Darkly The Thunder

by William W. Johnstone

  Gordie nodded his agreement. “Yeah. You, ah, really did see the house when you pulled up in the driveway?”

  “And from the road. But no more. After this morning’s session, Richard knows there is no further use in pretense. When I looked back today, the house was not there.”

  Gordie could not hide a shudder.

  Howie left the gun room and walked up to them. “Sheriff, is there a way you could open up a series of phone lines around the town?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Howie?”

  “It’s just an idea I had. You know that computers can be connected by phone?”

  “If you say so, Howie. I know nothing about computers.”

  The boy was busy writing on a legal pad. “Oh, well. It probably wouldn’t work anyway. The Fury is too smart for us. I’ll just go play a game on the computers.”

  He held out the legal pad. He had written: The Fury is energy. It feeds on evil energy taken from departing souls. Open phone lines around the town – all around the town. Bare the lines in small spots. The Fury has so much energy, I might be able to make contact with it, and thereby keep track of its movements without it knowing.

  “I saw a number of games in the room. Games I can play with on the . . . television. Do you mind if I play with them?” The boy smiled and winked at Gordie.

  “You go right ahead, Howie,” Gordie said, catching on and writing on the pad: But won’t you get a lot of interference from phone users?

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” Howie wrote: Go to the main switcher and disconnect all but emergency numbers. Besides, I don’t know if it’s even going to work.

  “Sure, Howie. You have fun.” I don’t know much about phones, either, Gordie quickly wrote.

  Capt. John Hishon leaned over and wrote: I do. One of my MOS’s is communications. The boy might have a great idea. We don’t have to scrape. I can tie in.

  Gordie printed, in block letters: GO!

  Hishon smiled at Howie and left the room, heading for the telephone equipment building down the street.

  Watts took the pad and wrote: Howie, what are you going to say to the Fury if you do make contact?

  Howie wrote: I’m not. That was just a ruse to throw the Fury off in case it was listening. I’m going to try to make contact with Sand.

  Watts blinked; looked startled. He wrote: A phone call to purgatory???

  Gordie wrote: You have any better ideas, Al?

  Watts shook his head and walked off, muttering, “This should be interesting.”

  Howie went to the gun room and sat down behind a bank of computers that he had hooked up.

  Sunny noticed that Gordie’s right hand was slightly swollen. She touched his hand. “What happened?”

  Gordie grinned. “You might say I just applied for a divorce.”

  Chapter Ten

  Using the legal pad, Gordie instructed his people that any further communications with the outside would be done by the computer/teletype, and to alert the governor and the state patrol of that decision.

  Hishon had roamed through the deserted telephone company warehouse for materials, and gave his people a quick lesson in pole climbing and what to do once on the wires – and which wires were which.

  At the office, with all people there instructed to make small talk so the Fury would not become suspicious, Gordie wrote on a legal pad: Why us? Why are we not affected by the Fury’s power?

  He passed the pad around and got some interesting replies. But the one that made the most sense to him, at the time, came from Al Watts. The tough old ex-cop had written: How the hell should I know?

  The tying in of the phone lines was completed by the middle of the afternoon. If the Fury noticed, the entity made no comment about it. It had been silent for several hours.

  And that troubled Gordie.

  Looking dazed and confused, Robin Jennings wandered into the sheriffs office. She asked, “What’s going on in this town? I feel like I’ve been drugged.”

  She was immediately put to bed on a couch in the day room.

  “That’s it, then, I suppose,” Sunny said. “Richard has gone back to the other side.”

  “I wonder if he’ll return?” Watts asked.

  A question no mortal could answer.

  “Lee,” Gordie said. “Send a deputy to find Ricky. Bring him here.”

  There had been a teletype from the governor: the attorney general’s office says the families of the murdered are going to raise hell about any exoneration of Saunders.

  Quite unlike him, Gordie leaned over the operator and typed and sent: Screw the families. According to what I’ve read, the punks got what they deserved.

  The governor replied: We must think of the image of the state.

  Watts moved to the chair and said, “Let me tell that son of a bitch what he can do with the image of the state.”

  But before Watts could push the operator out of the chair, the screen flashed: Wait!

  The words began racing onto the screen.

  I did only what the courts would not do. I did what I believed was right and just. I still believe I did the right thing. I will never apologize for my actions.

  No one spoke for a moment. Howie broke the silence. “Tell him to sign his communique.”

  Sand.

  “Jesus God in heaven,” Watts breathed. “He did it. The ageless rebel broke through from beyond the grave. He said he’d be back.” Watts waved the operator away and sat down behind the computer, his fingers on the keys.

  Al Watts here, Sand.

  How you doin’, Seymour?

  Watts grimaced as Gordie laughed. “I always wondered what the S stood for, Al.”

  Watts typed: We’re not doing so hot, Sand.

  Yeah, I know. You folks have got a big problem.

  Is it just Willowdale with the problem? Watts asked.

  No. It could be the entire state. Perhaps the world.

  Howie was watching the screen, a legal pad in his hands. He wrote: Ask him if the Fury knows what we are doing?

  Watts typed it out, hunting and pecking.

  The reply was quickly flashed on the screen. No. The Fury knows practically nothing about computers. Its last visit for food—energy—was thirty years ago, in the form of a typhoon, thousands of miles from here.

  Howie impatiently waved Watts away from the computer terminal. With a smile, the man had relinquished the chair.

  Howie typed: How is it that you know of computers?

  Neither Joey nor I ever lost our interest in learning. And since we are not alone on this level—where we are—we talked with others and kept abreast of developments on earth. But the Fury is limited—or has been up to this point—only to what it can ingest through the energy of the dying. Because of its nature, it has been forced, in recent times, to use its destructive powers only on remote islands, a few ships at sea, and war-dead, usually in primitive parts of the world.

  I see. Thank you, Sand.

  You’re welcome, Howie. You’re on the right track in what you’re doing, but be careful. Tell Sunny to start listening to the Fury’s ramblings, perhaps recording it in preparation for a manuscript. That’s what it wants. Attention. Get the Fury preoccupied in telling its story. Its ego is enormous.

  Howie nodded in agreement and typed: OK, Sand. What can I be doing with my computers? I’m about ready to see if I can pick up any signals.

  Play it by ear, Howie. I can talk to you on any of the computers in the office. Tell the Major to get in touch with his superiors and level with them. He’s probably going to have to go all the way to Sugar Cube with this one.

  Howie thought about that, then typed: What’s Sugar Cube?

  The White House. There’s a lot of CIA types where I am.

  All gathered around laughed at that.

  Sand typed: I think the Fury will probably make its move just as soon as it’s finished telling its story. Or as much as that windbag can in five or six days.

  Why that length of time, Sand?
/>   Because it is building and storing energy and knowledge very rapidly now. Feeding off the town.

  I see. The more educated and enlightened the energy, the faster the Fury grows, and the more dangerous it becomes.

  Very good, Howie. Yes. You are correct. The townspeople don’t know it, but the Fury is slowly killing them; sucking them dry of all knowledge. It has removed all inhibitions from most of the people in town, so you all will have to be very careful.

  They’re going to attack us?

  Probably.

  Is the Fury going to turn the world into a hell?

  That is its plan. It might be a bit grandiose, but it can certainly envelop the state. And if it hasn’t been stopped by then, there will be no stopping it.

  Is God going to intervene?

  The screen remained wordless for a long time; so long that all gathered around began to stir with restless anticipation. Finally, very slowly, words began to appear on the screen.

  If you were God, Howie, and you were witness to the birth and development of the human race, only to have them degenerate into hate, perversion, hypocrisy, pettiness, greed, callousness, cruelty to animals, total disregard for the environment, and starving homeless people, when it could all be prevented . . . would you save the world?

  Gordie grunted. Judy was crying, as were several other people, men and women. Dr. Anderson shook his head. The others stood in silence.

  Howie typed: But there are those of us who do care about all those things you named.

  Not enough of you. The vast majority pay lip service and nothing else.

  Give me an example, Sand.

  I’ll give you several, and take it from someone who knows, this is from The Man. The gate receipts for one year’s total sporting events would build shelters and create a job for every homeless person in America. Anybody want to volunteer, from spectator to player to team owner to TV networks to advertisers to the gamblers in off-track betting? I think not. Translate that into selfishness and pettiness. Humankind would not have to worry about the animals in the forests, if their natural predators were reintroduced and hunters kept out. Have you noticed any legislation to that effect? Translate that into callousness for God’s other living beings and pure bloodlust. Humans are destroying the earth’s environment. Translate that into greed. Various religious factions around your world are engaged in so-called holy wars. Translate that into hypocrisy. People are being judged by other people solely on skin color, and not by what is in their minds and hearts. Translate that into hate. Do you want me to continue, Howie?

  Howie looked around him at all the adults. Most slowly shook their heads.

  Howie’s fingers touched the keys: No, Sand.

  The words flashed in return: Then you have your answer.

  Amen.

  Did you print that, Sand? Howie asked.

  No. That came from a much higher level.

  Mack bowed his head, folded his hands, and began repeating the Twenty-third Psalm.

  Robin and Ricky were sitting in the day room when the TV popped on by itself. The teenage boy called for someone to come look.

  “That’s an old fifties movie,” Robin said.

  “No, it isn’t,” Watts corrected. “Take a better look. That’s the main street of Willowdale, back when I was a lieutenant on the state patrol. See Patterson’s Drugs, right there? That building was completely destroyed by fire back in ’61.”

  The scene changed.

  “Man, look at those great old cars!” Bos said. “Those are custom street rods.”

  Sunny knew then what they were viewing. “That Mercury parked closest to the corner. That’s Sand’s car, isn’t it, Colonel?”

  “Yes,” he said softly. “It is.”

  The computer keys in the gun room rattled impatiently. Howie ran to the room and sat down behind the screen. Gordie stood behind him.

  The words flashed: Videotape it all! Let the world see. Know my pain. Feel my loss. View the injustice. And tell my story!

  Is that you, Sand? Howie typed.

  Yes!

  “Lee,” Gordie called. “Get one of those VCR’s out of the evidence room and hook it up. There must be hundreds of tapes back there that we seized on that bootleg tape operation. Let’s tape it all.”

  “You’re going to need someone to change tapes,” Hillary said. “The faster the tape speed the better the quality. We’ll take turns doing that. It’ll help take our mind off the . . . problem.”

  “Thank you,” Gordie said with a smile. “You’ve got a job.”

  “Well, well,” Old Mack said. “Would you just take a look at that young whippersnapper there.”

  All looked. Al Watts, thirty-odd years younger and sporting a pencil-thin moustache, was talking with a young man.

  “Uncle Sand!” Robin yelled.

  “Wow!” Lynn said. “What a hunk.”

  “Thank you,” Watts said with a smile, knowing full well the girl was not referring to him.

  Lynn glanced at him and grinned.

  Smiling, Gordie walked out of the room and to his unit. He drove off, thinking: Take one hell of a man to be dead thirty years and still evoke a reaction like that.

  He drove through the town and found it deserted. Or deserted-appearing, he amended. He stopped at each checkpoint and told his people to be on the lookout for trouble from the townspeople. He did not tell them how he had gained that information. He knew that Sand could work around the Fury; how, he didn’t know.

  And fervently hoped he wouldn’t find out for another forty years or so.

  On the empty main street, he flagged down Bergman and Norris. “I’m going out to meet with the state patrol. Want to come along?”

  They did.

  The commander of this unit of patrolmen was standing at the roadblock by the state highway, and Gordie had only to look at him to know the man knew everything the governor did about the situation.

  “Sheriff Rivera, if you need additional manpower – ” he glanced at a female trooper. “Peoplepower, I can manage fifty volunteers in an hour.”

  All the patrolmen were dressed in urban-warfare cammies.

  WHAT THE HELL DO THESE ASSHOLES THINK THEY’RE GOING TO BE ABLE TO DO WITH ME?

  The state patrol – all veterans and many of them SWAT-TRAINED and accustomed to just about anything life had to offer – could not contain their startled looks.

  “Now you all know,” Gordie said. “Just keep people out of here.”

  OH, LET THEM IN, LET THEM IN. BY ALL MEANS. THE MORE THE MERRIER. It faded away, humming, DO BOP DE DO BOP DE DO BOP, DE DO.

  “I’ve made contact!” Howie said, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

  Sunny walked to the gun room, which had been cleaned out to make room for the four computers the boy had hooked up. Phone lines had been run into the room and a cot placed amid the computers, terminals, and tape recorders.

  “I’m utilizing all the screens,” Howie explained, as more people crowded around the door and into the already crowded room, looking at the mass of equipment. “I can use this screen for graphics. This one is to monitor the Fury’s whereabouts. This one is bringing in all the various languages I’m picking up. This one is to communicate with Sand. And this one is hooked into that smaller console. It’s for math work.”

  Sunny, like the others, felt awed by the mind of the ten-year-old. She pointed to one screen. “Why is that math screen all, well, blippy?”

  “That is energy you’re seeing. I’m storing it on hard disk, and then I’ll try to break it down mathematically.”

  Useless! the word flashed on Sand’s screen.

  Why? Howie typed.

  Because your present technology is not advanced enough to comprehend the composition of the Fury’s makeup.

  Is this Sand?

  No. I’m Joey.

  Nice to meet you.

  Thank you. Would you like to meet Morg?

  Yes.

  Howdy, Slick.

  Howie, t
he screen flashed. This is Sand. Don’t concern yourself with something that would only baffle your scientists. The Fury is pure evil energy. Bear that in mind. It is energy. Does that tell you anything, Howie?

  Howie stirred restlessly in the chair, an odd expression on his face.

  “What is it, Howie?” Sunny asked.

  But the boy would only shake his head and stare at the screen.

  “I’m hungry!” Angel said, from just outside the gun room.

  “Then go stuff your face!” Howie told her, an edge to his voice they all picked up.

  Sunny took the girl’s hand, and they wandered off in search of something to eat. “Howie can be a real nerd when he wants to be,” Angel said.

  Or just a very worried child, Sunny thought. With more knowledge in his head than a ten-year-old should have.

  “Leave us alone,” Howie said. The room cleared of people. Howie typed: Sand, are you telling me there is only one way to destroy this thing?

  It is the only practical way.

  And I know what it is, right?

  You have it in your thoughts, yes.

  Sand, that would destroy this part of the state.

  Not necessarily. Your technology is sufficient in that area.

  The sheriff can’t order something of that magnitude.

  I know. That is why I asked the military people to contact their superiors.

  What about us ... in here?

  You definitely have a problem.

  You’re telling me! Howie’s fingers flew over the keys. We’re in here . . . you’re out there. Wherever that is.

  The computer emitted a musical sound and Howie looked down to see if he’d hit the wrong key. Then he knew what was making the sound: Sand was laughing. Howie suddenly realized that he liked Sand.

  Howie typed: You were just a young man when you died. Why did Mr. Watts kill you?

  Don’t blame Al. He had a job to do and he did it. It was a righteous kill. Just as mine were. Get Al in the room with you, Howie.

  Howie called for Watts and motioned him to sit down behind the terminal.

  Al! the word flashed on the screen. Sand here. You’re going to have to go all the way to the top on this thing.

  The governor?

  Screw the governor.

  Watts laughed and wrote: I know you’re not in heaven, Sand.