Forced Conversion

by Donald J. Bingle

  She thought back. What side had been facing out when she had grabbed the paper from the mirror?

  The coupon.

  Shit. That was a long way to go. Especially if she was to be back at Sanctuary at first light the day after tomorrow. Especially after how far she had already come today through mountainous terrain.

  She quickly turned on the water and refilled her bottle, then cupped her hands to drink deeply and splash her face. Then she rushed over to her ditched mountain bike and grabbed it up, pushing off and jumping onto it to commence her sixty or so mile trek to Larkspur.

  * * * * *

  Maria quickly lowered her visor to position the vanity mirror so she could see behind the truck, without being obvious. A ballpoint pen clipped to the visor taunted her silently. She casually took it against future need, as if the pen were blocking her beauty check.

  She half-hoped to see her compatriot rushing towards the restroom to retrieve her message. She half-feared that Derek would spy the scout in the truck’s side-view mirror.

  She saw nothing and she was sure that Derek saw nothing. His eyes never veered to the rear or side-view mirrors.

  Nobody worried about traffic too much these days.

  The truck passed over I-70 silently. A flying ramp just south of the Jefferson County courthouse took the vehicle onto I-470, which circled the southwest side of the city at what Maria hoped was a safe distance. They traveled for a bit on the expressway, shielded from any view or radiation from the central city by the same slopes and ridges that had long-ago entombed dinosaurs, past an abandoned drag-strip, and along the eastern edge of a ridge known as the hogback, before leaving the wide expanse of the interstate. They headed south on state and county roads for a while before rejoining another interstate well south of the city.

  She prayed that they would keep heading south and that she could follow through with her plan.

  Otherwise, she had sent a poor bicycle messenger on a very, very long wild-goose chase.

  * * * * *

  Hank worked methodically compiling the data from the most recent searches. In many ways, the long years of work he and Ali had put into the project had been a wild-goose chase. Lots of effort; nothing to show for it, but empty hands and exhaustion.

  In order to stave off depression and thoughts of a wasted life, he told himself not to focus on the past. That, he realized when he thought about it, was pretty amusing advice in itself. His life’s work had consisted of nothing else but focusing on the past, attempting to discern a heavenly message emitted long, long ago.

  The stars were countless as they whirled in the sky above, but Hank had attempted to listen to each one, the automatic drives and tracking software silently and relentlessly following each star in its turn.

  At least in a wild-goose chase you knew there was a goose. All he had found was a goose egg.

  Chapter 16

  They drove without lights, the dim glow of the dashboard gauges and the dimmer starlight and moonlight providing the only respite from the blackness that engulfed them.

  Maria glanced over at the gauges as the SolarFord continued quietly southward on the high plains of Colorado, hugging the fringe of the mountains.

  “We’ll have to stop in a bit.”

  “Yeah,” replied Derek. “I don’t want to run it down all the way. Pick out a house sometime in the next half-hour and we’ll bunk down for the night.”

  “I . . . I couldn’t do that,” she lied quickly and reflexively. That didn’t fit her plan. Besides he might be testing her again. Surely he knew that a fair number of the homes, especially those in the rural areas, had been booby-trapped by the former owners or the warlords or the ConFoes against pilferage, or maybe just for the sheer satisfaction of offing whoever might someday come by. She decided to side-step the testing issue. “We don’t . . . I mean, I wouldn’t feel right staying in somebody else’s home, someone converted.”

  Derek shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly, the right side of his mouth curling up in a slight smile. “Yeah, and it wouldn’t be safe either, would it?”

  “No,” admitted Maria, reciprocating that she too knew what he referred to, “it wouldn’t be safe.”

  “See if you can find a park or something. Maybe we’ll get lucky again and the water will work in the restrooms there, too.”

  Maria started to get out a map to inspect, but Derek extended his right hand and stopped her. “Just look for a sign or something,” he said gently. “It’s safer that way.”

  She didn’t know if he was concerned that anything marked on the maps might be too well known to the mals that might still inhabit the area or just worried that if she flipped on an interior light to read the map it would make the SolarFord too visible from a distance. She didn’t care. This would work to her advantage, as long as her rendezvous point had been as diligent about advertising along the roadways as it had been on the hiking trail map.

  “I’ll keep an eye out,” she promised and looked out into the night as the SolarFord hummed steadily on.

  * * * * *

  Kelly’s burning thighs kept on pumping steadily as she cruised along the center stripe of the southbound lanes on I-25. She had popped quickly onto I-470, skirting the city, and then turned south on the old highway, passing the shell of a huge shopping mall from the days of material excess on her left side at the intersection. As she headed south, her eyes strained to see as far ahead as possible at all times, mindful of roadblocks or lights or anything else that might hinder her progress or endanger her mission.

  Taking the interstate was a definite risk. The gangs and the warlords controlled these roads, ambushing those who moved along them, stealing their goods and worse. But the gangs had been quiet now for some months and she had to risk it. It might add a few miles to her already long journey, but there was no danger of getting lost—there were even directions on the coupon as to how to get to her destination from the Larkspur exit—and the old highway made for a fine, smooth ride.

  She nursed a small mouthful of water from her already seriously depleted plastic bottle, just enough to moisten her throat and keep the burn in her lungs from surpassing the burn in her legs. Castle Rock loomed over the highway ahead of her, the imposing rock formation blotting out the stars in a patch of the southern sky. Thank God the highway skirted around the edge of that—the flatness of the plain was the only thing that made her quest even possible.

  She pondered the mysteries of her situation as she rode, not only in a vain attempt to answer them, but also to distract herself from the painful rigors of her pursuit of Lieutenant Casini and the black SolarFord. Was Casini the odd man’s prisoner? If so, why hadn’t she tried to escape into the nearby forest when they stopped? How had the Lieutenant even escaped the firestorm that had ravaged Sanctuary Vale? Did the driver of the SolarFord start the accursed blaze? Was the Lieutenant working with him? Was she even now drawing Kelly into some hideous trap? She couldn’t believe that, but she had no rational explanation for any of this.

  She lowered her head minutely, even further, to reduce the drag and sped methodically on to her appointed rendezvous. All would be made clear there, she prayed.

  The mountain bike glided silently down the silver ribbon of highway, a messenger in search of a message.

  * * * * *

  Maria did her level best to keep her tone nonchalant. “How about there?” She pointed up ahead, to the right of the road, where the dim light of the crescent moon caught a small billboard advertisement, still peddling its product to a world that no longer cared.

  Derek looked at the billboard in minor confusion, trying to make out its faded message. “Colorado Ren . . . something or other . . . What does it say?”

  “Renaissance Festival.”

  “That some kind of park or fairground or something?”

  “Yeah, renaissance faires and festivals were kind of private parks where people could go and pretend they were in ancient times, you know with horses and knights and antique shops a
nd stuff.”

  “Why would anyone want to do that?”

  “It was where people would go to play pretend before virtual worlds existed. They usually only ran a few weeks in the summer, so it should have shelter, but never had any permanent residents.”

  Derek looked skeptical, his eyes glancing down at the dim flickering of the charge gauge. It still showed more than forty minutes of running time.

  “There was probably never anything modern there worth pilfering, so it should be pretty safe,” interjected Maria before he could make a contrary decision, desperately trying not to sound as though she was attempting to close a sale.

  * * * * *

  Derek mulled it over. They were probably fifty or sixty miles south of the center of the city—more than a hundred miles from Kyle’s cabin—a long ways for a mal to cover. Odds were Maria had never been to this place, that this was not some sort of trap, even if he believed Maria would do that. Most mals didn’t stray far from their hiding places—it was difficult and dangerous. And, of course, he did trust Maria, had already trusted her.

  That settled it. He was being paranoid.

  “Sounds good. Tell me where to turn.”

  * * * * *

  The fact that it could have been worse did not make Kelly any happier. She was losing time, time she didn’t have.

  The chain of the bicycle broke when she was south of Castle Rock. She knew she couldn’t fix the chain, not in the dark, not without tools, not in time. She didn’t bother to try, taking time only to grab her almost empty water bottle before abandoning the bike in the ditch on the side of the road.

  Fortunately, she remembered there was a small subdivision only a couple miles back. She immediately started jogging north, before her legs could stiffen up too much. It was farther than she remembered, but finally she saw the development. It was less than a quarter mile off the road; neat rows of houses with attached garages. Some of the cookie-cutter houses had fences around their backyards. She scanned the fenced yards in the scant light from her vantage point on the mildly elevated roadway, looking for the telltale circular garden plot that would indicate an above-ground pool had once been in the backyard, but had been removed. That would be a house that once had kids, but kids that weren’t too young when the house had been abandoned.

  She was good at scavenging. She knew what she was doing. There was a good chance there would be a useable bike in the garage of such a house. There could be a bike elsewhere, of course, but she didn’t have time to break into every garage until she found one. Besides, it was dangerous.

  Finally, she spied what she was looking for on a cul-de-sac lot two blocks to her left. She sprinted for the location. Her legs were again trying to stiffen up. Besides, she was in a hurry.

  * * * * *

  Derek found the Renaissance Festival grounds curious and amusing and completely harmless. A circuit of the grounds from within the relative safety of the SolarFord revealed no inhabitants, nor any sign of recent activities, just a bunch of open wooden store fronts advertising odd items with even odder spelling. Pickle and roasted mushroom kiosks competed with shops labeled “Ye Olde Armourer” and “Jeweled Snoods,” whatever those were.

  As a precaution, he parked the SolarFord not only so he wouldn’t have to back it up to leave, but also so it would be in the sunlight first thing in the morning. A brief investigation of the open air stalls and storefronts, as well as a few nearby buildings, revealed a cot in the first aid station, along with some bandages which he pocketed for later need, and a big stone fireplace in the “Chainmail Emporium and Smithy.”

  He immediately set to starting a fire in the fireplace—a much less noticeable way to cook than an open campfire would have been—and, with Maria’s assistance, roasted some of Kyle’s elk meat on a couple sturdy sticks. Just to be safe, he quenched the fire as soon as the meat was done with some water from a rain barrel. He didn’t know if there might be other mals hidden in this area. He didn’t want to take chances, not any more than he already was.

  He portioned out chunks of meat from the makeshift skewers. The two of them ate in amiable silence in the dark.

  Finally, Maria broke the silence.

  “You planning to use those bandages you took from the first aid station when I shoot you?”

  “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t worked it all out yet.”

  “How much time do we have to figure it out?”

  “Couple days, I guess.”

  Maria thought for a moment. “We’ll be pretty far from here in a couple days.”

  He anticipated her concern. “Once, you know, once we set it up, you can have the truck to make it back to . . . up here . . . wherever you come from.”

  “And I’ll just go about my life . . .”

  “Yeah.”

  “. . . until some other ConFoe squad comes by and takes care of that . . . or I take care of them.”

  Derek stood suddenly and walked toward the open front of the smithy. He hated to be reminded of his treason. “Look, Maria. I . . . I’m just a grunt in a tight situation, trying to work it out as best I can. I can’t solve the world’s problems. I can’t even solve . . . your problems. I’m just trying to give you a chance, without destroying my life.”

  “Or Katy’s.”

  “Yeah. Especially Katy’s.” His burdens crushed down upon him. “I’m not proud enough of my life to care that much about it, but Katy, she didn’t do . . . anything. I’ve got to do this in a way that protects her.”

  “I don’t want her or you to get hurt.”

  He started to step outside, but turned back. “Thanks.”

  * * * * *

  Maria left him alone with his thoughts for a bit. Finally, she joined him outside their shelter.

  “So now what?”

  “We’re in unfamiliar territory. We should take watches.”

  Maria nodded in agreement.

  “I’m . . . well, I’m awake right now. I have some things to figure out. Why don’t you bed down and I’ll wake you when I’m tired?”

  Maria nodded again. It would be hours before the scout from Sanctuary could possibly arrive, if she even understood the message and could get so far so quickly. “Don’t wait too long to wake me,” she replied casually. “I can always sleep in the truck when we move on in the morning, unless, of course, you’re willing to let me drive.”

  Derek smiled wearily. “Nah. I’ll drive. It’s a guy thing.”

  * * * * *

  Maria bedded down on the cot, while Derek roamed about the Festival grounds, working on his plans and his demons. Finally, he settled into some sort of hanging canvas contraption at a booth simply labeled “Sky Chairs,” where he had a good view of the truck and the smithy. What these bizarre devices had to do with ancient times, he had no idea, but they sure were comfy.

  * * * * *

  Kelly had located a replacement bike on her second try, but the process had been time-consuming. She hadn’t wanted to make too much noise breaking into the garages and she could barely see once she had gotten inside.

  The first garage had been a nightmare of boxes and junk, with no recognizable pathways through the clutter. She tried to search, but finally abandoned it and, looking along the rear fence line, located another likely target in the next block. There, she repeated her routine, forcing the side door of the garage with minimal noise. She entered the black void of the mostly empty garage and tried to make sense of the dim shapes she could barely discern.

  Finally, she felt her way along the wall until she literally bumped into the handle-bars of a mountain bike hanging upside-down from some space-saving bracket. She disentangled it from the mounting bracket and wheeled it out to the driveway. It was bright red, stiff, and in need of a good greasing, but the arid climate had kept it from rusting too badly as it had awaited her arrival.

  She sneaked back out of the subdivision, over the subdivision’s decorative fence, and onto the highway. Eventually, she was once again into her wearying r
hythm, but her progress was slower. The old bike resisted the efforts of her aching legs. Still, she was back on track.

  As the road signs marked down the miles to Larkspur, she glanced at the coupon again in the dim light afforded by the night sky. It clearly indicated that the place was not far off the highway, as well as declaring that she would get five dollars off general admission if the coupon hadn’t expired more than twenty-five years ago. She followed the route instructions, taking Exit 173 onto Douglas County Route 53, gliding swiftly past the small buildings in what was obviously an old railroad town, then turning right across the tracks towards the Festival grounds themselves. A promontory loomed ahead to the southwest.

  As soon as she saw the twin turrets of the main entrance of the Festival, she hid her new mountain bike in some bushes near a maroon and yellow “Welcome Participants” sign and took to her feet for the last mile. Her legs tightened up quickly again after alighting from the bike, but her rear was grateful for the change. She took a moment to stretch out, then started moving somewhat stiff-leggedly toward the anticipated rendezvous point, relying on adrenaline to kick in if she needed to actually run.

  She had barely started out when she circled back to retrieve her plastic water bottle—emptied miles back—for refilling at the first opportunity. Water was life. She was tired, but not quite so tired as to be stupid. She needed to refill the bottle.

  She headed off again, past a green-enameled cattle gate toward the grounds, hoping for God’s guidance as to what to do next. It was dark and slow going, but not nearly so dark as the garages had been. She thanked God for small favors.

  The entrance was to the side of a series of ticket booths and information stalls, which had stacks of moldering maps in wooden holders next to the windows. Her eyes moved across the booths to the “Will Call” window at the far end. An unfolded map fluttered at an odd angle from the wooden box next to this window. The freshness of the creases and the unfaded patches of the map suggested that the map had not weathered in such unfolded state. She quickly moved toward the unfolded map.