Dark Channel

by Ray Garton

  32.

  The fuel island was busy. Attendants were filling trucks while drivers walked back and forth between their trucks and the main building where they paid for the diesel.

  Marvin approached the island slowly, cautiously. He didn’t know what he was going to do or how he’d do it without drawing attention to himself, he only knew that, no matter what, he had to get a ride to the plant.

  A man walked by him wearing black jeans, a soiled white shirt and a white turban. The man walked hurriedly as he stuffed papers into a large fat folder. He was tall and very thin and looked jarringly out of place among the truckers in their plaid shirts and blue jeans, some with bellies hanging over their belts, all looking weary. This man moved briskly and, in spite of his dirty shirt, appeared fresh and alert.

  When he reached the fuel island, the turbaned man said something to one of the attendants, then waved and went to a blue-and-white eighteen-wheeler parked beside the pumps. He reached up and opened the door.

  He’s a driver! Marvin thought, surprised. He quickened his pace, wincing at the pain in his back. He decided he would try the turban first.

  The Indian was climbing into his truck when Marvin reached him.

  “Excuse me, excuse me,” Marvin shouted above the thunder of all the other trucks.

  The man looked down, slightly annoyed. “Yes, yes, what is it?”

  “Which direction are you headed?”

  “I can’t take any passengers,” the man said, shaking his head.

  “No, please, wait, listen to me, I’m in a real bind. My car’s broken down and I really need to get someplace. I don’t think it’s very far from here. If you could just—”

  “No, no, dat would not be possible, I can’t take any passengers.” He reached out to close the door.

  “No, please, it’s not very far. If you’re going by the Diego Nuclear Power Plant, you could just drop me off in front of—”

  The man flinched. “What … what was dat you said? Diego? Is dat where you’re going?”

  “Yes,” Marvin said, sounding relieved.

  The man leaned out the door just a bit, scrutinizing Marvin. Then he pulled himself in suddenly and slammed the door.

  “Wait!” Marvin called, knocking on the door. “It’s not very far, really. I’ll give you money if you want.” He knocked again, more insistently.

  The truck’s engine growled to life.

  Marvin looked around quickly. There were plenty of other truckers. But there wasn’t plenty of time.

  He grabbed the railing and hiked himself up on the step. Slipping his right hand under his coat, he opened the door with his left.

  The Indian jumped, eyes bulging, and opened his mouth as if to cry out, but when he saw the gun he simply froze.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to take a passenger tonight. Now, I’m going to step over your legs and you’re going to start driving. Just get us out of here. When you get to the exit, you’re going to turn right. You’re not going to shout. You’re not going to do anything to get anyone’s attention because I’ve got this.” He raised the gun until it was aimed at the man’s face. “Nod if you understand.”

  He nodded.

  “Okay.” Marvin stepped over the man’s legs, around the gearshift and sat in the passenger’s seat with a grunt; ground glass crunched between his vertebrae.

  “Now. Close the door and let’s go.”

  As they were driving through the lot toward the exit, the Indian kept looking at Marvin, his lips parted, his eyes still wide. Finally, he said something Marvin didn’t understand.

  “You’re da man.”

  “What? I’m sorry?”

  Then he said something that horrified Marvin.

  “You’re da man. Da man dee police are looking for.”

  “Whuh-what man?”

  He pointed to a rectangular black box on the dashboard. A strip of small red lights flashed on and off on its face. “On da police scanner. I hear da sheriffs say dey are looking for a man who … who looks like you … and who has a gun … and who is headed for da nuclear power plant. A possible terrorist, dey say. Named, uh … Ackroyd.”

  Marvin was speechless. Had Hester arranged it? And if so, how the hell had she managed to do it?

  “Jordan,” he muttered. Hester might have found out from Jordan or one of the others. She couldn’t have found out from Lizzie because Lizzie knew nothing of this particular plan. She had to find out from one of the others. Which meant she had one of them. Or all of them.

  Marvin slipped his thumb and forefinger under his glasses and rubbed his eyes hard. It seemed that the sensible thing to do was apologize to the nice man with the turban, have him drop Marvin off at the nearest pay phone, call a cab and get the hell away from there as fast as possible.

  He dismissed that thought immediately. Even before receiving this news, he’d known it was going to be difficult to impossible—leaning heavily on the impossible side—and had committed to it anyway. He wasn’t about to back out now. He turned to the driver.

  “I’m sorry about this. I really am. I just don’t do this sort of thing. But … well, these are unusual circumstances. If I tried to explain them to you, you’d think I was crazy.” Marvin looked at the gun in his hand and chuckled without a smile. “You probably think that now. I just don’t want you to think … well, that I’m doing this for … oh, I don’t know, for some …” He sighed. “Just drive.”

  33.

  “Gaaawwd-baaaww-deeee. Gaaawwd-baaaww-deeee.”

  The chant went on. Every few minutes, following Hester’s lead, the pitch of the voices rose a bit and the speed of the chant increased.

  But there was something else.

  Jordan heard the same rhythmic flapping he’d heard in the cave the night before. He stood and walked toward the archway.

  “Where you going?” Coogan asked.

  “I want to take a look.”

  Coogan joined him.

  Lizzie was on her knees, praying silently. Joan was staying close to Lauren, who stared at the stone wall and occasionally joined in the chant under her breath. Her voice was as distant as the look in her eyes; she sounded confused, lost.

  Benjamin had been pacing but stepped in front of Jordan and Coogan when they started toward the archway. They looked up at him, both trying to conceal their fear.

  Speaking slowly, Jordan said, “We just want to watch the ceremony.”

  Benjamin grunted and walked backward out of the archway, watching them. He gestured for them to come out and lifted a hand to let them know they’d come out far enough.

  They turned toward the blue light throbbing from the enormous crevice, where Hester stood facing the two semicircles of white-robed chanters.

  Coogan gasped when he looked over the heads of the crowd and saw the mottled, reptilian creature flying in slow circles.

  “There’s only one,” Jordan said. “There should be more.”

  Sure enough, something appeared in the crevice. It was just a dark spot at first, but grew as it oozed out of the crevice until it resembled an enormous, long piece of human excrement sliding slowly out of a giant rectum. It was not quite out of the crevice when it spread first its arms, then its wings, and shot out into the air, joining the other one in flight as a third began to ooze out of the crevice.

  “Good god,” Coogan breathed tremulously. “What … are they?”

  “Mark called them angels.”

  “He was right,” Lizzie whispered. She’d joined them silently and stood behind them, a frown further darkening her already bruised and bloodied face. “They are angels. But—” She shook her head slowly, “—they are not angels of god. …”

  34.

  A cool hand touched Nathan’s cheek and he stopped chanting abruptly and opened his eyes. In his robe again, he was sit
ting Indian-style on the ground beside the pool where he’d been chanting. When he opened his eyes, he saw Angela kneeling before him, her sweet, smiling face just a couple inches from his.

  “That’s enough,” she whispered. She stayed there for a while, her hand on his face, smiling at him. Ghostly echoes of the ceremonial chanting drifted into the room and the gentle dripping over the pool seemed to stay in sync with its rhythm, which had been growing steadily faster.

  Nathan thought it would be nice to stay right there, looking at Angela’s smile and listening to the dripping, maybe even nicer than being the Chosen One.

  “You’re a very special boy, Nathan,” Angela whispered. Then she kissed him on the forehead—a slow, lingering kiss—then stood and reached out her hand. “Come on, now. It’s time to go.

  Nathan stood and took her hand and they started toward the chanting voices.

  35.

  The tape stopped abruptly and Mark’s eyes snapped open with surprise.

  “Are we there?” he asked.

  “Not yet, Mr. Schroeder,” the driver said. “Just a few more minutes. There’s something I need to tell you. Ms. Thorne called me on the car phone shortly before your plane landed. She wanted you to know that there will probably be police officers at the plant when you arrive.”

  “Police? At the plant? I don’t understand. Do they know I’m coming?”

  “They don’t. But someone does. Someone named Marvin Ackroyd. He’s armed and hopes to stop you before you get inside. The police know nothing of your reason for coming to the plant, and because the guard at the gate will know you, they’ll let you through with no problem. But they will be waiting for Mr. Ackroyd, and they will stop him.”

  “But how did he … I mean—”

  “She also said that you’re not to worry about it. She has everything under control.”

  Mark thought about that. If Hester said there was nothing to worry about, then it was wrong for him to worry. His anxiety would only drain him of much-needed energy and make it difficult for him to focus on his task.

  But … police? Mark got nervous around police when he was doing nothing; how would he react to them now, knowing what he was about to do … and knowing that he had a gun under his coat?

  “It’ll just be a few more minutes, Mr. Schroeder,” the driver said. “Would you like me to rewind the tape and replay the beginning?”

  Mark’s voice sounded a little breathless when he spoke: “Oh, yes, please. Please.”

  The driver rewound the tape, said, “Remember, we’re on Diego Road now, so it won’t be long,” then pushed the button.

  As he listened to Hester’s voice, he thought of how she looked, how she felt and smelled and tasted. But, even her voice and those thoughts could not completely silence the nagging voice deep inside him. The voice was different now. It was no longer the tiny, insect-like voice he’d been hearing on the plane. Now it was Lauren’s voice.

  Think, Mark, she said. Think. Think about what you’re doing. Think. You’re not thinking, Mark. Think.

  Hester’s voice and Lauren’s voice. Speaking at the same time. Directly to him.

  Suddenly Mark felt sick, felt like the car was spinning in circles, and he closed his eyes, afraid that if he didn’t, he would see the world outside go around in a grey blur, and he wanted to open the car door and throw himself into the night, screaming, just to get away from those two lovely, smothering voices, and his trembling hand was on the door’s handle, the fingers hooking under the plastic to pull, and—

  —he realized the car was slowing and he opened his eyes to see that three deputy sheriff’s cars were parked at the plant’s gate just fifty yards off of Diego Road.

  The driver stopped the car, then the tape, then smiled at Mark and said, “We’re here.”

  36.

  The Diego Nuclear Power Plant was twenty-eight miles southeast of San Jose, just off U.S. 101.

  And they were close. Just two exits away. Marvin had to think fast.

  “Okay, okay,” he breathed to himself, looking out the window.

  The Diego exit would put them on Diego Road, which ran parallel to 101 and also led to the plant. Beyond the shoulder of the freeway was a sharp embankment that dropped down to a barbed-wire fence, beyond which was a barren strip of land covered with dead weeds. A hundred yards beyond the first fence was another. Beyond that, Diego Road.

  Marvin could see the plant up ahead. Its corpse-grey glow rose above the oak trees that surrounded it.

  If he had the driver drop him off on the freeway directly in front of the plant, Marvin could go down the embankment, climb the fence, cross the field and show up on foot. It would be a hell of a lot less conspicuous than showing up in an eighteen-wheeler.

  “See where the plant is up there?” he asked the driver.

  “Yes, I see.”

  “I want you to skip the Diego exit and pull over right across from the plant.”

  “You want me to stop?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Da Highway Patrol might come.”

  “You’ll just be there long enough to drop me off, that’s all.”

  When the driver pulled over and stopped, Marvin turned to him and smiled. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I really appreciate the ride.”

  “Oh, my pleasure, my pleasure.” His eyes were still as wide as they’d been since Marvin had first pulled his gun.

  Marvin looked around until he spotted the driver’s CB radio mounted overhead above the windshield. “Um, I’m sorry about this, too,” he said as he reached up, clutched the radio’s microphone firmly and jerked down hard. The cord tore out of the radio.

  Smiling at the driver again, Marvin said, “I wouldn’t want you to make any noise about me. Drive carefully.”

  Holding the microphone in one hand and his gun in the other, Marvin got out of the truck and used his shoulder to push the door shut.

  Moving slowly at first, the truck pulled away.

  Marvin threw the microphone into the field and waited until he heard it land.

  The plant was an enormous, threatening structure surrounded by several smaller buildings. Floodlights towered over Cyclone fences topped with rows of barbed wire.

  Gritting his teeth against the pain in his back, Marvin started down the embankment.

  37.

  Nathan stood beside Angela, holding her hand, just a few yards from the group. He watched Hester closely, impressed by her tight mask of intense concentration; this was the first time he’d ever watched the ceremony rather than participating in it and he found it fascinating. For a little while, he completely forgot that he soon would be participating.

  A man came to Nathan’s side and smiled down at him warmly. Under his right arm, the man held the rolled-up mat upon which Nathan would lie.

  The Godbody chant had reached a fever pitch and would be ending soon.

  Four of the Guardians circled overhead while two more watched from ledges high up on the cave walls. One of them looked down on him, its face serene, lips stretched into a beatific smile. Nathan’s chest swelled with pride as he smiled back, and—

  —the chanting stopped abruptly, startling Nathan. His eyes darted from the Guardian to Hester.

  She turned slowly to Nathan. Her voice was warm and maternal as she nodded once and said, “Bring the Chosen One. …”

  38.

  When Hester spoke, Jordan glanced over his shoulder at Lauren in the alcove.

  “Make sure she doesn’t come out here,” he said to Lizzie. “She’s liable to lose it completely if she sees this.”

  Lizzie said, “I don’t think she can even hear.”

  Coogan turned his back on the ceremony suddenly, shaking his head.

  “My god,” he hissed, “I can’t take this. There’s gotta be something we can do, something we can
try. We can’t just stand here and watch her kill that boy. C’mon, Jordan, I’m game if you are. We don’t have a whole lot to lose.”

  Coogan was right. They had to at least try something. But what?

  Nathan was escorted to the front by two people. The mat was rolled out. The young woman at Nathan’s side said, “He has been bathed and cleansed.”

  “Thank you,” Hester said.

  The escorts joined the semicircle.

  Hester turned Nathan to face the group and put her hands on his shoulders from behind, saying, “On this very special night, we will perform the Chant of the Masters before the re-embodiment. Focus your energies on the Ascended Masters and help the Chosen One to bridge the gap between the planes so that we may finally open the door on the New Age of Enlightenment.”

  They began to chant the names of the Ascended Masters.

  Lizzie faced them, but was not watching them or even listening. Her face was turned up toward the jagged and uneven ceiling of the massive stone cathedral as she prayed harder than she had ever prayed before. Reflected blue light sparkled on the beads of perspiration that clung to her creased brow.

  She was praying for forgiveness of her sins, for the cleansing of her soul. She knew her slate would have to be clean before she could possibly attempt what she planned to do: invoke the name of Jesus Christ to command the demon that possessed Hester Thorne to leave.

  39.

  Mark stood with his back to the car until it drove away.

  Two of the deputies leaned on one of the squad cars while three more stood at the guardhouse with Clay, the security guard, a short, bullet-shaped black man. They were all bathed in the sputtering glow of the mercury vapor lights that illuminated the grounds all around the plant.

  Mark had seen the deputies stiffen when he got out of the car. They watched him cautiously, ready for the worst.

  He started down the drive toward the guardhouse.

  The two deputies by the car moved away from it, unsnapping their holsters casually.

  Mark was closer … closer …

  One of the deputies standing at the guardhouse said something to Clay, who shook his head and responded. … closer …