Thunder Road

by Thorne, Tamara

  Marie ran down the hall to a short flight of stairs, which dead-ended into two doors. The first one she tried was locked. The second wasn’t, and seeing the Amazon come into the hall, she jerked it open and ran in.

  Suddenly she was in the church, on the rostrum, a dozen faces staring at her. A round, bald man at the podium turned toward her and she ran straight at him, right into his arms. He stared at her in surprise, his hands closing on her shoulders.

  “Please!” she cried. “Help me!” Simultaneously she slammed her knee into his groin. He gasped, letting go, and she raced toward an open door on the far side of the rostrum.

  “Stop her!” screamed the Amazon.

  Before she could reach the door, two robed figures moved to block the exit. Marie feinted, left, then right. The church was nearly empty, and if she could get past these people, she could get out the doors at the back of the church. But the small congregation got to its feet, blocking her way, as the Amazon yelled again. She turned, saw another door on the other side of the rostrum, and sprinted toward it.

  “Get her!” cried the bald man.

  Out of the comer of her eye, she saw the Amazon barrel across the rostrum. Marie kept running, but the woman suddenly tackled her, toppling her to the floor.

  “Got you, you little whore!”

  Hands closed around her neck, pressing into her flesh. Marie, trapped under two hundred pounds, kicked, turning blindly to claw at the woman’s face. Spots danced before her eyes.

  “Don’t harm her!” the bald man ordered as more hands grabbed her hands and ankles. “Bring her to me!”

  Someone pried the Amazon’s hands from her neck, then two men pulled her to her feet and dragged her up to the pulpit. The bald man, his round face beet-colored, had his hands protectively over his groin. He smiled sickly at her. “Too bad you’re an unrepentant heathen. You’d make an excellent warrior for the Living Savior.”

  “Go to hell.” Marie spat at his face. The men tightened their grips.

  “Yes, it’s too bad,” the man repeated.

  Behind him, a woman moaned. Marie looked up and gasped. On either side of the huge rostrum were two crosses, perhaps eight feet tall. The right was empty, but there was a body tied to the left. Cassie Halloway, her shirt torn away to reveal her tattoos, stared at her through swollen eyes. Blood dripped from a cut on her cheek. She moaned again.

  “Cassie!” Marie screamed.

  “Elder Caine!” The beaky old man in wet camouflage fatigues who’d been at her house entered through a side door, followed by several others wearing sodden robes. He trotted up to Caine, and spoke so softly that Marie barely made out his words. “The child is still missing.”

  “Damn,” Caine whispered, then looked out at the faces surrounding him. “Okay, we know the crosses will support the weight, so Campbell and Deitz, take the tattooed whore down and lock her up. Make sure she doesn’t die. The rest of you, go find your squad leaders and get back to work.”

  The old man in cammies drew a pistol and aimed it at Marie. “You two may wait outside,” he told the Apostles holding her.

  Caine waited until the church was empty to speak again. “You’ve searched everywhere for the child?”

  “Everywhere we can without drawing attention to ourselves. She ran out into the desert and we lost sight of her. She could be anywhere. If she gets to the park, she’ll report us, and we can’t take that chance.”

  Caine shook his head. “I can’t believe a dozen people could lose a little girl, Elder Blandings.”

  “Neither can I,” Blandings growled.

  “You were in charge, Eldo. You are responsible.”

  The old man looked at his hands. “We’ll continue to try to locate her.”

  “Do that.” Caine glanced at Cassie as the Amazon and another Apostle undid her bonds. “Find the girl and get us an alternate. She’s in bad shape, and that’s your fault as well, Eldo. If she dies, we need another.”

  Blandings nodded at Marie. “What about her?”

  “She’ll do nicely. Try to show the same restraint on your next choice.”

  Marie aimed a gob of saliva at Caine’s face. “What the hell are you talking about, you crazy bastard?” she demanded.

  “Please, no spitting, young woman. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Hannibal,” Blandings said. “I have someone else in mind.”

  Caine raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

  “The man who humiliated me. Tom Abernathy.”

  “He was here with Baskerville this morning,” Caine told him. “Looking for her.” He nodded toward Marie.

  Thank God they know I’m gone! Marie was filled with renewed hope.

  “Does that matter?” the old man asked.

  “Yes,” Caine said firmly. “They’re coming back with a search warrant.”

  “What does Prophet Sinclair say? Will he let them in?”

  “No, Eldo. This is a church, a sanctuary, and we’ve doubled the guards. No one will enter unless we let them. The point, however, is that Abernathy is too big a risk.”

  “He humiliated me,” Blandings growled. “He did the same to Campbell. He deserves to die.”

  “And he will, when the Horsemen ride. Be patient, Eldo. Satisfy yourself with someone else.”

  Eldo Blandings was looking at Caine, not Marie, and the gun barrel lowered slightly. Marie took a slow deep breath as the Apostles continued to argue. The barrel dropped another fraction of an inch, wavered.

  Marie kicked suddenly, her foot connecting with the pistol. It flew from the old man’s hand and slid across the floor, Marie leaping after it. She ran, barely slowing as she swooped down and snatched it up.

  “Guards!” Caine yelled.

  Marie pivoted and ran toward the far door as two more Apostles entered.

  “Get her!” Caine yelled. “Beat her, but don’t kill her.”

  Marie didn’t wait to give them a chance. She was out the door in a flash, sprinting outside, knowing she’d never get over the twenty-foot-tall chain-link fence, let alone the razor wire topping it.

  The area was nearly deserted and she ran between the church and the next building, then turned down a narrow central walkway to the second building. She came to a door and tried it. Locked. The next one was, too, but not the third.

  She heard the Apostles’ running footsteps, still far behind her, as she slipped into the darkness beyond the threshold.

  105

  Justin Martin

  “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHRISTIE.” JUSTIN HANDED A PINK ENVELOPE to Christie Fox when she brought him his Coke.

  “My birthday’s in two weeks, but thanks.” She set the serving tray down on Justin’s table and opened the card. He’d chosen it carefully. It was sweet but harmless, a stupid card featuring Charlie Brown and Lucy, and sure enough, it made her smile. “Thanks, Justin, that’s sweet.”

  “I have a surprise for you too. A present. But I have to take you somewhere to give it to you.”

  “I still have another half hour to work.” She glanced around the café. “And I don’t know if I feel much like going anywhere, Justin. I really miss Rick.”

  Her eyes teared up, so Justin patted her hand. “Christie, I know your birthday’s not for two weeks yet. I just wanted to cheer you up a little.”

  “Where would we have to go?” she asked quietly.

  “That’s a surprise.”

  “I don’t want any surprises, Justin. Let’s just forget it.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell. We’re only going to Madland.”

  She looked out the window at the pouring rain. “How are you going to get there? By raft?”

  “The back way is no problem.”

  “Let’s wait until a nicer day.”

  He smiled. “We can’t wait. You have an appointment.”

  “An appointment?” Her interest had been piqued, though she tried to hide it. “In Madland? For what?”

  “Do you really want me to tell you?”

  “I hate surpr
ises.”

  “I got you a half-hour palm reading at the Sorcerer’s Apprentice.”

  Her eyes lit up, just like he knew they would. He’d heard her, and lots of other girls, comment on Carlo Pelegrine’s dark good looks. They all wanted to fuck him. If they only knew . . . Justin smiled to himself.

  “Really, Justin?” she asked, excited now. “Really?”

  “I sure did. In one hour.”

  She squeezed his hand, the first sign of affection she’d ever shown him. “That’s really thoughtful, Justin. It’s just what I need right now. Can you hang around? I’ll be done in half an hour.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without you,” he said.

  Charles Pilgrim, you’re going to love this present! He sipped his Coke and imagined the reaction Carlo would have when he brought the girl to him.

  106

  Carlo Pelegrine

  ALEX HAD SAID SHE’D SEE HIM LATER, BUT SHE HADN’T SPECIFIED where, and Carlo’s anxiety increased as the afternoon wore on. Flooding had been imminent for the last hour, and there was no way Tom would let her stay up in the hills in that kind of danger.

  Idly he picked up the Bronco keys she’d left for him, turned them in his fingers. He’d used them to move the truck into the lot once the park opened, but now it occurred to him that she perhaps meant for him to pick her up at Tom’s, since she’d be returning his horse.

  “Of course,” he told himself as he pulled on his trench coat and pocketed the keys.

  Fifteen minutes later, after navigating the short but treacherous stretch of Old Madelyn Highway separating Madland from Tom’s, he turned off on the ranch road and spent another ten minutes driving up to the house. He let himself in the gate and knocked, but no one answered.

  Davy wasn’t in his cottage either, so Carlo hurried across the open area to the stables, and walked along until he heard a man’s soft voice and a horse’s soft nicker. He opened the top half of the outer stable door, and Davy Styles, grooming his black and white pinto, looked up warily, then smiled. A rifle lay on a bench nearby within easy reach. “Carlo, what are you doing here?”

  “I thought the search party might be back.”

  “Not yet, but it shouldn’t be long, not in this rain. It’s dangerous up there.”

  “I know.”

  “You want to go in the house and wait?”

  “No,” Carlo said. “Frankly, I’m too nervous to sit still.” He hesitated. “Could you use some help?”

  Davy looked him up and down, and laughed. “You’re serious?”

  “I am.”

  “Come on in.”

  A moment later, Carlo hung his coat over the inner stable door and picked up his first currycomb.

  Grooming the horse turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. There was comfort in touching the huge, solid animal, but as he worked, he worried about Justin Martin. Alex, who was full of surprises, had said they’d take care of him, and now he wondered what she meant by that. Someone who would accept a murderer as a lover might also accept murder, and he had promised he would never kill again, no matter what the circumstance. He couldn’t break that promise.

  “Carlo?”

  He whirled, and the pinto snorted.

  “You’re sure jumpy,” Davy told him.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Ranger’s had enough brushing.” He patted the gelding’s muzzle affectionately. “He’s spoiled rotten. Come on,” he said, opening the stall door. “I’ll introduce you to Diamond Lil. You’ll like her.”

  Carlo nodded and followed him and was soon so enchanted by the beautiful white mare that he actually forgot to worry for a little while.

  107

  Justin Martin

  WHEN JUSTIN PULLED INTO THE MADLAND PARKING LOT, CHRISTIE Fox at his side, the first thing he noticed was that Alex Manderley’s Bronco was gone. She must have come back from her trip to the mountains and taken off. He hoped she’d be back soon, but for now he had Christie.

  Happily, no one saw them as he led her through the back gate, then walked her down the service road behind the shops. She was all tits and ass, and she didn’t even wonder why they were going the back way, she just thought it was a big adventure.

  Finally they arrived behind Carlo’s shop. He led her past his storage shed and right up to the back door. He knocked. And knocked again. But no one answered.

  “Justin? I thought you said—”

  “He’s probably upstairs and can’t hear us. You wait right there. I’ll go up and get him.”

  “But how?”

  “Just watch. And wait.”

  Justin let himself into the storage room and turned on the light. There, he found Carlo’s motorcycle, some cans of paint, tools, and, finally, a telescoping ladder hung sideways on one wall. Quickly he removed it and carried it outside.

  “Justin, are you going to break in?”

  He gave her a shit-eater. “Carlo told me to. He said he can’t hear anything upstairs and that if he didn’t answer, to come in the window and get him.”

  “That’s weird,” Christie whined.

  Shut up, you stupid cunt! Smiling, Justin shrugged and positioned the ladder beneath the second-floor window he’d pointed out. If that thing’s locked, I’m going to take that bitch in the shed, bend her over his fucking motorcycle, and cut her open with his garden shears!

  Fortunately for Christie, the window wasn’t locked. He pushed it up, then turned and waved. “Be right back. Stay put.”

  “Okay.” He climbed in, then turned and saw her down there putting on lipstick to impress the Peeler. She’d do better to impress him, but she’d figure that out soon enough.

  Justin looked around the room he’d entered. It was the bedroom, very neat, the bed made, the dresser gleaming. Quickly he pulled the bedspread and blankets down and bent, sniffing the sheets. His cock twitched at the scent of pussy. Alex Manderley’s pussy.

  Reminding himself that he had younger snatch waiting for him downstairs, he left the bedroom and checked the rest of the apartment. Carlo wasn’t here, and a slow anger began burning inside him. Had he taken Alex somewhere so that he could do her by himself? The more he thought about it, the more he suspected it might be true.

  By the time he reached the first floor, he was sure Carlo was trying to cheat him. “Fuck you,” he whispered. “You’ll be sorry.”

  He walked into the reading room, pausing at the small rolltop desk in the corner. Curious, he lifted the cover, and it rolled smoothly back. A small basket containing three oranges rested on the desktop, and in a cubby just above, something glittered. Slowly Justin drew it out.

  It was a knife with a four-inch blade that was honed to razor sharpness. Justin turned it in his hand, then wrapped his fingers around the slim silver handle. It fit perfectly in his hand, and he felt the power of it surge through him. Was this the knife that the Peeler had used to skin his victims? No wonder he had done such perfect work. No wonder, with a knife like this.

  “Justin!” Christie hammered on the back door, startling him.

  “Bitch,” he whispered. He closed the desk, then brought the knife to his lips and kissed it.

  “What took you so long?” Christie whined as he opened the door and she flitted in.

  Justin didn’t answer. Instead, he raised the knife.

  108

  Hannibal Caine

  BECAUSE HE DIDN’T WANT TO DRAW ATTENTION TO HIMSELF, WHEN Hannibal Caine left the compound to check up on the doings of his flock, he dressed casually in a maroon turtleneck, windbreaker, and chinos. He hadn’t intended to leave the compound today at all, but since that idiot Blandings had screwed up so much already, he decided it would be prudent to conduct a clandestine inspection.

  When he had pulled into the Madland parking lot, he’d been surprised and very interested to see young Justin Martin escorting a blonde teenager through a back gate. Staying low in his car in the near-empty lot, Hannibal watched as the boy disappeared behind one of the buildings and, a f
ew moments later, reappeared climbing in an upstairs window of the same building.

  Hannibal strolled across the lot to the small gate and found that Justin had left it unlocked. He slipped through and shut it behind him, then strolled casually toward the building, arriving just as the back door opened and the young blonde disappeared inside.

  He walked around to the front of the building, found it was the fortune-telling shop, and that it was closed. Curiouser and curiouser. Returning to the rear of the building, Caine waited for twenty minutes, but there was no sign of Justin or the girl.

  Checking his watch, he knew he had other things to do, so he approached the back door and knocked. There was no reply, so he tried the knob, found it unlocked. He walked in.

  He found himself in a small utility room, with a white washer and dryer, shelves of cleaners, and a deep sink, where a splotch of crimson caught his eye.

  Blood. Fresh blood.

  There wasn’t much, but it turned his stomach, and he nearly bolted outside, then caught himself. There was a closed door leading to another room, and trembling, he pushed it open. A blood-speckled crystal ball rested in the middle of a small round table in the middle of the windowless room. As he stared at it, a drop of blood spatted against it, and Hannibal glanced up, saw the awful, bleeding thing above him. He didn’t even know what it was.

  “Elder Caine,” Justin Martin said as he entered the room from behind dark green drapes. He held a bloody knife in one hand. “What are you doing here?” He stepped closer.

  “I came to talk to you, son,” he said, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray his fear and disgust.

  “You did?” Justin gave him a vulpine smile and raised the knife.

  “Yes. We missed you this morning.”

  “I was busy.”

  “Yes. But we need you.”

  The boy’s face opened up slightly. “Need me?” He chuckled. “What the hell for?”

  “I can see you’re the right man for the job.”

  “What job?”

  Hannibal was winging it, but doing a good job, he thought. “We need someone to capture—alive—a person to use on our cross for tomorrow’s services.”