Moon Music

by Faye Kellerman

  He jerked open the car door.

  "Poe, you're in no shape to drive. You're going to have an accident!"

  "Call backup for me." Poe revved the engine. He rolled down the window. "Take care of yourself, Rukmani. I love you."

  Had the words registered in Rukmani's mind, she would have been even more frantic. Instead, she cried out, "At least tell me where you're going!"

  "Where it all started!" he shouted as he peeled rubber. "Nevada Test Site!"

  FORTY-EIGHT

  I WANT you to know that it's not personal.

  Had Patricia been able to talk, she would have told Alison: Fuck you, you crazy bitch. Instead, she lay mute on the floor of the maniac's four-wheel-drive, secured with a rope to the back bench. Her hands and feet were tightly bound, her mouth had been taped shut. The bitch had provided a pillow for her head and had left her eyes alone. As Patricia tried to get comfortable—her fists were digging into her spine—she appraised the situation in stark terror. After the hopelessness subsided, she started to think. How to get out of this mess?

  How had she gotten into this mess?

  She still wasn't sure. Last thing she remembered was being knocked down by the mammoth-sized bird—a strange avian creature with a half-human face. She hadn't had time to examine the oddity with scientific coldness, because she had lost consciousness. When she came to, she had already been in this horrid fix—restrained and helpless. Alison had used plastic ties instead of rope, making it virtually impossible to break free. She was emitting a constant stream of babble—a crazed woman who seemed to possess enormous strength and endless chatter.

  "It was never personal," Alison prattled. "Not with any of them. They were just a way of getting attention. You know how that works, don't you?"

  As if Patricia could answer her. The lack of response didn't stop her psychotic twaddle.

  "No, never personal, never personal…well, maybe with Steve it was a little personal. I mean, how could it not be with those floozies he'd been seeing. Not that I blame him completely. I haven't been hot in the sack for a long time. I mean, I could be hot in the sack, but not with Steve, no, not with Steve. Never with Steve. And not with the kids around. You know how kids are. They come in at all the darnedest time—whoops!"

  The four-wheeler bounced over a rock and landed on its tires with a thud and thump.

  Alison giggled. "Must be hard on the butt, huh? I'll try to be more careful. I owe you a nice ride. Not too good on my spine, either. You know who's fault it really is? It's Rom's fault. You're just a way to get to him. If he would have been more observant, none of this would've happened. You guys call yourselves policemen, but you're awfully slow. A man's mistress is sliced and dumped in the desert and no one even questions the wife. That's a little dense, don't you think?"

  Yes, Patricia thought. It was very dense.

  "Totally Rom's doing. He didn't want to get Stevie in trouble for my sake. He has a blind spot when it comes to me. He still loves me…still loves me very much."

  A breath.

  "Even if he doesn't realize it. I realize it. He's trying to fight it. Whoops…hold on!"

  Again, she giggled as the car flew into space and landed on the dusty ground with a jolt. Alison lessened the pressure on the accelerator, dropping the speed to around sixty.

  "Someone should pave the desert, get rid of all the sinkholes. Just mop the whole thing up with asphalt. Make it one big parking lot—with transportation into the hotels, of course. It'd sure save the city on a mound of traffic. Good idea, huh? I'm surprised that some rich, greedy contractor hasn't bid for the job. Paving the desert. Well, that would be interesting, huh?"

  She paused for another inhalation of air.

  "Well, I think it would be interesting. Pave the whole state of Nevada. Nevada as one big blacktop. One big circus. Because really that's what it is. The circus of a lifetime, starting with the silver rush, then the gambling. I mean, even the bombs were one big circus. That's what they were, all for show. I mean, what? We explode something like a thousand bombs into our atmosphere after exploding only two bombs in enemy territory. Now you tell me, who came out better, huh?"

  Neglecting to mention that the bombs exploded in Japan had fallen on civilian populations. Why let logic enter into paranoia? If she would only shut the fuck up, then maybe Patricia could think. She tried to raise her head. A feather tickled her nose. Resting on the backseat was an oversized Indian headdress, along with a hairy gorilla mask and a brown derby just like the one Big Ray had described on the hatted man.

  No one even questions the wife!

  Alison must have noticed her looking at the paraphernalia, because she started talking again.

  "You like my feather hat…the bird bit? I thought it was clever. I can do all sorts of clever things. By now, you must have figured out that I've got this power…this unbelievable power given to me courtesy of Uncle Sam. Because Uncle Sam poisoned the well. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

  A pause.

  "Radiation, Patricia. Radiation with a capital R. I mean, you guys—meaning the American People—you don't know the half of it. Or the third of it, or the quarter of it. Or even a teaspoon of it. It's like measuring cups. Uncle Sam gives you a quarter cup of sugar here, a teaspoon of vanilla there. But he never bakes you the whole cake. So you never put the entire puzzle together. Just like Rom. He thinks the stuff he found in my house was the whole picture."

  A snort.

  "Like I'd show him the whole picture. Let him figure it out for himself, that's what I say!"

  Shut up!

  "I left him with just enough to get a scent. A hint. Gotta play fair, gotta play fair, that's what I say. But I don't think he's figured it out yet. I mean, he's figured out some of it—"

  Think, Patricia. Think!

  "…have faith in Rom. Eventually he'll get it. Unfortunately, not soon enough for you. The poor boy is dim-witted sometimes. You should have seen him in high school, twitching like a flea on a griddle. But it never, ever dawned on him why he was twitching. I mean, wouldn't you be curious why you twitched when no one else was twitching?"

  Again, Alison paused for air. If Patricia could just get the ties off. Or even get the tape off her mouth. Then maybe she could talk her down. She grunted as loud as she could, but Alison didn't seem to notice.

  "I just want to reiterate, Detective. It isn't personal."

  Fuck you!

  "…blame anyone, blame the government. Do you honestly think they're telling you everything? They're not telling you anything."

  Patricia groaned.

  Alison made a face. "Are you doing okay?"

  Patricia shook her head and made sounds.

  "You want to talk, don't you? You think if we talk, we'll be buddies, and then I won't do what I have to do. No go, Detective. I'm very sorry, but you're about to become another statistic."

  Patricia groaned again.

  "Now, don't you get all pissy at me! Just remember it's Uncle Sam's fault. I'll be showing you why in a matter of maybe…ummmm, ten or fifteen minutes. We got a very good jump and I made excellent time. We left LVMPD way behind, the boys back there all bogged down in looking for your car. Well, good luck to them. I know the caves, they don't. I know the desert, they don't. Rom knows the desert. Maybe he'll figure it out. Anyway, forget about them. You won't believe where we're going."

  Alison heard Patricia desperately mumbling.

  "All right, all right. Maybe I'll take the tape off. If you're good. Like I said, it's nothing personal. You know where we're going?"

  "Waaaa?" Patricia muttered out.

  "To the beginning, Detective. A United States of America original creation. That's what it is, you know. A new creation. Just like God. Only this one is evil. Nuclear evilness. No one can debate that!"

  Patricia nodded. Not that Alison saw it. She was too busy speeding across the desert floor, hugging the mountains as she drove without lights. It was a miracle that she didn't crack into the granite
wall, exploding them both to smithereens. Patricia looked out the back window, at a black sky flecked with silver. Suddenly, it seemed so beautiful. Tears ran down her face.

  No, no, no. You can't give up! You can't give up!

  Alison took a deep breath and let it out. "A new creation, but done not by God, but by man. See what happens, Detective, when man tries to imitate God? He messes it up and creates hideous life forms. You know why? Men just don't know when to stop. They just keep going and going and going until they finally say: 'Oh no, I went too far.' You've known guys like that, haven't you? I certainly have."

  Patricia answered with a muted grunt.

  "I mean, look at all this cloning, Detective. Do you really think that they've only cloned a mere sheep? I mean, if they admitted to cloning an adult sheep, what aren't they admitting to? I mean, look at that madman…what's-his-name, who wants to clone people." A snort. "And they think a few laws'll stop him. Boy, is the American public naive!"

  Patricia said, "Ooor…iiiite."

  "Sure, I'm right! I mean, what is the government really doing? Cloning man. It's already cloned man, only no one's saying anything. You know what the next step is? Cloning crossspecies. Animal to animal, which I know they've done. Next, of course, is animal to person. Then it's male and female and then who knows what else. And it all started because some overzealous scientists decided to nuke half of Japan. Then who do we give the power to? Some Nazi…Werner von Beethoven or something. His secret way to get back at the Americans for spoiling Hitler's dream. And didn't we just buy into it hook, line, and sinker. I mean, can you think of anything more absurd than putting a Nazi in charge of America's nuclear power? You just wait. I'm going to show you everything."

  Again, Patricia glanced out the window. Sudden swirls of translucent clouds were passing over the full moon. They were moving fast, indicating winds were moving in.

  Alison prated, "If Rom would have been faster on the pickup, he could have saved you. I'm sure he's out there looking for you. But the big question is, will he know where to look? Maybe he'll figure it out, but I doubt it. You see, the whole thing with what's-his-face—the casino guy almost blowing his head off?"

  The car felt as if it had suddenly been pushed.

  "Oh nuts!" Alison exclaimed. "Of all the times! Ah well, you go deep into the desert, you're going to hit winds. Where was I?"

  The car was blessedly silent for about ten seconds.

  "What were we talking about? Oh, yeah. Romulus and the trigger-happy jerks sent by Parker Lewiston. Let me tell you something, Detective. I tried to warn Rom. I tried to let him know. I was looking right at him, but did that stop him? No, of course it didn't. Because the brown tart came walking down the street and spoiled everything."

  Again the four-wheeler was buffeted. If the winds got any stronger, they'd slam it into the mountainside.

  "…they went back to her apartment. I'm sorry, Detective, but I got a little angry!" Alison hit the wheel for emphasis. "Because I was trying to tell him something, and the floozy couldn't wait to get her pants off. I mean, it's truly disgusting how licentious she is."

  Patricia made sounds.

  "Just wait a minute!" Alison suddenly felt annoyed. Like this woman was actually making demands on her. All these cops were alike. "Anyway, I'm taking you to the most ghastly laboratory on earth. We're almost there. Can you see it?"

  No, Patricia thought. I can't see a fucking thing except clouds. The sky had gone from black to charcoal as the moon's light dispersed among the clouds. She could feel sand scratch the car's surface like cats tiptoeing across the roof.

  Alison said, "The security there is absolutely appalling. Not that anyone just pops in. I mean, it isn't exactly the Hawaiian Islands. Can you imagine someone writing the PR for this place? Get your daily dose of gammas—faster than UV and just as effective. The test site's just like Las Vegas, you know—both of them slow death. Wastelands."

  "Ahhhhh. Oooo uuuh ake iii offf—"

  "I'll take it off in a minute. Let me just explain a few things first, okay?"

  Patricia didn't answer.

  Alison said, "I've got to orient you. So you know what's going on. Have to know what's going on. Now, if you could look out the window, you could see Highway 95. You take 95 and get off at the Mercury Highway to travel through the test site. You know how big this place actually is?"

  "Oowww iiigg?"

  "About the size of Rhode Island. That's a lot of square miles. I forget the exact number. I used to know it. Ah well, memory's going. Part of middle age. Or maybe it has something to do with my powers. Gain some powers, lose others. It's all about conservation of matter. That was what the bomb was all about. Conservation of matter, or energy, which really is matter. Just ask Einstein. E equals MC-squared. E is energy and M is matter and you can convert one to another and that's why I have my powers. The bomb did it to me. You understand now, don't you? It's not hard to comprehend. Just a matter of going back and forth between the states of matter and energy. The key is to make sure you do your conversions properly. Because if you don't, you lose the energy to entropy, which is wasted cells that you'll never get back. And entropy, let me tell you…it's the kiss of death. What you want is enthalpy—matter to energy, and all of it conserved. Good rule of thumb. Enthalpy conserves, entropy dissipates. Dissipates, and it's gone, gone, gone."

  A second of silence.

  "What was I just talking about before all this?"

  Patricia muttered under the tape.

  Abruptly, Alison braked and yanked the tape off. Patricia's mouth felt as if it had been planed by a sander. Calmly, she said, "Thank you."

  "De nada, Detective. What were we talking about? We talked so much. You know, I must admit, I am enjoying this conversation." She paused. "I know! We were talking about the test site."

  "The geography," Patricia answered. "You were going to orient me."

  Alison shrieked, "You were actually listening to me. No one ever listens to me. Certainly not my husband." She hesitated. "I'm really sorry about this, Detective. But I have to do what I have to do."

  Patricia said, "You haven't done anything yet. If you don't start now—"

  "I'm sorry, but I do have to do it. And probably sooner rather than later. It'll be easier for you and me."

  Great job, Patricia. You did better when your mouth was taped shut. She said, "Alison, you were telling me about the test site?"

  "Right! Normally, if we were regular people, which we aren't. Which I'm not, you know that, don't you?"

  "Of course."

  "Anyway, if you wanted to get through, you'd go through Gate 100—the main entrance—through security courtesy of Wackenhut Services, Inc. And then you'd get badged and all that rigamarole. Me? I'm cutting to the chase. I'm taking you straight onto Mercury Highway via the cattle guard, which doesn't have any fence to speak of. We'll parallel the highway, off-road because we're less likely to be seen. Now, there is this one sorry-looking trailer right as you enter the cattle guard, but it's almost never manned. We'll just plow straight through. We'll pass the pen. You know about the pen, don't you? Or was that before your time? Probably was before your time. Definitely before your time. Know what it was used for?"

  "What?"

  "The nuke protesters. The authorities confined them in the pen before they took them into the nearest city for booking. There used to be lots of protests here—during the sixties and seventies and even the early eighties. But then everything just…" She sighed. "Everything died away. My mom even went to some of the early ones. That was back in the days before…"

  Alison stopped talking, then resumed.

  "Lots and lots of protests. If you could see, you'd notice that right below the pen, outside Gate 100, is or was the Peace Camp. Ever been out there?"

  "No."

  She sighed. "The place is a ghost town now, like so much of Nevada. So sad. Once it was a thorn in the side of good old Uncle Sam, but now it's a pathetic reminder that we failed, Detective. We fa
iled!"

  "That's very sad," Patricia answered. Think! You dummy!

  "The grounds are still littered with tons of rocks painted with peace signs," Alison went on. "It's also got all these half-buried broken shrines to brotherly love. The hippies used to come and decorate the rocks with feathers and turquoise and other things. Know what else is there?"

  "What?"

  "The old Shoshone sweat lodges. Or what's left of them. Now they're nothing but frames. They look like big geodesic domes—the gym equipment that kids climb on? The Shoshones are related to the Paiutes. Rom's part Pauite. But you know that, right? So sad. Once we had Indians, then we had protesters. And now all of it—going, going, gone! You know what Uncle Sam has left us?"

  "What?"

  "The army bunkers. Hundreds of them right past Gate 100. They're lined up, one right after the other, end to end, looking like Monopoly hotels. Row after row after row. The soldiers used to live in them during the drops. Now even most of the soldiers are gone. I mean, nothing's left in this toxic waste dump except a few schnooks in Mercury. Could you imagine living so close to all that gamma radiation?"