Armstrong shrugged, not knowing what to do for them exactly. It was still much too early in the year for corn. He was about to say as much but then noticed that Avigail’s face had gone blank and utterly free of expression.
“What is it?” he asked just as a distortion became visible in front of them. It was light at first, hardly noticeable, but then formed a kind of a circle. Armstrong took a step backward, away from the phenomenon, fear returning momentarily, but he did not run.
“What the he…” He began but stopped as a disembodied voice came from out of thin air.
“Avigail! Avigail!” The voice said, coming across clear and strong in the empty fields. Avigail’s face lit up in a smile and her heart soared. Galen was growing stronger! Avigail squealed delightedly, and for the first time since coming to this strange world she knew she was falling in love.
“Galen…I’m here,” she answered a little breathlessly.
“Good,” the voice answered and even Armstrong could sense the relief in it. “You must get to St. Louis as quickly as you can. They’re coming Avigail. They’ve found the way.”
“St. Louis…” she replied absently. “Alright. We’re weak, but we will get there somehow.”
“Hurry!” The voice added, and then nothing but silence as the distortion slowly dissipated in the warm spring air.
Avigail turned her attention once more to Armstrong. “We need food…now!” She yelled but Armstrong just shrugged.
“I’ve got some gum,” he said and pulled out a pack of double mint.
Avigail snatched it up and tore open a piece and then opened a couple for Vio, who chewed it for a few minutes and then swallowed the wad whole.
“You’re not supposed to eat it,” Cord told the women but it was too late. Avigail had swallowed hers as well.
“Is there any way to find out where we are?” Avigail asked, the gum doing little to alleviate her hunger. “We need to get to St. Louis!”
Armstrong looked about then spread his arms. “Well I don’t think that’s going to happen. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Unless you can wave your magic wand and open one of those bubble things in St. Louis I’d say we’re stuck. We haven’t even seen a car.”
As if on cue, a pick-up truck topped a distant hill and drove quickly in their direction, a plume of dust in its wake. Armstrong glanced suspiciously at Avigail and motioned to the oncoming vehicle as if asking if this was her doing. Avigail giggled and shook her head.
The truck was on them within a minute. Armstrong moved to the center of the road, his arms up.
“Stop,” he ordered just as more vehicles topped the distant rise. To his surprise the truck stopped without any more prompting.
“What’re you folks doing all the way out here?” The old man behind the wheel asked and eyed them all curiously.
Armstrong ignored the question. “We need a ride to the nearest town…what is the nearest town?”
The old man laughed. “What are ya doing out in my south fields?” He asked absently, looking around for a car. “How’d ya get here?” The man was a Midwestern dream, wearing a dirty John Deere baseball cap, a blue and green plaid shirt under a pair of dirty overalls.
“We fell from the sky,” Armstrong told him bluntly and the man jerked in surprise.
“You saw the plane?” he asked though it was really more of a statement. “From the looks of it, it came down on the far edge of my lands or perhaps Taylor’s. Hop in we’ll go check it out,” he added just an old Dodge Charger came up behind him.
“What’s the holdup Wilton?” the man in the Charger asked.
“Pipe down Clem, there’s people here that need help,” the old man yelled back then got out and helped Armstrong half carry, half drag Vio to the cab.
“You get in the back,” Armstrong told Avigail and pulled up the seat to allow her to slide into the rear of the extended cab, then he and Wilton propped Vio up in the middle of the bench seat and within moments they were off.
“Where are we?” Armstrong asked once they were underway.
Wilton laughed. “You’re smack dab in the middle of my acreage,” he said and Armstrong shook his head.
“What’s the nearest town?”
Wilton gave Armstrong a strange look but chuckled again. “Skidmore,” he replied.
“We need to find some food,” Avigail interrupted from the back.
“What state?” Armstrong asked and Wilton’s foot came reflexively off the gas pedal for a moment.
“What state?” he asked back. “Who are you people?”
“Please Sir…we’re trying to get to St. Louis,” Avigail said leaning forward.
“St. Louie….well you’re on the wrong side of the right state,” Wilton replied, turning around to glance at the girl in the back jump seat. The man was an elder and Avigail could see a host of gray whiskers protruding from his weathered cheeks, but his eyes had a kindly sparkle. She liked him instantly.
“Missouri then,” Armstrong commented. “Is there a grocery store in Skidmore?”
Wilton nodded as they pulled up short at the intersection of another gravel road. Dark black smoke rose out of a field to the south.
“Ha! Good, it’s in Taylor’s field. He’ll have to deal with it,” Wilton said happily just as Vio moaned and leaned over holding her stomach.
“She needs food…quickly,” Avigail repeated.
“A grocery store,” Armstrong repeated and leaned over to grip Wilton’s forearm tightly with his good hand. “Is there a grocery store in Skidmore?”
“Yea, but Cal’s is closer,” Wilton answered. “What kind of food you need?”
“Fruit!” Avigail said excitedly. “Peaches if you have any, but any fruit will do.”
“Cal’s it is then,” Wilton told her with a smile. “He runs a stand for the travelers up off 113. He has fruit, vegetables, ‘bout anything you would need as long as it’s produce,” he added with a chuckle and gunned the pickup and a puff of black smoke spewed from the tailpipe.
Less than ten minutes later they were at Cal’s and Vio was eating like she’d been without food for a week. Armstrong watched her in amazement but said nothing and just kept taking out his wallet and paying for more and more fruit.
“Now she can eat,” Cal exclaimed, truly impressed.
Wilton agreed with a sly smile. “Yep…I was always partial to a woman with an appetite. They’re better in bed,” he added.
“Hummph,” Cal replied. “How the hell would you know, you’ve been married to Estelle for over forty years?”
“Yeah,” Wilton retorted as he watched Vio quickly down her twentieth peach, “but she has a mighty fine appetite at the dinner table…and in the bedroom.”
Cal squawked with laughter and sold Armstrong another ten peaches.
“I do believe she’ll eat them all,” Wilton added. And though Avigail had eaten her fair share, she’d only eaten about ten of the peaches before moving on to apples and tomatoes, wanting to save the best for her friend and mentor.
“Yep,” Cal agreed and together they watched Vio finish off number twenty-one.
†
They decided to keep to the back roads and pushed through Swansea before heading eastward to Cahokia before once again risking a major thoroughfare. But instead of heading directly for downtown St. Louis, they headed south on I-255 and crossed into Missouri south of the city. The Illinois State Police flashed their lights in departure and made a quick u-turn before they reached Jefferson Barracks Bridge and the Mississippi River.
“We need to go to Forest Park,” Christine said as they turned north onto I-55, heading once more toward the downtown area.
“No…no,” Galen exclaimed turning around to face the front of the cab. “We need to go to the bow…the large metal bow.”
“The Arch?” Adam asked with a frown and Galen nodded.
“That’ll probably put us back in with the crowds,” Ned commented and Adam glanced back at Collier.
“Absolutely
not!” She replied. “It’s far too dangerous.”
“The bow…the arch,” Galen insisted.
Adam stared back at Galen, who nodded sincerely.
“Well, we’re heading to the Arch,” Adam told Collier as Blue moved up and sat directly across from the table. “You better contact the escort and let them know. We can let you out somewhere along the way if you prefer.”
Collier glanced at Sanders, who shrugged. “We’ve come this far,” he told her and surprisingly Collier felt relief. For some reason she now wanted to see this to the end, help the boy if she could.
She quickly got on the phone and contacted Garcia, who was now located in the lead car and after quick argument he agreed to continue with the escort.
“Alright goddamn it, the Arch it is. We’ll fall back and follow your lead,” the agent said loudly through the phone. “This is on you, Collier,” he added and then hung up. Agent Rebecca Collier swallowed hard and then looked again at Galen, hoping the boy was worth all the trouble.
It only took another fifteen minutes before they spotted the arch and downtown St. Louis in the distance, and after another five they reached their exit. The atmosphere within the RV was growing exceedingly tense as they all wondered just what they would find beneath the country’s largest sculpture.
“This is going to get hairy,” Blue commented dryly but surprisingly the way was free, completely clear of any crowds, as they pulled neatly off the freeway.
“Maybe they all headed out into the country to catch sight of us,” Ned commented as they pulled off onto Memorial drive, but Adam shook his head as more of the Arch grounds came into view. The grassy hills and fields that blanketed the area were crawling with people; thousands of people, far more than Adam thought would normally visit the Arch on a weekday. Plus when he glanced up at the Poplar Street Bridge which spanned the Mississippi between downtown St. Louis and Illinois he saw that it was lined with pedestrians causing traffic to come to a near standstill.
“They’re here,” he said, pointing up at the bridge and then he turned back to Galen.
“Are you sure?” He asked Galen emphatically, but the boy just nodded and smiled.
“We have to be here. They’re coming across…soon.”
Adam glanced at his sister; she was clearly worried but said nothing, as Camille and her daughter moved up from the rear of the vehicle.
“We’ll stay with you as long as we can,” Blue told Galen and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
Adam sighed, then nodded. “Protect your family,” he said and then leaned over as they turned onto Memorial Drive.
“Drive on by,” Adam told Ned, who happily did as he asked. They drove the length of the national park and then turned right on Washington and then circled around along the riverfront. They pulled to the curb but Ned did not immediately switch off the engine. They were well below the level of the park which was situated above a high flood wall. The green grass, the trees and the crowds were almost directly above them.
They all remained quiet, the engine idling softly, each person taking stock of the situation, but then suddenly someone was pounding on the door.
“Stay in your vehicle…we have the St. Louis PD on the way,” Garcia yelled and pointed at Adam through the window. Adam glanced back and could see a host of other agents fanning out and moving to the other RV’s in the group.
“The girl should stay in the RV,” Sanders said and after a moment Blue nodded and looked to Camille. She smiled nervously and nodded.
“I’ll stay with her,” Camille said firmly.
“You should come,” Galen said softly to Camille. “Everyone should come,” he added and glanced at Blue, who after a moment decided he’d put his trust in Galen long ago, now was not the time to question it.
“This is not a good idea,” Sanders contradicted but Blue stood and peered down at him harshly. Sanders shrugged. If the man wanted to risk his family that was his business.
“Everyone should come…I cannot protect you here,” he added in a quiet, confident manner.
“It might be best if we don’t separate,” Dorothy commented, and everyone remained utterly quiet for a long time. They were all thinking of the crowds around Vandalia and the gunshots.
“Are you sure Galen?” Adam finally asked. “Crowds can be very dangerous.”
“We should trust him,” Christine replied suddenly before Galen had the chance to answer. “He’s very good with crowds.”
“I trust him,” Ned suddenly added, surprising his wife. Ned wasn’t one to take risks.
The young man nodded to the old man from Iowa. “Being together is best.”
“Alright then let’s go,” Dorothy hollered and with a whoop Ned swung the door open.
“Everyone stay very close!” Collier demanded and as they exited the RV they saw that nearly all of Galen’s followers were climbing out of their vehicles. Christine smiled as Lori and Arny Stadler reached them, both boys in tow. They were followed closely by Jake and Amy Woofter and their daughter Lauren, who’d yet to experience another onset of swelling from her Lupus. Farther back was the Carrigan’s, the newlyweds who’d joined them in Wyoming and the Young family from Oregon and a host of others. They all moved forward despite Garcia’s warning and were soon crowded around Galen.
“Shit!” Agent Sanders and Garcia said in unison and Collier could only agree. This was going to be one hell of a nightmare if things turned ugly.
“Everybody ready? Blue…Camille?” Adam asked. Blue nodded and pulled his wife and daughter in close.
“We’re ready,” he answered quietly and much like a school field trip they all turned and headed as a group to the wide cement steps that led from the riverfront up to the Arch grounds.
†
Alberto followed the RV along Memorial Drive glancing over occasionally to get a glimpse of the magnificent gleaming steel arch. He’d never been this close and the immense size of the sculpture shocked and delighted him. The crowds however did not, and his mood sobered quickly. Torres gripped the wheel hard as he followed the caravan slowly around the north side of the Arch grounds and down toward the riverfront. Ahead and behind him were long lines of cars, everyone apparently intent on visiting the monument on the very same day.
‘Why would they come here?’ He asked himself just as the RV pulled over alongside the curb. The rest of the caravan also jockeyed over, blocking in a few unfortunate cars, as did the two remaining FBI vehicles. Torres was forced to pass them by; he did so without a sideways glance and soon found himself nearly a block farther down the road. Torres was now too close to the Arch to find a parking spot and had to travel the length of the grounds before he was able to turn back and when he did he was shocked to see the entire Dawkins party ambling down the sidewalk moving toward the stairs that led up to the grounds. The target was right out front, easily identifiable from his time on television, gawking about like he hadn’t a care in the world. Of course, he was surrounded by a host of supporters at the moment, but still Torres was flabbergasted. It didn’t seem prudent to wander the crowds of St. Louis, especially after the hostile greetings they received from the small towns along the way.
‘They must be very stupid or have a death wish,’ he thought but then reconsidered as a new possibility struck him. ‘Perhaps they’re giving the boy to the crowds.’ The thought nearly paralyzed him with fear as he drove past the group. He glanced over and even played with the idea of stopping the car in the middle of traffic and getting out before he lost his chance, but in the end he drove on by and kept driving until he finally came upon an open spot on the very far side of the Eads Bridge. Cursing, Torres climbed from the car and quickly retrieved a rolling suitcase from the trunk.
He crossed the street swiftly and headed back toward the arch at nearly a run, half panicked by the thought of the crowds pulling the boy apart before he got the chance to avenge his brother. Uncharacteristically he hurried down the street, but he had to wait on the curb at Washington Ave
nue as a half dozen police cars raced around the corner. The car lights were flashing but there were no sirens.
‘Shit, fuck, piss, bastard, whore! Shit, fuck, piss, bastard, whore! The words bounced around his brain over and over again like the chorus of a poorly written pop song. It played out in his head continuously as he crossed the street and hurried after St. Louis’ finest. He half expected to hear a roar of anger from the crowds above, but he made it to the foot of a vast concrete stairway without incident. The police cars were parked haphazardly, their lights still flashing though most of the cars were now empty. A pair of officers stood in the middle of the road and directed traffic to keep it moving. There were hundreds of tourists on the stairs and on the sidewalks around the police cars and all of them were making their way up toward the grounds. It struck Torres as slightly ominous that no one appeared to be leaving the area, and he had a sinking feeling he knew why.
Alberto gawked up at the massive arch of shining steel with the rest of the tourists as he struggled up the stairway with his case, but once he was up top he put the memorial out of his mind and began to search for the boy. To his surprise the majority of the people on the grounds did not appear to be hostile, though he did spot a large group of protestors picketing near the south leg of the arch. Torres moved that way but after a moment of scrutiny he realized that the boy and his group were not in the area. He turned on the spot, searching the crowd and though most people seemed to be going about their own business, Torres could sense electricity in the air. It reminded him of his one and only trip to the Super Bowl six years ago now in Tampa.
Torres moved toward the north end of the monument and was struck once more at the majesty of the massive structure. He took one quick glance upward toward the top of the graceful bowing metal arch before continuing his search. It didn’t take long. He spotted a group of policemen milling about on a large grassy hill west of where he stood. The boy was there, he knew it even though he could not see him, but after a moment he spied the doctor, Christine Dawkins. Torres frowned. There was a crowd around them and it was growing rapidly, but even from this distance he could tell that most of the people surrounding his target were not angry, instead they seemed to be listening, some were even sitting in the grass and all were facing away from the arch. Alberto moved closer following a winding sidewalk, his case thumping in time with the grooves in the cement, but it wasn’t until he was quite close that he spotted the boy…no young man. He was tall, nearly as tall as Dawkins. He was speaking to the crowd, but Torres was still not close enough to make out his words or his mood. For now the crowd did not seem to be a danger to the mark, but it was still growing quickly as word began to spread across the grounds. Torres did not even entertain the notion of trying to kill the boy up close, revenge he wanted, but not at the expense of his freedom. No, he would have to make the kill from a concealed vantage point; a close kill was now a distant dream. Instead of making his way directly toward the boy, Torres circled around, angling toward a grove of trees positioned farther up the hill. As he moved he tried to appear uninterested and nonchalant, but all the while he kept a close eye on the person he most wanted to kill.
The Best of All Possible Worlds Page 45