She looked at him. “We see UFOs in the context of our own society. In the mid eighteen hundreds there was a series of midwestern sightings that ran in a nearly straight ne down the United States, from Canada to the Gulf The farmers who reported them claimed they saw a huge steamboat-type craft in the sky, and the close encounters reported were with men from these steamboats who came down to fetch water.” She glanced at Marie. “And frequently they took away animals. It’s a pattern that has repeated throughout history, all over the world.”
“Why do we hear about little blue men if those farmers saw something different?” Tom asked.
“And why do other people, like Sinclair, see angels?” That came from Ray.
“It’s what they expect to see. Joseph Smith claimed that the Book of Mormon was given to him by a godlike creature from a planet that orbited a star called Kolab. Smith evidently believed what he preached, or at least ended up believing it. Sinclair sounds like he believes what he preaches as well.”
“It awful hard to swallow,” Tom said, rubbing his chin.
“The biggest tale-spinner of all time is our biggest skeptic,” Cassie said wryly.
Tom shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a little skepticism.”
“I agree,” Alex said. “I’m a skeptic myself. If I weren’t, I might buy into the notion that UFOs are simply aliens visiting from another world and that they first arrived in the nineteen forties. But that seems too . . . pat, I suppose. I believe we should always look to history for clues about the present. Even when it comes to aerial phenomena, history repeats itself.” Suddenly self-conscious, she glanced around. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to talk shop.”
“Honey,” Cassie said, “you’re a breath of fresh air. Usually the only person around here who can tell a story is Tom, and his are always made up.”
“Ah, Cass, you know everything I say’s the gospel truth,” Tom drawled. He smiled at Alex. “Doc, you can’t leave us hanging now.”
The room suddenly seemed far too warm, and Alex hesitated, embarrassed. Seated beside her on the couch, Carlo lightly touched the back of her hand. “Please.”
She stole a glance at him, at those incredible eyes. “We see what we expect to see,” she said, launching back into shop talk to protect herself from the overwhelming feelings this man stirred in her. “That’s what one of the most respected researchers suggests, and I agree with him. It may be that we decide what form this energy or life-form, whatever it is, takes. Perhaps it’s the result of a given society’s collective unconscious.
“Think of all the stories about leprechauns in Ireland, trolls in Scandinavia. There are fairies and elves, the Gentry of the eastern United States, and Green Men, who are earth spirits, part man, part plant. Also, there are the elemental spirits of the American Indian, right, Davy?”
Styles nodded. “We have a legend about a red sun that rises straight up in the air. I don’t recall the details.”
“The Zulus have a corresponding story,” Alex said, pleased. “The red sun descends to devour cattle, then rises straight up afterward.” Alex saw Marie flinch slightly, and hoped the woman would be willing to talk to her later.
“What it boils down to,” Alex continued, “is that yesterday’s fairy circles are today’s saucer landing sites. You’ll find stories about lights in the sky like the ones we witnessed last night in every culture’s folklore. There are certain commonalities in all of them. Only the window dressing changes.
“At one time, there were stories about fairy folk abducting humans, usually via fairy circles. What’s left out of the version we tell children is that they were abducted for breeding purposes. These days, aliens supposedly do the same thing. But I’m not so sure any of these creatures are aliens.”
“But that’s such a big deal in books and on talk shows,” Cassie protested.
“Aliens with the ability to travel to earth wouldn’t need to mate with humans to improve their genetic stock. It’s illogical. We’re close to re-creating life with our own DNA experiments. Certainly creatures capable of interstellar flight would have already mastered the techniques.”
“So what’s the bottom line?” Ray asked.
“UFOs might be of the earth,” Alex said promptly. “They’re certainly an important part of our mythology. Yesterday’s and today’s.”
“Isn’t it possible they’re from another world?” Cassie asked.
Moss nodded. “I saw them last night, and they didn’t look like anything from around here.”
“The possibilities are endless, but whatever they are, the only thing I’m sure of is that they shape our myths and our history. UFOs, angels, spirit lights, whatever one calls them, they loom very large.”
Enthusiastic now, she leaned forward. “For example, Eric and I were driving back to camp today when we saw one of the small round UFOs over Olive Mesa. We hiked up, but it was gone by the time we arrived. However, we found some clothing, and it hadn’t been there long. I’m willing to bet Sinclair was up there speaking to his Angel of God.”
“And whatever he heard, it reinforced his belief that the Apocalypse is coming,” Carlo finished.
She smiled. “Precisely.”
“And that raises lots of questions about destiny and fate and prophecy.” Carlo shook his head. “Is it self-fulfilling? Do we make our own destiny or does some other force—God, aliens, elves—guide us?”
“I used to believe all prophecy was self-fulfilling and that it was of wholly human creation,” Alex replied, “but now I’m inclined to think that something plants ideas and attempts to guide our destiny. And the fact that most prophecies concern the end of the world or lesser disasters, all negatives in any case, tells me that it’s not some wise, all-knowing, and loving God behind it all. It’s something with a terribly wicked sense of humor.” She smiled then, aware of how ridiculous she probably sounded. She turned to Mike Corey. “Father, I hope I’m not insulting your religion.”
“If I were thin-skinned, I wouldn’t hang around with this bunch.” The young man smiled and pushed a stray lock of light brown hair off his forehead. “From a purely Catholic point of view, I’d have to say the things you’re speaking of are the work of the devil.” He smiled. “Thereby proving your point about various interpretations.”
“I take it Sinclair hasn’t been this frantic about the Apocalypse until now?” she asked, looking around at the others.
“No,” Ray Vine said, “although he’s always very dramatic.”
“He really did sound different tonight,” Cassie added. “Usually he just chews the scenery.”
“He was like the Dutch boy with his finger in the dam trying to sound the alarm,” Mike Corey added. “He sounded almost frightened.”
There was general agreement, then Tom Abernathy said, “Maybe he’s just gone off his rocker.”
That broke the intensity in the room. Even Alex laughed and agreed that was probably the case.
“You know,” Tom said thoughtfully, “if the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse really did come riding down Thunder Road, I’d purely love to see the look on Jim-Bob’s face. Now, who wants apple pie and ice cream?”
55
Eldo Blandings
ELDO BLANDINGS CHECKED HIS WATCH AND. GRIMACED, WHICH was as close as Eldo ever came to smiling. It was nearly twenty-one hundred, and Prophet Sinclair would be nearing the end of his live broadcast. It was time to strike a blow for the Prophet. Another grimace. Tonight they’d teach that devil-worshiping whore and her queers at the Langtry Theater a little lesson, and that pleased him almost as much as pondering what he would do to Tom Abernathy for the humiliation he’d suffered at that godless bastard’s hands earlier in the day.
He and his gang of four had driven out of the compound an hour before. After they were out of easy sight, he left Thunder Road to take a jeep trail up behind Dead Man’s Hill. They parked the vehicle in a shallow cavern formed by the rocks, then stripped off their loose outer clothing, leaving them dressed in brown and tan
camouflage fatigues. After stowing the clothes, they piled tumbleweeds in front and over the little jeep, just to make sure no one would notice it.
His Special Projects Committee included two of the Senior Apostles, a broad-shouldered bitch named Lorraine Ferguson who was also a white supremacist, and granite-jawed ex-marine Steve Clayman, who didn’t know why he’d joined the Apostles. Blandings knew exactly why: He needed to have someone tell him what to do. Another member of his elite group was Mel Campbell, a former cop who had been run off the force for applying a nightstick too frequently. By the time he joined the Apostles, he was a speed freak, buying and selling through his old contacts from his legitimate days. The Church of the Prophet’s Apostles had saved his life, cleaned him up, and given him purpose again. The fourth was Corky Deitz, a hard little woman, a former cheerleader at Madelyn High, and she was as full of loyalty to the Prophet as she was full of hatred for people who refused to listen to his word. All had been handpicked and tested by Eldo and Hannibal. As Apostles, each was very flawed in his or her own way, and perfect for the Special Projects Committee.
They had traveled the last miles to the theater on foot, keeping to the trail above the road, only crossing Thunder Road when they were even with the theater. There, they quickly climbed the high chain-link fencing and spent the last fifteen minutes waiting while Steve Clayman reconned the theater and adjacent buildings. Now Eldo stepped forward as Clayman’s dark form approached.
“All clear,” he said softly. “No one’s around.”
“Good work.” Eldo checked his watch again. “Top of the hour,” he whispered. He shined a penlight all around, checking to make sure his people were wearing gloves and had their equipment ready. Finally he nodded. “We meet back here at twenty-one twenty. You know what to do. Let’s go.”
They approached the deserted theater quietly, each going to his assigned position. Lorraine Ferguson and Steve Clayman went to work with a pint of red paint and a brush, painting “666” on the windows, while ex-cop Mel Campbell and Corky Dietz went to work spraying the flower beds with a jug of herbicide.
Suddenly Eldo heard a vehicle approaching. “Everybody down!” he hissed as he crouched in the shadows. The car was dark, its lights out, and it rolled to a stop not ten feet from him, right near the flagpole by the steps to the building.
The driver’s door swung silently open, and for a brief instant before the driver clicked off the interior light, he had a look at the man. It was Hannibal’s green recruit, Justin Martin, dressed in black. Eldo breathed a sigh of relief but remained hidden. Hannibal had told him what the boy had done with the goat—a sick kid, no question—and had added that the boy didn’t want his parents to find out. Nothing would go wrong, but maybe he’d get to test the kid’s nerves. He waited.
The boy opened the trunk of his car. Eldo heard him grunt, then the youth lifted something out. Eldo started counting, and at five seconds, the kid came staggering around the side of the car carrying something large wrapped up in a blanket. The youth was wearing gloves. Smart kid.
He came closer, closer, and Eldo held his breath. Then Justin stopped at the flagpole, bent, and dropped his burden at its base. The boy stood and Eldo heard him sniffing. He’d caught the odor of the herbicide.
Justin grabbed the rope line on the tall flagpole. He tested it, tugging hard, then squatted and uncovered his burden. He started working with the pole rope, wrapping it around whatever it was he’d taken from the trunk.
The boy stood up and took the rope with both hands. He began hoisting something up the pole.
It was another goat. Of course. A happy grimace etched in his seamed face, Eldo watched the animal, tied by the hind legs, as it slid jerkily up the flagpole. As soon as the rope was tied off, the goat hanging at full mast, he softly said, “Justin Martin!”
The boy didn’t react as Eldo expected—he didn’t run or even look. Instead he slowly turned, head cocked, listening. Justin slid his hand into his pants pocket, then withdrew it quickly, holding something.
A gun? No. Eldo heard the snick of a jackknife opening, then saw an oversized blade as the silver steel caught the moonlight. Eldo rose and drew his own .38, aimed it at the kid. “Drop the knife,” he hissed.
The kid homed in on the sound of his voice and, fearless, stalked toward him, knife ready.
“I said drop the knife.” Eldo cocked his gun, and that sound halted the boy.
Slowly, coolly, Justin bent and placed it on the ground, the blade pointed toward Eldo. Blandings was impressed. No doubt the kid was as deranged as they came, but he had the right kind of mettle for this operation.
“Boy,” Eldo began, still keeping the gun trained on Justin. “I’m impressed. Did Hannibal tell you to kill the goat?”
Silence.
“You’re among friends, boy. Answer me. Are you acting under Hannibal’s orders?”
“Yes,” Justin said, squinting into the darkness. “Are you Eldo Blandings?”
“Did he tell you to come here?” Hannibal knew Blandings and his crew were coming here, and to send the boy here would endanger the mission. Suddenly suspicious of Caine, he said louder, “Answer me!”
“No. He said to display it prominently. I thought this was the perfect place,” he added, a note of arrogance in his voice. Are you Eldo Blandings?”
“I’m your new boss, boy, and if any of this gets out, we’ll lay the blame for everything we’ve all done here tonight right on your doorstep. Do you doubt me?”
“No, sir.” The tone was humble, but Blandings knew this kid didn’t know the meaning of the word.
“Good. Now get out of here. Get that car out of here. We’ll be in touch.”
Silently the boy bent and retrieved his knife, then turned and walked down toward his car.
“Boy!” Eldo’s quiet voice carried easily in the desert night.
Justin turned, saying nothing.
“Good work.”
The boy nodded, then went to the back of his car and closed his trunk before getting in the car. Lights out, he drove away.
56
Marie Lopez
“THEY STOPPED IN AT MADLAND TO INQUIRE THE WAY,” RAY Vine sang as he strummed Tom’s guitar. “And Jim-Bob saw Cassie and declared he would stay. Sweet Cassie got frightened and ran like a deer, while Jim-Bob Sinclair pawed the ground like a steer.” The guitar notes trailed off very nearly the way they were supposed to.
Marie laughed, wishing she had the nerve to sing in front of company. “A steer?”
“Frustrated, you know,” Ray explained, setting the guitar down and smiling at Cassie. “He knew she’d turn him into a steer if he got too close.”
Cassie laughed her head off, just like she always did. “Thank you, Ray.”
“Mommy, what’s a steer?” Eve, who had been sleeping curled up in Cassie’s lap, rubbed her eyes.
“Well, it’s . . . Tom? You tell her.”
“Why, Eve, it’s just a bull with no . . . It’s a gelded bull,” he finished lamely.
Sure enough, the next question was, “What’s gelded?”
“Honey,” Cass said, “it’s way past your bedtime. Maybe we better get on home.”
“Can I have a soda?” the child asked, bouncing from her mother’s arms.
“Course you can,” Tom said, ignoring Cassie’s glare. “You go on ahead.”
Marie knew that Tom hated having the evening break up, and ten-thirty was far too early for anyone but Mike Corey, who always left early, to say good night. Though tired, and still a little embarrassed about her attire, Marie was glad he was keeping things going: She was enjoying herself more than she had in ages, mostly because Tom had nearly declared some feelings for her. The other reason was that she had decided that she wanted to talk to Alex Manderley after all, but hadn’t found the right moment to do it. Now Alex was off sitting by the fireplace with Carlo, and Marie swallowed and decided she could speak in front of Pelegrine.
“Hi,” she said uncertainly as she approach
ed Alex and Carlo.
Alex smiled. “Please, join us.”
“Yes,” Carlo said, patting an empty chair.
“Thanks.” She sat, then fiddled nervously with her hands.
“That’s a beautiful outfit,” Alex told her.
“Oh, ah, thanks. I . . .”
“Yes?” Alex prompted.
“Tom’s been after me to talk to you. About my sheep, the ones that were killed.” The words poured out in a rush. “I feel ridiculous, I mean it’s probably just a mountain lion, and I told Tom to forget about it, but, well, I just feel ridiculous.”
“Will you ladies excuse me for a minute?” Carlo asked, rising. He smiled gently at Marie, and she smiled back, grateful that he’d realized she wanted to talk to the scientist alone.
Instead of joining the others, Carlo walked onto the patio and out beyond the guttering candlelight, until he was only a shadowy figure staring up into the night sky. Marie looked at Alex and was amused to see that the woman was still watching Carlo, an enigmatic expression on her face. The first time Marie had seen them together tonight, she thought something was brewing between them; now she was certain.
“Carlo’s very nice,” she said softly.
Alex quickly turned to face her, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “He does seem nice,” she said. “Of course, I don’t really know him.”
Marie smiled. “No one knows Carlo too well. I guess being mysterious goes with his profession.”
“Yes.” Alex cast one more glance his way, then focused on Marie. “I was hoping you’d talk to me.”
“Did Tom tell you?” she asked, perturbed.
“He only said something in passing. So did Carlo.”
Marie shot a sharp look across the room at Tom. He saw her and raised his eyebrows in a what-did-I-do expression. She turned back to Alex. “Tom didn’t say anything about last night, did he?” From the moment she’d told Tom about the evening’s events, she’d regretted it, certain he would spin it into one of his tall tales.
“No. What happened last night?”
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