The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set

by William David Ellis

  “It also has the ability to defend itself by adapting to the threat. It can deflect sword, spear, and bullet. It can also withstand great heat—necessary when fighting a dragon. And, if its wearer, in spite of all those defenses, gets wounded, it has the ability to attach itself to the wounded area, send out small thread-like tentacles, and stop the bleeding. Finally, it’s a source of energy and can reenergize its wearer in battle. It’s an amazing technological feat.

  “A few years back, I scraped off a small piece and took it to a prominent laboratory but never let it out of my sight. The scientist, who studied it over a twenty-four-hour period, concluded it was advanced nanite technology. I had to steal the sample back, which I could do because I was wearing the armor. And perhaps best of all, after you put it on, it is thought-activated.”

  “Hmm, okay, that is pretty awesome. I just have one question?”

  “Yes, we are going to go eat. Just let me put this on, and we can go,” Harry grumbled.

  “That’s not what I was going to ask. I want to know how you go to the bathroom with all that on?”

  “Get in the truck. Just get in the truck. You are the most exasperating, aggravating, question-asking 1,244 six-year-old I have ever known.”

  Sarah giggled and crawled over the driver’s seat of the cab, still talking, “But I want to know. Also, Harry, does that thing get hot? Harry, where are you?” Sarah looked back through the cab window to see the old man sitting on the tailgate with one leg out of his pants. He was trying to get the armor over his work boots without having to take them off, but he wasn’t having much luck. His bright blue boxers were slipping, and the top of his rear end had started to shine. She quickly turned around, snickering. Her revelry was cut short when the old man opened the driver’s seat door and slipped in, completely dressed. As he slid the key into the ignition, Sarah asked, “Do you have it on now?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wow! That is amazing. You really can’t see it, can you?”

  “Nope. I’m hungry too, so let’s go. Did you bring any money?” Harry asked.

  “Huh? No, I don’t have any money!”

  “How are you going to pay for your breakfast?”

  She folded her arms and put on a pouty face. Things got quiet again in the cab. The old man let her stew for a few minutes, and about a mile from the café parking lot, a shocked look of comprehension crossed his face. His eyes widened, and he turned toward Sarah. “Wait a minute! You don’t expect me to buy your breakfast, do you?”

  A big grin lit up the cab. The transformation was instantaneous, and the old man wished he had brought sunglasses. “I tell you what. When we get there, you sit in the cab while I go in and eat. If I have anything left over, I’ll get a doggie bag and bring it back.”

  Sarah’s smile fell from her face and was replaced by narrowed eyes. Before the old man knew what happened, she had balled up and hit him. “Ouch!” He laughed so hard he choked, and then had a hacking fit, almost running off the road before he got it under control. “Okay, okay, you can come in. How do you like your eggs?”

  “I don’t want eggs. I want pancakes, with bacon, and milk-coffee.”

  “Hmm, typical six-year-old,” the old man muttered as they pulled into the parking lot of his favorite café.

  The hail-pocked crimson-colored sign in front of the café read Jamie’s Café, You Stab ’Em, We Slab ’Em, in big white letters. The tagline was meant to be funny, but some locals took it seriously and were known to bring fresh roadkill in to be fried up or made into gumbo. The café was in the very rural place of Moab, Texas, and was built from huge pine logs that looked like a rustic cabin with a wrap-around porch and a handicap ramp. Inside, it had the same log siding, and picnic tables were arranged in rows for the guests. The old man had been frequenting the place for years, and everybody knew not to sit at the table on the east side of the café between seven and nine every morning except Sundays because that was his “reserved” spot.

  The owners, Barry and Jamie Dinker, were as different from each other as they come. Barry was a Kiwi from New Zealand, a sophisticated man with a calm demeanor and a dry wit. People around those parts called him the tractor-whisperer. He would listen to an ailing tractor by taking a long-handled screwdriver, placing one end on the tractor frame and the other to his ear, and diagnose a tractor like a physician would an asthmatic.

  His wife, Jamie, was his polar opposite. Born on the opposite side of the world from her husband, she continued the traditions of her heritage, as a pure redneck woman. Long and lanky with bottle-blond hair, she had an opinion about everything and, as much as it pained Harry to admit, on occasion she had been right. She was loud yet had the hearing of a jackrabbit, listening to all the conversations in the small restaurant while frying sizzling bacon in the back kitchen. Barry had to continually scrape the cussing off the walls due to Jamie’s distinct gift for saying exactly the most provocative, aggravating thing at just the right time.

  Once, when the old man asked her if she were interested in attending a Bible study, she answered, “No way! I never discuss religion with anyone I like.” After he quit laughing, the old man shrugged his shoulders, chalked it up to sophisticated redneck philosophy, and left.

  Sarah scampered into the café, walked over to the old man’s table, and sat down like she had eaten there forever and had stock in the place. The old man slowly walked in behind her, nodding to everyone he knew, most of whom were nameless, as he only knew them as the people he nodded to at Jamie’s each morning.

  The old man moved toward his table across from the usual group of old men he did know, who always sat in the same chairs, at the same table. Several times through the years, they had asked him to join them, but he always declined, saying if he sat with them, he couldn’t listen to them, and he preferred to laugh at them and take notes so he could use their examples in the Sunday school class he taught—examples of what not to say and how not to act. The old men always laughed but never knew that he meant exactly what he said. He had actually referred to them several times in his Sunday school lectures.

  “Weel now! Who is this here young lady?” Jamie bellowed from behind the counter. “You’re way purtee-er than anybody this old man ever sat with before. What’s your name?”

  Sarah slipped into her I-am-a-pretty-little-princess role, and the curtsey in her voice was nearly audible. “My name is Sarah. I am six years old. And my grandpa thinks I’m a princess.”

  “Well, you sure are, baby girl. Now don’t let this old man you’re sitting with growl at you. You keep him in his place, ya hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, what can I git for ya?” Then, turning to her harried husband, she screeched, “Barry, you ain’t got no coffee over here yet? What’s wrong with you? They been in here for five minutes!”

  Barry walked up, as solid as a rock and as calm as the sea after Jesus stilled it, cantering in a Kiwi accent that had escaped the influence of twenty years of East Texan dialect.

  “Gud morning there, Hank. What can I get you this morning other than your usual coffee? And what can I get for you, young lady? Don’t I know you? You’re Kenneth’s granddaughter. Oh yah, I remember you. How’s he doing today?”

  Sarah grimaced, but caught most of it before it pierced the fear she had been pushing aside. “He is good. I’m eating with my great-uncle this morning.”

  Harry mumbled under his breath, “Great-uncle my rear end…”

  “Well, I see that. And what would you like?”

  Harry and Sarah gave their orders, and Barry limped away to give his boisterous wife the order.

  Sarah’s 1,244-year-old side manifested and said, “I have tried my best not to think of Grandpa Kenneth and Grandma Grace, but when that man asked, I almost lost it. I’m so terrified I’m shaking. While we were at the church, I could push it aside. I just felt like they were okay, and when we were driving down the road last night trying to hide, I kept it under control. But…”

&nb
sp; About that time, Jamie brought their order. Hank said his usual, “Wow, that was quick!” and was about to comment on the size of Sarah’s pancakes when he looked up into Jamie’s eyes and flinched. They were serpentine.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Before you have a jerking spell, hang on, Hank. It ain’t what it appears to be. Not everybody who…” And then she bent down and did something totally out of character; she whispered. That in itself was enough to cause the old man to blink and pull back. She slapped him on the shoulder and continued, “Stop it, old man. That damned ol’ reverend may have left a mark on some of us, but he done shot his mouth off for the last time. I didn’t know his fancy talk and twisting Scripture would lead to this. I wasn’t there when they did what they did to Thomas. I wouldn’t have it. Then he went and ate—ate, mind you—my cousin Melba Jean. I am having none of it. Neither are a lot of others who were under his spell. We want out. And the way I hear it, you’re the key to that door. You ain’t all you seem to be, are you, old man? Ha! At least I hope not cuz you ain’t a whole lot to look at, if you know what I mean…”

  Sarah’s body stiffened, and the old man reached across the table and subtly squeezed her hand.

  Hank growled and said, “What do you want, Jamie? Why are you telling me this?”

  “Well, here’s the thang, Hank. The reverend is expecting those of us who were his followers to be at the libarie today to ambush you and take Sarah. By the way, Sarah, your grandparents are safe fer now. Laden didn’t tell everybody everything, but I, at least, know that. I don’t know where they are, but I know he’s bringing ’em to the libarie. There won’t be a lot of kids there. None of the children belonging to the reverend’s flock’ll be there, and some of us tried discreetly to warn other folks. But no one went out of their way to warn ’em either, fer fear they wud get found out. That’s all I can tell ya, Hank, and if ya don’t kill that beast today… well, somebody else is going to be serving you breakfast tomorrow. It won’t be me, cuz when I don’t show up, the reverend’s going to know. But aahh am not goin’ to the libarie, and Barry is seriously thinking about bringing his old Uzi Israel machine gun, just to stand with ya and even the odds a bit. He was a New Zealand Special Forces soldier in his day… Bet ya didn’t know that, did ya?”

  The old man’s look of surprise caused Jamie to laugh. “You didn’t think I could keep a secret, did ya?”

  “Jamie, some questions are better left unanswered,” the old man replied.

  “Ha, you just answered it.” And then, in a quiet whisper, “I’m so sorry, Hank. I was so wrong. We all thought the reverend was good until he wasn’t. Some of us saw that. Others, not so much. Now we are all going to pay for it. Please forgive me.”

  Hank saw tears streaming down Jamie’s cheeks, blurring her mascara and causing her makeup to run. He nodded and got up to pay his bill with Sarah tagging along quietly. She held his hand as he walked up to the counter. Barry met him halfway there. “On me today, mate, and I will be there when you need me. Don’t count on the police though. Half of them are with the reverend, the other half not so much. Is there anything particular I can do?”

  The old man thought about it a moment. His eyes widened as an idea occurred to him, and he leaned over to whisper in Barry’s ear. It was a pretty long conversation with Barry saying, “Ai, yeah, sure… absolutely, I can. I will be there, waiting. Be careful though, be careful.”

  As they walked out, Sarah looked up and asked, “What was that all about?”

  “Just taking care of some concerns, getting all my ducks in a row. You ready to go to story time?”

  ***

  Nothing looked out of place as the old man’s truck puttered into place. He parked in his usual spot, looked around to see how many other cars were there, and paid special note that most of the cars missing were those belonging to Reverend Long’s members.

  Only half of his little flock were gathered, and as Hank walked into the library, he wished they had all stayed home. The children were in the line of fire. If the dragon decided to attack while Hank was telling the story, the children would be slaughtered. The old man grieved over the idea of losing any more of his precious munchkins. Thomas’s death had broken his heart. He did not want the children to be there, but if he had warned them all away, the dragon would have known he was exposed. If the old man had fled, these children would have been punished by the dragon anyway. He had to stand and fight with his children and family gathered around him. Nothing else terrified a warrior more than that vulnerability, and nothing else made him fight harder.

  The old man’s daughter met him at the door. She was distraught. “Dad, where have you been? Why didn’t you answer your phone? I just got a call from one of the parents of the children telling me that Sarah was kidnapped, and you are the probable suspect! Dad, there is an arrest warrant out for you! What is going on?” Lizzy said, trembling in confusion.

  After a quick glance back to the parking lot, the old man ushered his daughter and Sarah inside and secured the door behind them. Sarah, who had been holding the old man’s hand, walked calmly up to his daughter, put her hands on her small hips, and said, “That’s a lie! Whoever told you that is a follower of Reverend Laden Long. He is a Satanist hiding in sheep’s clothing. He killed Thomas and he wants to take me away. My grandparents have been kidnapped and your father discovered all this and hid me to keep the reverend from doing the same thing to me as he did to his own grandson.”

  Lizzy stepped back in shock. “A Satanist?!” she voiced in a whispered shriek that turned the heads of the children toward her to see what had happened.

  The old man gently took his daughter’s hands in his own. “I am afraid so, honey. I wasn’t sure until last night. I also wasn’t aware of how extensive his influence was or how many followers he had till a few hours ago. Half the police force is behind him. I expect him to be here within minutes.”

  Lizzy gulped and then gestured toward the children. “Dad, what about these kids? What am I going to do to keep them safe? Why did you come here if you knew it would endanger the children!” she continued, starting to get angry.

  The old man softly replied, “We didn’t have a choice. Long knows we are scheduled to have story time today. He has Kenneth and Grace. He kidnapped them last night as a ransom for Sarah. He knows she will not run away if their lives are at stake.

  “I stopped him from capturing Sarah last night after Kenneth warned us in a text, which the reverend and his followers were monitoring. In the text, I told him to meet us here, the place we were scheduled to meet, with breakfast and some clothes for Sarah.

  “If Kenneth and Grace didn’t show up,” Hank explained, “Long would have known that we knew he had killed them and there would be no reason for us to come here. He intends to use them as a bargaining chip to leverage for Sarah. The arrest warrant just tells us Long has a judge in his pocket. Apparently, the good reverend has been planning this for a long time.”

  The old man’s daughter stared at the floor, shaking her head in disbelief. Sarah reached up and touched her hand. “It’s true, Miss Lizzy. The reverend is a very bad man. Please trust your daddy. He knows my family from a very long time ago. Don’t let them take me, Miss Lizzy, please. Harry is the only one who can stop him. He’s done it before. Please trust him.”

  “Harry? Who’s Harry? Why did you call my dad Harry? I don’t understand what is happening!”

  Sarah looked at her and responded, “It is a very long and complicated story, and nobody has time to tell you now… you have to trust him.”

  Lizzy grimaced, uncertain. She didn’t understand what was going on. She had no idea how her father, an elderly man who had been with her all her life, could have led a secret life she never knew about. How could he be mixed up with a Satanist, have a warrant out for his arrest, and be telling her a pastor in town was an evil kidnapper?

  She took a deep breath, narrowed her eyes, and made a decision. “Dad, I don’t know how you got into this.”
She stopped as a memory slid into the background of her mind. Her dad had teased her since she was a child that he was a legendary hero in another life, and a British secret service agent in this one. She had always laughed at his claim, but just now, she wondered if he had been telling the truth. Then, looking her father straight in the eyes with a withering stare, she finished, “But as soon as this is over, you have a lot of explaining to do!”

  Harry looked back at the young woman he had spent his life raising, saw her as the baby girl that she would always be to him, and answered, “Lizzy, when this is over, you can read the diaries under my bed, beneath the floor, in an old army footlocker. We will dig them out, and you can read for yourself, but for now, I need you to get these kids to the basement. In the old coal locker, there is a false door that leads to a tunnel. Pretend you are playing a game or something, but get them out of here. Follow the tunnel to the city drains. When you come to the T where the library tunnel ends, turn right and keep walking about a block. The manhole cover should be open, and Barry, my old friend, should be waiting there. Get these kids to safety. You understand?”

  “Daddy, I am not leaving you,” she said adamantly.

  He stared back and said, “Lizzy, if you don’t leave, I die. If you get these kids to safety, I have a chance of surviving this. Please get out of here now!”

  “Dad, what do you mean you die?” Lizzy asked, frightened.

  “Hon, there is no time. I need you to get to the basement now!”

  Lizzy took a deep breath and slowly nodded, realizing the time for explanations would have to wait. She called to the rug rats who had been restlessly gnawing on cookies and milk, heedless of the gathering storm clouds around them.