She stood at the edge of the cliff, waiting for Ivan to set-up his shot while the Old Man watched the proceedings over his shoulder.
Ivan counted down from 3…2…1…
“We approached the outskirts of the Sandcastle City,” Molly said, “an oasis in the midst of the pristine wilderness that...”
Ivan lowered the camera. “Cut. What does pristine mean?”
“Virginal or unspoiled,” Hoyt said.
Molly stuck her hand on her hip. “Too highbrow?”
“Try virginal,” Ivan said, “everybody knows what virginal means.”
“Some for longer than others,” Molly muttered.
“And for others, not nearly long enough,” Ivan said.
Hoyt listened to them go back and forth a few more rounds sitcom-style. “You sure you two ain’t together?”
Molly turned to answer but the focused red dot painted across his forehead silenced her.
“What is it?” Hoyt said. “Do I have something on my face?”
The knee in the small of her back flattened her like a starfish before she could answer.
She managed to lift her head just high enough out of the dirt to get a look at their captors.
Captain Bell flipped his night vision goggles up and flashed a broad smile. He took a puff from his cigar and blew the smoke in her face. “Do you know who we are?”
“Blueberry Security,” Molly said.
Bell’s smile withered. “Blue Beret…Damn it Ray, we gotta do something about the hats!”
***
The incoming chopper blasted sand and grit in every direction, forcing Captain Bell to halt their march into Sandcastle City until the rotors whirred to a stop.
Jump-suited technicians unloaded the waiting chopper, giving Molly a glimpse of the glass pods and the occupants within. Their uniform muscularity and striated skin didn’t resemble the Cryptos she remembered. These specimens seemed embryonic by comparison. Seeing them up close left her feeling more pity than revulsion.
“What are they?” Molly asked.
Her unexpected presence distracted the greasy-haired tech backing the forklift down the ramp. He smiled, his dull eyes sparking to life just as his right rear tire slipped off the ramp’s edge.
Molly winced in anticipation but the forklift didn’t tip over. The machine pitched 45 degrees, scraping the glass pod it carried against the concrete landing pad before dumping the tech from the driver’s seat.
Everyone turned toward the screeching sound, everyone but the man in the pinstripe suit. He signed off on the load before handing the clipboard back to the chopper pilot.
“What did you do before you worked security?” the suit asked.
“Something familiar about that voice,” Hoyt whispered.
The nervous tech stepped away from the forklift. “Worked fast food and...”
“Where?”
The tech looked to his colleagues for a life-raft but they avoided his gaze, knowing what was coming next. “Uh...Places like Denny’s and other...”
“Love Denny’s. Know what I get when I go? Eggs over my hammy,” the suit said. “But sometimes I get an omelet. What’d you do when ya worked there?”
“Uh…Worked the grill.”
“So you can handle a spatula,” the suit said.
“Yeah.”
“And you worked with eggs before,” the suit said. “I mean, that’s a given, right?”
“Yeah.
“Does that pod look like an egg?”
The tech looked at the pod and then back at the suit. “Not sure I…”
“Does that look like an egg?” the suit shouted.
The tech wiped the sweat beading across his forehead. “Kinda.”
The suit lowered his volume. “Ya know, it kinda does. But it’s bigger than an egg, right?”
“Right, yeah...”
“But unless some brontosaurus laid this sucker, it ain’t no egg,” the suit said. “And because you’re not working at Denny’s, you’re not making an omelet.”
“I guess.”
“And if you’re not making an omelet, you don’t need to crack any eggs to do your job.”
“Right.”
“Then be careful with the pods,” the suit said.
He’d upgraded his wardrobe since last they met, but Old Man Hoyt recognized the pudgy silhouette and grating voice even before he turned around.
“Camaro,” Hoyt said.
The Doctor’s subdued reaction to their appearance worried Hoyt. He didn’t seem surprised to see him there, but why wasn’t he surprised?
“Cut yourself shaving?” Hoyt asked.
Camaro stroked his heavily bandaged ear. “Something like that.”
“What are they?” Molly said.
Camaro acknowledged her with a grin that came off more rye than wry, especially with the seeds from the sandwich he’d had for lunch still stuck between his yellowing teeth. “Clones.”
“Whose clones?” Molly asked.
“Their DNA is chimerical…”
“Chimerical?” Molly repeated.
“Combining multiple strains into a hybrid,” Camaro said.
“Human?” she said.
“Not anymore,” Camaro said.
“Then what?” Molly said.
“We call them Jamphibians,” he said. “Though I’m not sure who came up with the name.”
Camaro led them past dueling sphinxes, their ambiguous features as enigmatic as the surrounding architecture. They guarded a narrow rift that widened into a natural amphitheater, six terraced rings surrounding a central stage. Speakers stacked liked blocks formed an impenetrable three story wall curving around the stage, closing the rift at the narrowest point.
Molly recognized the audience’s masks from the Smiley-Face Witch’s album. But unlike the models on the cover, these girls were fully clothed. “Who are the groupies?”
“Acolytes,” Camaro said, before excusing himself to whisper something to Bell.
Ivan traced the bundled strands of wire leading from the patchwork tower tilting quixotically atop the stage’s highest level. “That’s not an antenna.”
“That’s a transformer,” Hoyt said.
“Think you’re right,” Ivan said. “But if they’re not broadcasting…”
“Who is?” Hoyt asked.
The lights dimmed and the symphonic overture swelled. Camaro showed them to their seats. “We’ll have to wait until they finish the rehearsal.”
Molly recognized the prelude after just a few notes. “The Zero Album.”
The masked Narrator entered on cue from stage left, swimming in swathes of flowing black velvet. The stage spanned multiple levels, each platform dressed for a different scene and lit by a single spot. The clever design let them change scenes by turning the light on and off as required.
Ivan raised his lighter and waved it back and forth when Camaro’s back was turned.
Molly pulled his hand down before the Doctor saw him. “Not funny.”
The first spotlight switched on, shining down on a stylized island acropolis amidst a sea of painted waves hand-cranked off-stage.
“That supposed to be Atlantis or something?” Molly asked, but Camaro hushed her before she got an answer.
A solitary star appeared above the stage glowing by the radiance of the Christmas bulbs strung tight around it. The star orbited the stage before crashing into the painted sea with a burst of flash powder.
The smoke disguised the shift in focus to an antediluvian laboratory, where a hunchbacked alchemist studied the fallen star among the potions and elixirs within.
“Looks kinda like Grimsby,” Ivan said.
Molly agreed. “Except for the boobs.”
Though the robed character was meant to be a man, the performer was not. The hunchback waited until the Narrator finished and unleashed another blast of flash powder.
Hoyt coughed. “Saw less fireworks back in ‘Nam.”
“You w
ere in ‘Nam?” Ivan asked.
“Last year on vacation. Took a tour of a Vietnamese fireworks factory,” Hoyt said.
The music rose dramatically, and a chorus line of Hoplite warriors kick-stepped up the twisting steps leading into the laboratory.
They passed in front of the star before disappearing behind a translucent screen, their silhouettes transforming into monstrous profiles.
The spotlights shifted and the island acropolis returned. A Paper-Mache rocketship rode a zagzigging ultraviolet rainbow across the stage until coming to a stop above the city.
Molly and Ivan exchanged glances, but neither said a word. They didn’t have to. They’d seen the same phenomenon in the YouTube clips and knew what happened next.
“Three…two…one, and boom!” Molly said.
Sparks blasted from the rocketship’s nose for a few seconds until smoke engulfed the buildings and the island disappeared beneath the waves.
The curtain drew and Camaro offered his polite applause. He excused himself and climbed down the steps to the orchestra pit.
“Looks like we’re gonna get an audience with her majesty,” Hoyt grumbled.
Camaro led the Narrator up the stairs, backed by the members of her band, eight in all. “I am daughter of the moon and sister to the stars, and I have walked the earth since…”
“Nancy,” Camaro said, “her name is Nancy.”
***
The tent was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside, but Molly decided the illusion was a symptom of getting her head slammed to the ground earlier. Patchouli candles provided the only light, their earthy musk captured in the folds of the billowing fabric.
They’d separated her from the others, so Molly expected some kind of good witch/bad witch routine, but her hostess came alone. The chair on the other side of the table was empty, but Nancy preferred to stand. “Now tell me, dear, why are you here?”
Molly picked through the silver tray in front of her, but decided against having any of the chocolate. “I’m doing background research for a story I’m working on.”
“A false prophet come to bear false witness,” Nancy said.
“I’m doing a story about…”
“Deceiver,” Nancy said, “Come to mock the…”
“I’m doing a story about the band…”
Nancy’s face brightened. “The band?”
“The Smiley-Face Witches,” Molly said. “I heard some kids listening to one of the albums at the…”
“You heard one of our albums?”
“The Zero Album,” Molly said.
“And?”
“Never heard anything like it,” Molly said, and she meant it, though maybe not in the way Nancy took it.
Her hostess eased into the empty chair, helping herself to some chocolate. “I played keyboards.”
“Piano or synthesizer?”
Nancy smiled. “Both. Of course, Gulliver did have his favorites. He cut most of my best riffs out when he mixed the album.”
“Maybe ya shoulda gone solo.”
“I did,” Nancy said, “For a while, anyway. But the industry changed. Music these days doesn’t have the same…the same…”
“Integrity?”
“Integrity,” Nancy agreed. “It’s all auto-tune and booty shakin’ harlots these days.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Molly said. “But it’s gotta be tough making a living on nothing but integrity.”
“Harder than you think,” Nancy said, “but Gulliver’s dream lives on.”
Molly leaned back in her chair and parted the tent flaps to let the light in. “I suppose we all need something to believe in. What about them? They true believers?”
Nancy considered the Acolytes loitering around the amphitheater. “There’s some wheat sprinkled in among the chaff, I suppose. Most of them are here for the college credit.”
“Interns?”
“Interns,” Nancy said.
“What about you? You a true believer?”
Nancy gave her a cynical grin.
“But aren’t you afraid?”
Nancy’s smile faded. “Afraid of what?”
Molly studied Nancy’s face for any trace of irony but found none. “Whoever’s been blowing up the schools?”
“What schools?”
“Oh yeah,” Molly said, “Somebody’s been blowing up anything, blowing up anyone contaminated by your…sacrament. Like in your play…”
“Opera,” Nancy said.
“Yeah, like in your opera, when the angels…”
“Pilots…”
“Yeah, like when the Pilots come down and wipe out the city,” Molly explained. “And all because of this.”
“A candy bar?”
Molly waved the empty wrapper back and forth. “EZ8.”
“Lots of schools sell those kinda candy bars this time of year,” Nancy said.
“Think maybe you cornered the market on EZ8,” Molly said, “but you’re sitting on a powder keg about to…”
“It’s just a candy bar,” Nancy said.
“But this candy bar put Mr. Peck in a coma.”
“Who’s Mr. Peck?”
“One of my old teachers,” Molly said.
Nancy feigned surprise, though not very well. “He’s allergic to chocolate?”
“He’s allergic to this chocolate.”
“That sounds like a rare condition,” Nancy said.
“More common than you think,” Molly said, “There’s an entire ward over at Mercy General.”
She held her cell phone up so Nancy could see the screen. “Can’t get reception out here but I can show you what I got saved to memory.”
She clicked through the pictures Clementine took inside the hospital. “I got my intern working this story from the inside. She’s just a ninth grader, but like her friends, she’s got a real nose for trouble.”
“A candy bar wrapper is hardly a smoking gun,” Nancy said. “What’s the connection?”
“That Amazon out there with the pink braids,” Molly said.
“Tasha?”
Molly handed her a mugshot she’d folded into her pocket. “A cop I know owed me a favor. Pink-Braids left her fingerprints all over the wrappers…the foil part, anyway. Turns out she’s got a long rap sheet.”
Nancy opened her mouth to speak, but stopped before incriminating herself further. She clapped her hands and Captain Bell parted the tent’s flaps.
Bell shoved Ivan and the Old Man into the tent one after the other.
“What do you wanna do with ‘em?” Bell asked.
“Just leave ‘em here until we’re done,” Nancy said, “Not sure how much she knows and how much she’s guessing at.”
CHAPTER 14
Lazy-Eye Susan stumbled through the tunnel avoiding the rail ties jutting out of the rocky soil. Exposed wooden beams framed the dim passage, and steam venting from the boiling water bubbling beneath the ground thickened the air, lowering the visibility even more.
She recognized the guard from the monastery, but the burn marks on his face meant Napoleon didn’t get out of the overturned truck before it caught fire. “Just my luck.”
“Move,” Napoleon ordered.
“Hain’t sure what happened after the Moonclipper went down,” she mumbled. They passed over Sandcastle City and then…“Remember waking up in the back of the truck surrounded by…”
Napoleon shoved her forward, and did so every few seconds. She didn’t recognize the big bruiser backing him up. He trailed behind them, fighting to keep his horn-rimmed glasses from slipping off the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll never forgive myself if’n I got them young’uns in trouble,” Susan muttered, but trouble was all she ever got them into.
“Shut-up,” Napoleon snapped.
“Take it easy!” Susan complained.
He jammed his rifle butt into the small of her back and she fell to her knees. “I said be quiet!”
Searing p
ain shot through her spine, numbing her fingers and toes.
He grabbed his collar and pulled his uniform down, revealing the full extent of his scars. “You did this to me…”
“Didn’t know the truck were gonna go up in flames,” Susan said. “Was just trying to get away.”
He pressed his gun barrel against her forehead. “And that’s what I’m gonna tell my CO. That you was just trying to get away.”
She raised her arms and turned her head, but the jolt she expected never came. Instead, she heard a loud thump.
She opened her eyes and saw the bruiser looming over Napoleon’s body. “Ya knocked him out.”
The bruiser rubbed his knuckles. “He’s got a glass jaw.”
She recognized the baritone, but waited for him to take off the Hypno-Specs. “If anybody else showed up here dressed as a pirate, I’d have questions.”
“Not everybody can pull it off,” she said.
Frost focused his dead-eyed stare and helped her to her feet. “No, I suppose not.”
“What now?” she asked.
“Keep moving.”
She ambled forward, but at a deliberate pace. “For a second, just a second, thought Camaro gotcha back at the monastery.”
“How’d you know it was Camaro that hit the convoy?”
“A blind man could see he were up to some kinda chicanery,” she said.
“You’re a better judge of character than I am.”
“Not really. Getting ya outta the way woulda left him in charge of everything,” she said.
“Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“Would ya have believed me?” she asked.
“No.”
“Suppose it didn’t help matters none ya couldn’t deliver what ya promised,” she said.
His jaw clenched. “The clones lived, but they weren’t alive…they were…”
“I coulda told ya that,” she said. “I did tell ya that. Ya got the body but ya still need the...”
“The operating system.”
“That’s your word for it,” she said, “Mine is soul.”
“I know,” he said. “And I bet she who must not be named told Camaro the same thing.”
“Her name is Nancy,” Susan said. “And I saw that stack of records on my way in.”
“Then you know what she’s planning.”
“Took the full fury of a thunderstorm just to bind Gulliver’s soul to Jamphibian’s body,” Susan said. “Now she’s gonna do the same thing times twenty? Impossible.”
“Camaro wouldn’t be here unless she could do it.”
“Camaro wouldn’t be here at all if’n ya weren’t messing ‘round with Enzyme Seven in the first place!”
The Smiley-Face Witches Page 17