Chapter Thirty
Junction, Texas
“How did you get in here you little mongrel?”
Jar tried to ease away from the display case but Mr. Tanner’s hand held him in place. He doubted Tanner would believe the truth; he had simply rode past the broken gates and walked in through the unlocked backdoor. He could hardly believe how easy it had been. He had been completely surprised by the lack of security.
Over the years, Barry had mesmerized him with stories of high voltage fencing, motion sensors, hidden cameras and of course, the ultimate prize, a collection so rare, it was considered priceless. So many times, he had fantasized about creeping across the lawn under cover of darkness and somehow managing to beat a security system straight out of a James Bond movie. He wavered, uncertain what Tanner would do to a trespasser. He doubted any explanations he had to offer would appease him.
Well, Mr. Tanner I found that ball Barry lost, it was in the drainage pipe next to Luke’s rotting body. And I’m not sure how much was real and how much was me hallucinating but somehow you’re all mixed up in this and I’ve got this gut feeling you got your hands on something you shouldn’t have. Now if you’ll take this ball, I’ll take Barry and a quick peek at the rest of your collection and once I find what I’m looking for I’ll just be on my way. Oh and by the way last night I dreamt I bashed your head in with a rock and it felt pretty good. Yup, lying was definitely the way to go.
Jar took a deep breath ready to spin the greatest lie of his short life when Barry walked through the door carrying a shotgun.
Barry looked like a ghost. He was pale. His eyes were wild, crazed almost, like they’d seen things a boy wasn’t ever meant to see. His hands trembled under the weight of the gun but he held the shotgun like a marksman, butt of the gun pressed tight against his shoulder for stability, one eye squeezed shut, the other in perfect line with the hunting scope which was aimed directly at his father. The red laser from the scope, bounced slowly between Griffin’s chest and his head, never wavering far from either of those two locations.
Barry said, “Get out of here Jar. I’ve got this.”
Jar stood, his own arms frozen in the air, a miniature imitation of Mr. Tanner’s pose. In a trembling voice he said, “He’s got something I need. He cleared his throat and hooked his thumb toward the collection.
Barry didn’t question how Jar could need something from his dad’s collection he just waved the gun an inch. Permission granted.
Jar moved through the display cases painfully conscious of Griffin Tanner’s hostile gaze following him. On the far side of the room he found what he was looking for. A clay box with a symbol carved in the lid was in a display case. The word “Govi” was inscribed on the plaque. Jar’s mouth went dry. Part of him had hoped it had all been a dream.
Jar placed his hands on the dome. A familiar sensation, similar to a current of electricity, raced up his arms. An image of Jean-Claude leaning over him in the cave pushing the pain from his body flashed through his mind.
Tanner shouted, “No, don’t touch that!” and started to move toward him.
Without warning, Barry opened fire. The sound of shattering glass filled the room. Tanner clutched at his chest and sank to his knees.
Jar watched in horror, certain his best friend had shot his own father. Horror slowly turned to puzzlement. Where was the blood?
Tanner hadn’t been shot. He knelt in the shattered glass delicately removing shards of glass embedded in the elegant scroll which had been preserved within the case. Jar cocked his head trying to see what had Tanner so distraught. He caught sight of the words, We The People— thought, No way—and jumped in surprise as Barry pumped the shotgun and fired another round into a different display case. Glass, splintered wood, and a set of ancient knives joined the ruin.
Barry reloaded, pumped the shotgun again and lined his sights on yet another display case. “Jar, you better get what you came for and get the hell out of here.”
This time, Jar didn’t hesitate. He threw the glass dome off the display case and grabbed the clay box. A surge of energy ripped through his body. He didn’t let go. The last thing he heard as he ran through the house was the blast of Barry’s shotgun.
Outside, the sandstorm continued its silent, golden assault. Sand drifted across yards, gathering against curbs and walls, obscuring the natural shape of things. Jar pedaled across this alien landscape, his backpack bulky with illicit cargo and disappeared into the storm.
Chapter Thirty-One
Junction, Texas
Barry watched in disgust as his father groveled on the floor, trying desperately to salvage the ruined pieces of his collection. He was so absorbed in his pathetic attempt he didn’t realize the laser from the scope was dancing above his right ear. Barry waited. He wanted the son-of-a-bitch to look up and see the bullet coming right before it ended his miserable life.
Griffin knew he was about to die. He could feel the weight of the boy’s stare and guessed correctly the laser was on him. He was obsessing over the debris on the floor out of self-preservation, but this tactic would only buy him minutes. Without looking up he said, “If you kill me, you’ll never know what happened to your mother.” The shotgun didn’t waver.
“You killed her, what else do I need to know?”
“She was going to run off, you know. She was all packed; waiting for him to come and rescue her. Did she really think I would let her leave? Did she really think I would let her steal from me? Make a mockery of me? I watched them—waited for the perfect moment. I let her think she was going to make it out of the house. I let her think she had made her escape, and right in front of her eyes I killed him. I killed her lover. Do you know who he was Barry? Your mother’s lover?”
Griffin glanced up briefly to gauge the affect of his words. The shotgun had dropped slightly. Keeping his eyes downcast he continued his story. “Care to take a guess Barry? I think in your heart you already know the truth. I wonder if you have the courage to say it out loud.” He paused. “No guesses? Well, I guess that makes you the only person in town who doesn’t know. So let me get this right, you and the Riley kid never sat down and discussed what happened to his father and what happened to your moth—”
“Shut-up.” Barry stopped him before he could finish the sentence.
Griffin started to laugh. “You know, you should really let me finish the story because it gets better. I think you’ll enjoy the ending.” His body shook with laughter. He was like a child. The harder he tried to control it the more it shook his body. Nervous adrenaline, fear, the fact that all these years Barry and Jared had been best friends and neither one knew the truth. It was just too much to bear. “You really don’t know, do you?” Tears were rolling down his face as he wheezed out the next words. “You and Jared are brothers. Well, half at any rate.” He looked up to see Barry’s reaction. The gun hung loosely in Barry’s stunned grip. Griffin scrambled behind one of the displays.
The shotgun went off with a roar.
The display disintegrated but Griffin was already gone, moving away in a crouched position. The blasts followed him through the room until he was able to dive through the doorway into the hall. He got up running, already planning how he was going to kill the little bastard.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Junction, Texas
When the rap came at Suzy’s door she didn’t rush to open it. The thought, irrational and persistent kept repeating. Death has come knocking. Don’t let him in. The rap became more persistent. The doorknob jiggled right to left, left to right. She stood in the dark, halfway between the front door and the kitchen, indecision twisted across her face. Death had a voice, he sounded like Jared Riley.
“Please Suzy. You’ve got to be home.”
Cursing herself for being afraid, she swung the door wide, pointing the beam of her flashlight much like Barry had aimed his gun.
The golden haze swirled around a shrouded figure. She had envisioned death in many shapes but not one qu
ite so short or wearing a baseball cap with glasses and a bandana wrapped around his face. Anger quickly replaced fear. “How in the hell did you get out of that pipe?”
Once he was safely inside, Jar tried to answer her question. “I don’t know exactly. He hesitated. “Luke was down there. He’s dead.”
She sat down, chin trembling. “I thought you were too.”
The events inside the tunnel were like a wispy dream, the tendrils of detail disappearing as quickly as he tried to grasp them. He gave her a dazed look. “I fell. I must have passed out from the pain. When I came to my penlight was at the bottom and I could see…I could see Luke was down there. I must have cut the rope with my dad’s pocket knife.”
He shook his head trying to clear the fog and eyed her carefully. Would she think he had been hallucinating in the tunnel ? He started. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding crazy.” He looked down at the faded pattern on the couch. “When I was down there, I thought, uh, I thought I saw a man. He was poking at this fire and every time a spark flew up I knew it was getting hotter in Junction.”
She interrupted. “It was a pretty bad fall, you probably got knocked out.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He took a deep breath. “When I woke up my ribs were cracked and I’m pretty sure something was wrong with my lung.” He touched his ribs tentatively. “This guy poking the fire he touched me and all the pain just left my body.” He looked over at her. “I know this all sounds crazy but when he touched me I saw visions, horrible things and then I saw Griffin Tanner holding this.” He pulled the clay box out of his backpack. Raw energy thrummed through his fingertips and he could feel Jean-Claude’s presence.
“I think Tanner stole this box, and somehow,” he shrugged at a loss for words, “Somehow this thing is cursed.” He placed the clay box on the couch between them.
The irrational voice whispered, “I told you not to open the door.” She gave the clay box a quick, nervous glance. It did look old. The idea of a curse sounded farfetched but so did the notion of ghosts driving around town in an old yellow truck. The thing was she felt a weird vibe coming off the box and it might have been her imagination but the couch cushion felt warm to the touch like clothes fresh out of the dryer. She edged further away, pulling her hands into her lap. “So you think this box has something to do with the heat?”
He shrugged again. “Maybe. The only way to know for sure is to take it out of town.”
“Where will you take it?”
He didn’t miss the fact she had said, you, not we but he had a ready answer. “Louisiana.”
She shook her head in disbelief and murmured, “Why Louisiana?”
He gestured to the clay box, “If this thing’s real, I’ve got to trust what I saw in the dream. The trees were draped with moss, it didn’t feel like Texas.” He reached into his backpack, pulled out the map and unfolded it. He’d been watching the weather all summer and he knew the drought they were experiencing extended clear into Louisiana, and stopped just outside of New Orleans. The odd weather pattern had meteorologists puzzled. He tapped the mark he’d made on the map. “I’m heading this way.”
A map wasn’t scary. He didn’t want to tell her about the energy coming off the clay box or the feeling he had that the damn thing would probably find its way home with or without him. At that moment he realized why he’d come here. He didn’t want to do this alone. He wanted Suzy to go with him.
From the look on her face, that wasn’t going to happen. He said, “Listen, I’ve got to get out of Junction.” He pointed at the window. They could both hear the sand hitting the side of the house. “Pretty soon this sandstorm is going to have the whole town locked down and nobody’s going to be able to go anywhere.”
He gave her wistful look and gently touched the gauze covering her hands. “What if I’m right? What if I take this clay box out of town and the temperature drops? What if we get rain? Wouldn’t that make everything we’ve been through mean something?”
At the age of twelve, he couldn’t have known what affect the gentle gesture would have on a young girl’s heart and had he been a full grown man, he couldn’t have delivered his words with more sincerity. Her bravado crumbled. Before she knew what she was saying, it was already out. “We can take my dad’s truck.”
As soon as she made her offer he realized he hadn’t thought the whole thing through, hadn’t even considered how he was going to get all the way to Louisiana. Another thought occurred to him. “What about your dad?”
She hooked her thumb toward the wall. “He’s passed out. He won’t be up before noon at the soonest.” In a wry voice she added, “I always warned him someday someone was going to steal his truck, I just never thought it was going to be me.”
After everything he’d been through it wasn’t a time for smiles but he couldn’t keep one off his face. He said, “Okay. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to need a few things.”
*
Across the dark, silent town people hunkered down to wait out the storm. The golden air, thick, relentless, swept through the streets whistling through buildings, insinuating itself in every crack and crevice until it found its way inside. The sand drifted across the floor of the Junction Eagle, forming a long wedge against Edna Mae who had baked in the small office when the electricity went out. She was one well done tater.
On the other side of town, Maple McManus rummaged through an old box from her youth. She pulled out a small brown nub and stared at the crayon in wonder. Clutching the worn Crayola in her hand she sank to her knees. “Listen, God. I’m not much for prayer and I guess you know that but this here’s not for me. You take care of that boy. You get him through this. That’s all I’m asking.” The only response was the howling wind and the sound of sand grating against the side of her house.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Reserve, Louisiana
For the third time within a month, Nathan was in the marsh with Agador on a lead. This time however, he was not alone. More than half the men in Reserve were with him. Some looked like they had come straight from the Shack, a local bar that served until 4:00 a.m., but regardless of appearance they had rallied together to find a missing little girl.
The gathering had the energy of a long-awaited hunt. Men stood in small groups sharing thermoses of coffee while others sat in the morning sun, cleaning and loading their rifles. As Nathan looked out over the group of men, he was relieved to see Steve Mallar and his dog, Scoop. Scoop was a yellow Lab and one of the finest trackers in the area.
Nathan’s eyes wandered to a tight group of men who were gathered around Daniel. For the most part Daniel seemed to be holding up all right. He was laughing at something one of the men said but Nathan sensed his joviality was forced. Nathan felt a twinge of guilt for believing Daniel might have something to do with the missing dogs.
Among the men gathered, there were quite a few who had brought dogs. The sight made Nathan’s chest expand with hope. If Angelina was in the marsh, this group of men was bound to find her.
*
Nute stood back among the trees, watching the gathering of men with their guns and dogs. He knew he couldn’t linger long. One of the dogs might catch his scent and track him down. He also knew white men with guns usually shot first and asked questions later. He watched Nathan organize the large group of men into smaller search parties. Agador sat next to the sheriff, his large head held high and looking regal as if he were the one doling out the commands.
Nute had led the hound and Nathan on a merry chase for weeks—but they no longer had the luxury of time. Jean-Claude Brunache was coming home to Reserve. Nute had felt the current of energy arc across the heavens the moment the boy touched the govi. He did not question the Loa or the role he had been given. If Brunache came as a boy then the boy’s fate was already decided.
For now there was nothing he could do about the boy or the malevolent cargo he carried. As the boy neared Reserve, Nute would feel the coming of his enemy as would Narried.
He wondered if Nathan Singer would feel Brunache down in the marrow of his bones where his link to the Sansericqs lived and breathed like a living thing.
One thing was certain, if any of them were to survive the coming nightmare, Nathan would need to shed off his logic, accept the history of his bloodline and give himself over to the power of the Loa.
Chapter Thirty-Four
They traveled East
Jar and Suzy made slow progress through the deserted streets of Junction. At Main-street she had to put the truck into four-wheel-drive to make it through a sand drift. There was not a single person or vehicle out on the road. She felt a thrill of excitement when they made it to Interstate 10. She expected that the road conditions would improve. She was wrong. Nestled down between the bluffs, Junction was protected from the full impact of the wind and the drifting sand.
Once they were out on Interstate 10 there was no protection from the wind. The drifts got worse instead of better. The old truck crawled down the interstate heading east, going less than twenty miles per hour.
They had brought with them jugs of water, sandwiches, hats, sunglasses, bandanas and paint masks (a last minute find Suzy had unearthed in the garage.)
“How far do you think we’ll get?”
Suzy looked at the gas tank, “Maybe San Antonio.” She wasn’t worried about gas. Instead of passing through, the sandstorm was getting thicker.
They drove in silence for over an hour; the only sound, the sand grating against the side of the truck and skittering across the glass.
Jar finally asked, “Can you see anything?”
She threw him an annoyed look, “You mean besides sand?”
Visibility was nearly zero.
White knuckling the steering wheel, she spent most of the time hoping no one else was stupid enough to be out driving. The larger sand drifts were forcing her toward the center of the road. The center line wasn’t visible so she had no way of knowing whether she was driving on the correct side of the road. Plus she was afraid if she hugged the right side of the road too aggressively she might end up going over the side.
The Drought Page 18