Sam eased herself away from him. “Let me try.”
“Yeah,” Alex grinned, “good luck with that.”
They heard the squeal of an engine and swung to find a battered old van cresting the hill and rumbling toward them, belching a curtain of white smoke out its backside as it veered to the shoulder with a set of four nearly bald tires spraying gravel and stones into a brief tornado.
“What’d you say?” Sam winked, jogging ahead of him toward the van.
72
T-H-E-N-D C-O-M-E-S
THE OLD VAN’S ENGINE rattled, its front end shimmying toward a stall when Alex yanked its passenger door open to a grinding squeal.
“Where you kids headed?” came a voice as cracked and worn as the van’s faded upholstery.
“Back to the city,” Alex said, leaving it there while Sam was still composing the answer in her mind.
“Well, climb in,” the voice continued. “Meter’s running. Let’s go.”
Alex climbed in first, positioning himself in the middle and ceding the window to Sam. Squeezing inside next to him afforded her first clear look at the driver. He had pinkish, sunburned skin that was mottled and patchy dark in spots. His hair was a splotchy mess of gray spikes and waves. It looked self-trimmed, somewhere between a brush cut and military-style crew cut. The driver’s eyes were bloodstained in spidery lines that circled the tired blue pupils, which looked as if someone had bleached the color out of them. The van smelled of old weed and cheap aftershave baked together into the fabric, thinly disguising the musty odor of stale sweat and unwashed clothes.
Sam reached for the seat belt but found no buckle threaded the loop, which was snapped in half. The van had once contained more seats, but they’d been removed behind this single row to make room for a grungy, coffee-stained mattress and boxes overflowing with well-bound books that looked like Bibles.
“The city it is,” the driver announced. “The Reverend William Grimes at your service.” He flashed a cigarette-browned grin. “But you can call me Reverend Billy.”
“I’m Kit,” Alex said, beating Sam to the punch again, paraphrasing the name from the imaginary friend to whom Anne Frank had addressed her diary. “And this is Anne, my girlfriend.”
The Reverend Billy Grimes reclaimed the steering wheel with his fingers and Sam noticed that a single letter had been tattooed on each of them, just below the knuckle:
THEND COMES
He didn’t have enough fingers on his left hand to spell “the end” out all the way, so he must have improvised.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” Reverend Billy said, jerking the old van into gear and fighting it back onto the highway, where its bald tires stumbled and stammered before finding pavement.
And off they went.
* * *
“We shouldn’t be here, none of us,” Reverend Billy resumed. “We should be in His house on this holy Sabbath, so let’s make of it what we will, shall we?”
Alex turned and met Sam’s eyes, the message in his matching her thoughts exactly, before finishing in a shrug and a frown that said, Let’s grin and bear it.
“Are you a preacher?” Alex asked him.
“In a church with no name to anyone with the wisdom to listen to my word. I’ve seen things, children, things I wouldn’t wish on another human being. Things that make you question the very nature of man and humanity, although I don’t expect you kids to be able to relate to such a thing.”
“Well,” Alex began, shooting Sam another gaze that came up just short of a wink, “you’d be surprised.”
But Reverend Billy wasn’t listening. “See, before I came to be what I am, I served as a military chaplain in war zones. Think of the worst things you’ve heard about those wars and multiply that by about a hundred and you’ll have an idea of what I’m talking about. There’s so much of it I’d give anything to unsee, if that were even possible, and I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, you know when you see all the truth of the world laid bare? When you look into the eyes of a dying man. Lord God, so many of those eyes belonged to mere children little older than you kids. I was the last thing far too many of them saw and I do believe a little of me died each time. So by the end of it I had no choice but to be reborn.”
He spoke with his eyes fixed tightly ahead and hands gripping the wheel so tightly that the letters imprinted on his knuckles seemed to stretch. Sam thought she saw the man’s eyes glistening with the start of tears and was relieved beyond measure when Alex reached down and grasped her hand in his.
“Problem was,” Reverend Billy continued, “the womb of the world had gone sour, so what emerged lacked the normal mechanisms to cope with the awful realities we all must face—that being hope and dreams. I have neither, children, because I’ve seen the world for what it really is, exposed to the core. I’ve seen the true depths of depravity to which man can sink, and in the eyes of dying men I saw the world’s fate as only they could show it to me.”
Sam squeezed Alex’s hand tighter, hoping he’d just tell Reverend Billy to pull over so they could start the whole hitchhiking process anew. Maybe land a ride with someone who smelled better and listened to talk radio.
But Reverend Billy cocked a gaze their way before Alex had a chance to say anything. “I saw there is no hope. No reclamation or redemption, either. Wish I could tell you why the Lord chose me to be the bearer of His word, I truly do. Why not the pope or the president, instead of some nobody that no one would ever give credence? The kind of man you stop on a street corner and listen to, only to walk away shaking your head and grinning at his madness.”
Reverend Billy sucked in some breath and seemed to chew on his lips.
“Then I realized that was His point. That nobody was going to listen to this truth, this message, anyway, so it didn’t matter who was delivering it, did it? So, Anne and Kit, I am indeed a preacher, but one without a flock. I pass out my Bibles to anyone who’ll take one in the hope they’ll find some message I must’ve missed along the way. But I know they won’t because it’s not there, since whoever wrote it only put down what God wanted us to know to spare us the truth of our being and essence. See the dashboard?”
Alex and Sam looked in unison, noticing a patchwork of torn wires emerging from a rectangular slot of a hole where the radio should have been.
“I ripped that out so I could be alone with my thoughts during these drives, hoping maybe, just maybe, He might choose to let me hear the truth of His word. Then I finally realized I never would because that word hasn’t been written yet. I wish I could say what this overriding truth truly is but all I see when I ask for divine guidance is the face of man himself, not God. As if we made ourselves, while He sat back and watched. And how can that be, children? I ask you, how can that be?”
His question rang with restrained desperation. Sam realized Reverend Billy smelled vaguely of moss and fresh earth, on top of the weed and dried sweat, and thought she glimpsed strips of vine reeds sticking out of his mismatched hair. She pictured him sleeping outdoors at night, nothing between him and the stars. A man who spent his time digging holes into the earth, never finding exactly what he was looking for.
“You really think the end’s coming?” Alex asked Reverend Billy, no whimsy in the question at all.
“I’m sure of it, son, just as sure as I am your name’s not Kit and hers isn’t Anne. But it’s not going to end the way we expect, the one the Bible portends, no. It’s like we’re still gonna be us but not us, at the same time. It’s like it’s all gonna change with the turning of the sun, the world a whole different place when we wake up one morning than it was when we went to bed the night before. It’s like there’s a purpose we’ve been prepared to fill since time immemorial and everything else, what passes for glory and goals, are nothing more than illusions we’ve tricked ourselves into believing are real.”
Reverend Billy stopped again. The plaintiveness that had ridden his voice like a saddle had spread into his expression, ma
king him look sad and a bit desperate. Sam wondered on what street corner he’d be found today, peddling his free Bibles to anyone who passed and preaching to those who lingered about the meaning of his tattooed knuckles. Then he’d pack up and resume the process somewhere else tomorrow, the cycle continuing with the record player needle stuck scratchily in place.
He resumed speaking, his voice hoarse and cracked with sadness. “I think we’re gonna get what’s coming to us and the simple fact of the matter is, based on what I’ve seen, Armageddon is the least of our problems.”
73
ALL FREE TOMORROW
REVEREND BILLY DROPPED THEM in the parking lot fronting a Buy Two store in a Daly City shopping center south of the downtown San Francisco area, Sam far more unnerved by his quiet rants than Alex.
“You’re shivering,” Alex noted, rubbing Sam’s arms, the gooseflesh prickling the surface.
She loved his touch but it made her feel no warmer. “Tell me that guy didn’t scare the hell out of you too.”
“I was too busy holding my nose. You wanna talk about scary? Try sitting next to him.”
“I’d rather not,” Sam said, watching Reverend Billy’s van shrink away down the road before disappearing altogether.
“The guy was harmless. Didn’t touch my knee or reach for something higher, nothing like that.”
“No offense, pretty boy, but he was looking at me, not you.”
“That was my hand on your knee, not his,” Alex quipped as they walked toward the Buy Two store, called that since buying two items got you a third, lower-priced one for free. No exceptions.
“Well, that’s a relief, anyway.”
They entered the store together to the sound of canned music piped in just under the sound of a happy voice singing out the praises of today’s specials, which featured no-name jeans to go with no-name shirts, shoes, and underwear. A huge banner, a bit worn and discolored by the sun, hung over the alcove entry, reading, ALL FREE TOMORROW.
“Too bad it’s not today,” Alex mused, digging a hand through his pockets.
“So let’s come back tomorrow, like the sign says. Catch ourselves in a vicious cycle where it’s never really today.” Sam’s features flattened. “Oh, man, I sound like Reverend Billy.”
“So long as you don’t smell like him,” Alex said, passing under the ALL FREE TOMORROW sign to enter the store.
* * *
Adding up all their cash, Sam’s and what Dr. Payne had tucked away in his jeans, came to a grand total of sixty-one dollars. Thanks to the Buy Two store’s mantra, that was enough for a change of clothes for each of them and some food with twenty bucks maybe left over. They filtered through the clothes piles in search of a decent enough fit.
“Be nice if we knew exactly where Laboratory Z was located,” Alex said suddenly.
“Well, we’ve got a general location.”
“San Ramon’s spread out over a pretty wide area.”
“Any other clues you can remember?”
“Horses and cattle.”
“Huh?”
“As a kid, I overheard my parents talking about it a few times—at least, I think that’s what they were talking about. Anyway, for some reason I remember horses and cattle.”
“So we’re looking for a farm?” Sam said, laying a decent enough pair of jeans aside.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, you said horses and cattle. Maybe Laboratory Z was located near a farm or something, or a ranch. Maybe that’s what you remember.” She looked across the stacks of clothes at him. “This place is right on a bus route. We can get to San Ramon with only a couple transfers. Man, I hope my car’s okay.…”
He grinned, started to chuckle.
“Hey, what’s so funny?”
“The way you said that.”
“Said what?”
“About your car. Hoping it’s okay.”
“Well, I do.”
They steered the cart holding their selections to the food aisles next, starting in the section vaguely labeled “Nutrition.”
“Wow, you meant what you said about PowerBars,” Sam noted, as Alex dumped a handful of boxes in atop their clothes. “Six boxes?”
“We only have to pay for four, remember? And I went with the generic brand.”
“Right, a real sacrifice.”
“Come on,” he said, holding up one of the boxes. “Food fit for an astronaut.”
“All we need is some Tang to wash it down.”
“Tang?”
“Never mind,” Sam told him.
At the checkout line, both their eyes drifted to the prepaid cell phone offerings while waiting their turn. The best deal was $9.95 for a cheap, knockoff smart phone offering unlimited talk, text, and Web for the first week at that introductory price.
“You should call your parents.”
“We already went over this.”
“They’ll be worried sick.”
“I just want them to be safe and sound when I get home.”
Alex pushed their cart forward and back again. Two more carts had piled in the checkout line behind theirs, the woman currently at the front paying for her purchases out of a quarter jar, taking forever.
“Maybe they don’t know who you are,” he said unconvincingly.
“They stole my iPad, remember? And wiped the backup off the Cloud.”
“Why?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out. Must’ve had something to do with the pattern I uncovered.”
“What pattern, exactly?”
“It’s hard to explain, complicated.”
“And I won’t be able to understand.” Alex nodded.
“Did I say that?”
“You didn’t have to.”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. Even though Dr. Donati seemed interested in my findings, very interested.”
“See, you’re even smarter than you think.” He sighed and blew the stray hair from his face. “I want you sleeping in your own bed tonight. I want to get you home.”
“Not if it means leaving you alone.”
“Apparently, I’ve always been alone. I just didn’t know it.”
“You’re not alone now.”
“Thanks,” he said shyly, gaze tilted downward. “We’ll go to San Ramon together. After that—”
“After that,” Sam interrupted, “we’ll figure out what comes next.”
“Your parents. They need to hear your voice, Sam.”
“Not over one of those things,” she said, eyeing the prepaid phones displayed at the register. “Might as well hold a spotlight on myself.”
“I’ve got another idea,” Alex told her.
He leaned against the cart. The woman in front of them had her purse in the child seat—open. Her phone was clearly visible.
Alex deftly slipped it out and handed it to Sam. “Now, be like ET and phone home.”
74
PHONING HOME
SAM BACKED OFF, NOTICING the phone’s real owner was just then placing her purchases on the register conveyor belt, too busy with that and her two kids to have any idea the phone was missing. Her throat felt thick, her heart hammering against her chest when the phone began to ring and she willed someone to answer.
“Joints Are Us,” her mother greeted, Sam realizing instantly that she must have forwarded her home calls to the business line.
“Mom?”
“Honey,” her mother’s voice came back, “where are you?”
“Well, I—”
“Ronald, it’s Sam,” her mother called to her father before she could continue. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you come home last night? The police were here.”
“Police?” Sam repeated, feeling something flutter inside her.
“Two of them, asking to speak to you. They wouldn’t say what it was about. You weren’t answering your cell phone, straight to voicemail. We’ve been worried sick. What’s going on, Sammie?”
“What did they look like?”
/> “Who?”
“The police.”
“Like … cops.”
“What about smell? Did you notice how they smelled?”
“What?”
“Never mind,” Sam said, switching gears. “What did you tell them?”
“Nothing, because there was nothing to tell. That’s right, isn’t it? I think they may still be parked outside. Let me look—wait, your father just came in. I’m handing him the—”
“Sam!” she heard her father’s voice call.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Whatever it is, you can tell us, Sammie. Why were the cops here? What’s it have to do with Alex Chin?”
“Alex?” Sam posed, looking right at him.
“They asked about Alex too. They were careful to say you hadn’t done anything wrong. They didn’t say the same thing about him. When the cops come back—”
“They said they were coming back?”
“Maybe. I think so. Strange that they didn’t write anything down, come to think of it.”
“Did they smell like motor oil, Dad?”
“How’d you know that, Sammie?” her father asked after a pause.
75
THE GENERAL
RAIFF DRESSED HIS WOUNDS as best he could. His head still felt like a hammer was pounding the inside of his skull and he didn’t dare risk taking any medications likely to dull more than the pain.
Because it was coming.
He didn’t know precisely where or when, or even what, exactly. Only, the very reason why he’d spent the last eighteen years of his life protecting a child who had no idea of his true being or heritage was about to be fulfilled. It was the sole explanation for the events of the past two days—Dancer’s house and the hospital first, then the attack of last night. The appearance of the Shadow that Dancer had called the ash man and the import of the quasi-apparition’s words the boy had managed to reconstruct.
“‘No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither, with modesty enough…,’” he said across the table, where a chessboard sat between him and the General.