her pillow, and wondered why she had put up with him all these years, all his harsh words, the once-in-a-while slap, the snarls and the animal sex. Maybe it had been love once; it wasn’t love anymore.

  Shape up or ship out, she thought to him angrily; you blow this one, brother, you’re on your own, I’m not dragging you to the top with me.

  Satisfied, ultimatum given, she smiled and dozed and dreamt of being a star.

  * * * *

  “You ever coming to bed?” Muriel called. Not that she cared. It just seemed like the right thing to say.

  “No,” Lillian called back, laughing. “I’m practicing, okay?”

  “You can walk, what’s to practice?”

  “The feel of it, you old cow. The feel of it.”

  Not so old, Muriel thought, for the hundredth time running her hands along the new flat of her stomach, over the new firmness of her breasts, along the new curve of her hips; not so old that I have to put with your shit anymore.

  “For God’s sake, Lil,” she yelled, “we gotta be up in a couple of hours!”

  “I’m already ready,” Lil called back, still laughing, still wandering the living room, the kitchen, the narrow hall. “You have no idea how ready I am.”

  Muriel sighed, but she smiled. “So what’re you gonna use? The gun? I got dibs on the gun.”

  “Shit no, Mother, I’m gonna ride that son of a bitch down.”

  Muriel laughed.

  Her daughter laughed with her.

  “Jesus God Almighty!” Lillian shouted. “Praise Jesus God Almighty!”

  “Watch your language,” Muriel snapped. “It’s Sunday, remember?” A moment later she yelled, “And save your damn strength, you stupid child. You’re gonna need it.”

  The angel, Roger guessed it might have been Jude, left him in the bathtub, and it had taken him over an hour of patient waiting before he could crawl out. God knows how long after that before he could haul himself up to the sink and. turn on the water. He figured he drank a gallon, but it didn’t do any good. His skin felt fiery and tight, and he could feel the pustules splitting, could feel the liquid burning down his cheeks, his chest, running down his sides from under his arms. He didn’t think about what Eula had done to him. He didn’t think about how long he had to live. All he wanted to do was stop the fire inside and out; all he wanted to do was do something right for a change before it was too late. Calling the cops wasn’t an option. What would he tell them? That an old black bitch had cast a spell or something on him? That the world-famous gospel singer and lovable old woman was really some kind of witch or demon? Even if he held a Bible in both hands they wouldn’t believe him. Not after what he’d done today. Hell, once they got a look at him they’d figure he was raving because of the fever, because of the Sickness, because he was dying.

  He staggered, stumbled, fell into the living room and crawled toward the open cardboard box he kept handy beside the couch. If he got there soon enough, if he could open one of the bottles inside, he might be able to drink the pain away, or at least keep it at arm’s length. Either way, it would be enough. Either way, he’d find the strength to make it outside. And once there, he’d make his way down to Jude’s and show her what happened to angels who left the sick and lame behind.

  * * * *

  3

  1

  T

  rey stood with his back to the room, staring through the slats in the blinds. He saw nothing out there; he was too busy listening to the breathing behind him. Jude and the girls sat on the couch, and once he had finished they hadn’t said a word. He knew, however, that Jude believed him. She had to, or she wouldn’t have planned on going to see Eula. The kids, on the other hand, hadn’t given him a clue, and halfway through his story he had turned to the window so he wouldn’t see their faces’, shimmering in the faint light drifting from bedroom and kitchen. Starshine clearly skeptical, Moonbow clearly afraid.

  Belief or not, putting it all together aloud had convinced him of one thing—he had no intention of taking on Eula Korrey. He was a guy, nothing more; he wasn’t a superman or superhuman. Just a guy with a weird talent, and that definitely did not include taking on part of the end of the world.

  Finally he said, “The sun’s almost here.”

  Across the street he could just make out the outline of Stephanie’s house, the front windows taking shape as if the building were waking up, getting ready to open its eyes.

  “You’re gonna leave,” Starshine said, flat and accusing.

  “Not alone if I can help it,” he answered.

  Jude cleared her throat with a quick harsh cough. “If ... if we go with you, where will we go?”

  “As far away as we can get before she knows we’re gone.”

  “And when she does?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The girls, Trey.”

  He put his back to the window, saw them looking at him. Jude’s eyes were invisible above the veil, Starshine’s were narrow, Moonbow’s were wide and shining. They were all holding hands, and he did his best not to grin when he understood they weren’t questioning the truth of the story; they wanted to know how he planned to protect them.

  He glanced down at his feet, shook his head, looked up again. “Listen, this isn’t something my mother prepared me for, you have to understand that.” A hand brushed nervously across his chest. “I guess this kind of thing isn’t in the Mother’s Handbook.”

  “No,” Jude said, voice telling him she was smiling. “If it is, I missed that page.”

  “So what I’m saying is...what I...” His fingers brushed his shirt again, and stopped when they felt the gold chip inside. A weak wavering smile that folded into a frown when he pulled it out and stared at it, turning it over, turning it back. A sound in his throat, a laugh stillborn. “No.” He slipped it back under his shirt. “No, that’s too much even for this.” He patted his chest and brushed the absurdity away, then checked over his shoulder. “I’m going to get the truck. You’ve got that long to throw some things into a suitcase.”

  Moonbow pushed off the couch and looked at her sister, who didn’t move until Jude nudged her. Then she too stood, but instead of following Moonbow into the bedroom, she crossed the room and stood in front of him. She’s too old, he thought; much too old for a child her age.

  “You know you’re gonna get hurt if we go,” she said, arms stiff at her sides, lips barely moving.

  “I’ve been hurt before, Star.”

  “We could use the gun.”

  “Honey,”
Jude said from the couch.

  He leaned over and, before she could move, cupped a cheek with his hand, gratitude for her concern. “We’ll need the gun for someone it’ll hurt. I don’t think she’s it.”

  “But—”

  “No, Star, we have to go.” He pulled his hand down the cheek and away, and poked her shoulder. “Now git. There’s not much time.”

  She nodded and ran from the room.

  Trey blew out slowly. “This wasn’t exactly how I planned to sweep you and the girls off your feet, you know.”

  Jude nodded. “I know.”

  He wanted to say something else, something clever, something to mark this time in memory, but there were no words, only a sad shrug before he headed for the door. When she didn’t stop him, didn’t offer words of her own, he went to the porch and checked the street. It was empty, but he could see the houses now, brightening, growing out of the dark as the dark drained away.

  Not much time, and he ran to the house, to the bedroom where he pulled the metal strongbox from under the bed. Tucking it under his arm, he walked quickly up the hall and into the kitchen, saw nothing he needed, and checked the living room.

  Nothing.

  He had nothing to take with him.

  He grabbed his jacket, the keys, and closed the door and locked it, more out of habit than a belief that he would ever return. Once done, he felt strange, free and confined at the same time, but he refused to think about it as he crossed the porch and stepped down under the carport. He tossed the strongbox and the jacket into the gap behind the seats and, keeping a watch on the street, he bent down to climb in, and whacked his brow against the frame.

  “Damn,” he muttered, standing again, swaying a little as he rubbed the injured spot and checking his fingers to be sure there was no blood, positive he had hit the edge hard enough to break the skin. This time he braced a palm against the frame, but this time he didn’t get in because he knew he’d hit his head because the frame was too low. Getting into a vehicle was virtually automatic; you knew how high it was, how low you had to duck to get in without taking half your head off.

  The gap between house and truck was too narrow to crouch comfortably in so he moved to the front, stood back a step, and saw all four tires bulging and flat to the ground. He only checked the right front, running his hand around the rubber until he found the gash. The others would be the same.

  Running footsteps, and the girls raced by him to open the passenger door.

  Hushed whispers: “Put them in the back.”

  “We’ll get squished, ‘bow. There’s not enough room. We’ll stick them in the bed.”

  “But they’ll bounce out!”

  “He’s got rope there, remember? We’ll tie them down.”

  Trey put a hand on the hood to help him to his feet, then leaned against it, head down as though packed with lead.

  “I can’t tie ropes, you jerk.”

  “I can, you dip.”

  Softer footsteps, scuffing over the ground, and a hand on his spine. “Something wrong?”

  He was too weary to nod. “The tires.” He pushed upright and turned to her. “The goddamn tires are slashed.”

  Jude stepped to one side and squinted into the half-light, one hand at her throat. “Who?”

  He gestured vaguely up the street. “Who the hell knows?” He punched the air. “Who the hell cares, it’s done.”

  A squeal, and Moonbow skidded around the truck. “Trey, the tires!”

  “I know.” He sniffed, put his hands on his hips, lifted his face to the sky. “I know.”

  “What’re we gonna do?”

  Starshine joined mem, swinging her arms nervously. “We can take Cable’s car, maybe. Or Ricardo’s.”

  “You have keys?” Moonbow asked her derisively.

  “No.”

  “Oh. So you can hot-wire a car, huh?”

  “Very funny, dip, very funny.”

  “Well, you’re the one who said—”

  “Stop it,” Trey said, so firmly and quietly they backed off quickly, then eased around him to stand beside their mother. When Starshine started to ask a question, he added, “Hush. I need to think.”

  As he watched the morning’s soft blue nudge the dark west, he wondered why they had gone to all this trouble. Eula knew what would happen to him if he left town, so why didn’t she just let him go? Keeping him here served no purpose, made no sense. Unless . . .

  He walked slowly down the drive to the street and looked south, toward her house.

  Unless she couldn’t let him go. Unless she couldn’t take the chance that he’d survive long enough to join up with those two other men. What might happen then he had no idea, couldn’t even begin to guess, but it was clear, now, that simply keeping him safe so she could keep an eye on him was no longer one of her options.

  The notion that he, somehow, was a threat almost made him laugh aloud. He was a gambler, for crying out loud. Worse, he played the slots, quarter in, pull the arm, what the hell kind of gambling was that?

  A morning breeze slipped through his hair, across his face; warm, and promising heat.

  A tiny dust devil tottered drunkenly through the empty lot across the street.

  “Keys,” Jude said.

  He frowned. “What?”

  “Give me your keys, I’ll go inside and call a cab.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Moonbow raced over and snatched them from his pocket, ran to the door and was inside before he could tell her it was a stupid idea, he didn’t think Eula would wait that long. But the look Jude gave him, the expression on Starshine’s face, kept him quiet. They were grasping for the straws that would build them a way out, and he wasn’t about to stop them. He didn’t have the heart. He didn’t have the courage.

  Starshine wandered down the length of the pickup, examining the tires, searching for a miracle. Jude stayed where she was, hands clasped in front of her, a small travel bag at her feet.

  “She’s going to be angry, you know,” he said, loud enough for her to hear, hopefully not loud enough for Starshine.

  “I know.”

  “I should have left when I had the chance. Bring you into this . . .” He shook his head.

  “Karma,” she said.

  “Bullshit,” he told her. And grinned when she made a gesture and a sound that told him he hadn’t learned a thing after all this time, that she wasn’t as off the wall as he believed.

  But she was, and that was one of the reasons why he loved her.

  Well, damn, he thought as he looked away, suddenly embarrassed; this is a hell of a time to figure that out, you jerk.

  Then Starshine called his name just as her sister left the house. The look on Moonbow’s face told him all he needed to know about the time it would take for a cab to fetch them, but he smiled anyway and hurried to the backyard when Starshine called him again.

  “Look,” and she pointed toward the mountains, shading her eyes against a slow steady wind that had kicked out of the breeze.

  “What?” Moonbow demanded. “I don’t see anything. What are you talking about?”

  Trey saw it without help.

  It seemed at first to be nothing more than a morning haze that blurred the distant range and the desert floor. But there was no water out there, no man-made lake or natural stream.

  It wasn’t a haze; it was a cloud.

  Although it was still several miles away, Jude touched the girls’ shoulders to pull them back, then turned them and pushed them toward the street. “Inside,” he heard her tell them. “We have to get inside.”

  He didn’t move.

  A long time ago, he had been on the banks of Lake Superior, watching a thunderstorm make its way toward him from the west. Black clouds gliding effortlessly across the blue turned the land and water beneath them to hazy midnight, and he could feel the storm’s cold wind, see the rain making its way over the water. He had been so fascinated by the sight that it had taken a crackling bolt of lightning to make him sprint
for the nearest shelter before he was drenched.

  The storm, as intense and violent as it turned out to be, didn’t last as long as its approach. At least in his memory, where the clouds and the rain took their own sweet time. The better, he had thought then, to scare him half to death before it crushed him.

  Here, the sky didn’t change from its gentle early blue, and the wind wasn’t cold, and there was no rain.