Psychlone

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Approaching Lorobu on Highway 54, Trumbauer looked at his watch and announced, Four-ten. Should be there in a few minutes. Jacobs was sitting across the back seat, holding his leg so it wouldn't knock irritably against a water tin. How do you feel, Miss Unamuno? he asked. She was in the front seat and turned to look back at him. I don't feel anything, she said, puzzled. It's not at all like it was. I mean, it could just be a normal day and nothing changed. Exceptthere are a lot of worried people ahead." Intuition or psychic or both? Trumbauer asked. Just a lot of worried signals." I'm feeling them, too, Trumbauer said. Franklin, could you get me a glass of tea from the thermos?" Jacobs poured the cup and handed it across the seat. FBI people, I suppose, he said. What do we do if it's sealed off?"

  Turn around and go home, I suppose. Maybe the hotel will take a message from that clerk in Washington." Jacobs frowned skeptically. I wonder what they've found."

  Psychlone Road block ahead. Detour, Trumbauer said.

  A soldier dressed in kelly green, wearing dark glasses and a baseball-type cap, waved them over as they approached a wood and sand-bag barricade. What's your purpose, please? he asked, bending down to Trumbauer's level. We've come to do research, Trumbauer said. Jacobs lifted his eyes at the tactless response. We've already told you people, flying saucers had nothing to do with this." Not about the town directly, Jacobs said, leaning forward in his seat. The dark glasses stared at him implacably. We're here to inquire about several people" Inhabitants?" We don't know. We have a list of names." Can I see identification?" They took out their driver's licenses and handed them to the soldier, who had called for several others to join him. Three men and a woman, all in the same uniform, surrounded the station wagon. Mr. Jacobs, what's your interest in this? the soldier asked. Mr. Trumbauer requested my services." Why do you need him, Mr. Trumbauer?" II" Tell him, Arnold. He already thinks we're crazy." I represent a group of people with unusual abilities, Trumbauer said. Psychics, actually. Miss

  Unamuno here has the ... uh ... ability. And wethat is, the people I representwere all brought down ill at the same time.... He stopped and swallowed. The dark glasses registered no change in expression, but seemed to convey disdain. Go on, the soldier said. They were all made sick by what happened in Lorobu, Trumbauer finished. The soldier nodded and walked around the car to talk to his companions. Trumbauer glanced back at Jacobs and shook his head. We're in too deep, he said. They won't have anything to do with us." Too deep? Jacobs asked. We're concerned citizens. There was a time when that meant something." The soldier returned and took off his dark glasses. His eyes were blue and he was really quite young, Jacobs sawno more than twenty-three. Were you planning on driving around the town? There's a detour." I don't believe so, Trumbauer said. Our business is in Lorobu." Lorobu is closed off for now. No admittance. I'm sorry you had to come all this way. If you'll give me your list of names, I'll let you" Sorry, Jacobs said, waving his hand. If anything turns up, we'll get in touch. The soldier shrugged and backed away as Trumbauer turned the station wagon around.

  Janet Unamuno sat silent as they drove away. They don't even know what's happened, she said a few minutes later. They think it's an act of terrorism. That somebody gassed the whole town." He was thinking that? Trumbauer asked. She nodded. Maybe he wasn't in on it." I'm treating for dinner, Jacobs said. You've all been very good sports." We'll stop over in Santa Rosa, Trumbauer said. He glanced up in his mirror and frowned. Or maybe we won't. Jacobs turned and saw a Jeep pursuing them about a mile behind, lights flashing. Slow down, he said. Trumbauer slowed the station wagon and pulled over to the side of the highway.

  The Jeep parked in front of them and a man and a woman in kelly green got out. The woman took a position by Unamuno's side as the man stood near the driver's door. Mr. Franklin Jacobs, please, the soldier said. I'm him, Jacobs said, getting out. The soldier backed away nervously. Are you the Jacobsthe Mr. Jacobs who inquired about a list of names, specifically And he read off the first three names of Unamuno's roster. I am." Could you please come with us? Just turn around and head back for Lorobu. We'll follow."

  My call to Washington must have aroused some attention, Jacobs said as Trumbauer brought the car around. Then maybe they do know more, Trumbauer said. Or maybe they suspect us." No, Janet said. They're scared, but not of us." They were flagged through the barricade and escorted down the main street.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Except for the men in white body suits and scattered soldiers in kelly green, Lorobu was deserted. Barbed wire had been placed around the town, even around the outlying shacks common near desert communities. Portable generators had been set up near mobile command trailers, and their noise provided an aural backdrop to the emptiness. The Jeep pulled alongside and the woman told Trumbauer to park his car in front of the Lorobu Inn. How are you feeling? Jacobs asked Miss Unamuno. A little frightened, but not sick." Then it's gone, Trumbauer said. I don't feel anything unusual, except the emptiness and the nervousness." The young soldier opened the car doors for them and asked them to come into the inn. They walked by the restaurant entrance, which was sealed with an official notice of quarantine, into the hotel lobby. A staff sergeant was stationed behind the front desk. He snapped to attention as a Colonel came down the stairs and approached the group of three. Hello, the man said cordially, offering his hand to Trumbauer, then to Jacobs, and finally to Miss Unamuno. I'm Colonel James David Silvera, in charge of research here in Lorobu. I understand you're interested in recent events here. He was in his forties, with wiry gray hair and a weathered olive complexion. His nose was a match for Jacobs'. Trumbauer introduced himself and the others. Jacobs examined the lobby casually, noting the line of portable bulletin boards, new television monitors, and a pile of electronic gear neatly stacked by the old elevator. Sir, he said, is this all top secret?" Yes, Mr. Jacobs, it is." Then you can't tell us anything." I wouldn't say that. We feel very obligated when citizens express an interest in our work. He brought a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and opened it. You requested information on a list of names, most of them military personnel at one time or another."

  All of them, Miss Unamuno said.

  Where did you get the list?"

  Jacobs looked at Miss Unamuno.

  I gave it to them, she told the Colonel.

  Were you acquainted with any of these men?"

  Of course not, she said. I believe they're all dead."

  Silvera nodded. Who gave the list to you?" The names were conveyed to me by She hesitated. Silvera waited, then smiled and said, Don't worry, Miss Unamuno. Nothing will seem very strange after a few hours in Lorobu."

  By the spirits of the men themselves. I think. I'm not positive. I was very ill."

  What made you ill?"

  Trumbauer broke in. Lorobu made many psychics in New Mexico ill, Colonel."

  Yes. I can see that. Over eight hundred people dying in one day. Very traumatic."

  That wasn't what made them ill, Jacobs said wryly. Colonel, we're being frank with you. In exchange, I hope you can confirm or deny some of our suspicions." As much as I'm able. My office is upstairs. He turned to the staff sergeant and requested that the mess truck provide them with sandwiches, coffee and milk. That's all we have for now, I'm afraid. The restaurant is closed down. They followed him up the stairs.

  Silvera's office was a converted guest room. Some of the rooms were sealed off, others were being used as offices and storage areas. Silvera explained that all the soldiers were billeted in tents on the other side of town, or in the Holiday Inn farther down the road. It was almost empty when this happened, he said. Frankly, I think the rooms here have more charm." The room was in western style, with furniture made of tamarisk and decorations consisting of a weatherbeaten oxen yoke, some unidentifiable piece of flattened mining machinery, and an old saddle standing near the door on a converted parking-meter pipe. Silvera's office equipment barely intrudeda portable steel desk, a file cabinet, and several n
ew telephones, only two of which were connected. The wires ran out the window, presumably to a field-communications trailer nearby. A portable typewriter squatted lightly on the desk. He sat down on one of the twin beds and offered a chair to Miss Unamuno. Perhaps you should begin first, he suggested. First, a question, Jacobs said. Silvera nodded. The list that we gave youare those names by chance classified?" Silvera nodded again. Is Lorobu connected with secret government tests?" The Colonel shook his head. No. Lorobu was not wiped out by nerve gas, secret Army plagues, or anything of the kind." Fine, Jacobs said. Arnold, I think we should tell the Colonel all we know." When Trumbauer finished the story, the sandwiches and drinks arrived and they ate quietly. Silvera made notes on file cards and stacked them neatly on the bedstand. It was dark outside. A big truck pulled in behind the inn, its lights briefly illuminating a wall beyond the window. We know very little, ourselves, Silvera said after wiping his lips with a paper napkin. We're in the position of police investigators who have no clues and no hope of solving the case. They've been known to call in psychics, so why can't we? Well, in this case we're concerned with more than a single murder, or maintaining press security to prevent copycat crimes. Since you've come up with something that matches what little evidence we have" Jacobs raised his eyebrows. I think you're fairly legitimate. I'm going to make a request that security checks be run on you, and that you be given clearance to help us here." I already have a security clearance, Jacobs said. I was in the Navy." Good. That'll expedite things. For the moment, since you probably already suspect something, I'll give you this much information. Some of the names on your list we've already investigated. Several were recorded around the town by former citizens." Recorded how? Trumbauer asked. I thought you might have read itit was reported in a newspaper back East. One name was written all over the inside of a shack where a wino lived. Others were scrawled in phone booths, doors, desks, chairs, all sorts of places. Apparently the people in Lorobu were receiving something similar to what you picked up. He looked at them quizzically. Is that what you think?" Did the people on the list live in Lorobu at one time? Miss Unamuno asked. Only one, Silvera said. The first nameLieutenant William Skorvin. He lived here in the thirties. Went into the Navy in 1941, became a pilot, and was killed in World War Two." How was he killed? Jacobs asked. My orders are to prime the pump a littleto see if you have anything more of interest to offer. But let's wait and see if you're cleared." He was killed Miss Unamuno began. She paled and put her hand to her mouth. No, he was shot down and taken prisoner." Silvera looked at her steadily, then turned and picked up his file cards. You people are as spooky as this town. If you're cleared, will you be willing to work as civilian contractors?" Jacobs hesitated, then nodded.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Tim sat quietly in the principal's outer office while his brother talked inside. He could guess what they were saying: Tim is sensitive, Tim may have nightmares, this is a new experience for him. He felt very helpless. He was homesick, but of course there was no home to go back to. Except with us, Tim And he knew that was no good, because all those voices were dead. Somehow they had established an outpost in his head where they could talk to him, pester him, but they were not anyplace he could go while he was still alive. I want to be alive, he said softly to himself, biting his lower lip and looking around. The secretary hadn't heard; she smiled at him. She was pretty. He didn't want anything to happen to people like her. Something had to be done, but he didn't know what just yet. He had to talk to important people, people who would believe him. If he said anything more to doctors or to Rick he would simply be put in a hospital for good. He couldn't do anything in a hospital. He had seen shows on TV about such hospitals. Even if you said you were sane they laughed at you and beat you up. The doctors in Albuquerque had been a little bit like that. Everything you said was suspect to them, even if you only wanted to go to the bathroom in the middle of talking. Are you trying to avoid something, Tim? they had asked. I'm trying to avoid you. And them. Rick came out of the inner office and the principal followed him. The principal was a tall, big-boned man with a dry, light hand grip. His hair was feathery and there wasn't much of it, so he oiled it carefully and made each strand count. His eyes were friendly and he probably knew everything there was to know about kids. Tim, I think you're going to have a good time here, he said. Tim nodded. I've taken Tim around the school, so he knows the classes and everything, Rick said. Just in case, let's give him a map and introduce him to the first class, the principal said. It was just after lunch. His first class after lunch was Utah history, he discovered. The teacher was a young woman with a hairstyle remarkably like Suzanne's. They went through the uncomfortable ritual of introducing Tim and all the kids looked at him blankly, trying to decide where he would fit. Most didn't care much one way or the other. That was okay. He preferred to be ignored. Rick left. The teacher assigned Tim a seat, promised to give him a textbook as soon as they could bring one up from the repository, and spent an awkward five minutes trying to fill him in on Utah history up to the point they'd reached, about 1890. What would Brigham Young have done about Lorobu? Tim had seen a movie about Brigham Young and what had happened to the Mormons, being driven from state to state. He was sorry he'd missed the best part of the class. He had liked history as Mr. Parker had taught it in Lorobu. Mr. Parker is still with us, Tim The next class was arithmetic and he talked to a boy with glasses who told him what the teacher was like (the kids stayed in the room but the history teacher went away and the arithmetic teacher came in; he would also stay for civics, the boy said). The boy's name was Archie Gerald. Tim thought that was a funny name but didn't say anything. They both liked to build models. I got to stop that kind of kid's stuff soon, Tim said. Why? Archie asked. Time to grow up." That's a funny thing. Why would anyone want to be a grownup?" Reasons, Tim said. Archie didn't have time to press him. The new teacher arrived and the kids became quiet. The teacher noticed Tim and said hello to him, then marked his position in the class. Tim was a little ahead of the school in arithmetic for his grade. He settled back to cover old territory, feeling better now that he had met Archie. After civics, Archie walked with him to the front of the school, where the buses and parents in cars picked up all the kids. They talked about football for a little bit, but neither of them cared very much, so then they talked about television, which was a better subject. Tim noticed that Archie had a limp and Archie explained he'd had an accident as a little boy. I lost my foot under a train, he said. Geez! For a moment, Tim couldn't think of anything to say. That must have hurt." Hurt like hell, Archie said. But I was only four and I don't remember too much. So now I got a fake foot. I do pretty well on it. You'll even see me at recess. I play mean tether ball. Want to play tomorrow?" Yeah, sure." Where do you live?" I'm not sure how far it is from here. It's on a street called Marchand." SureI know where that is. I live about three miles away. Maybe we could get together on the weekends." That'd be great, Tim said. He saw Rick's car. Gotta go." Sure. See you." Tim started to walk to the curb, then stopped and turned. Hey, he said. Yeah?"

  Psychlone Everything's pretty normal around here, isn't it?" What do you mean?" Like, everybody's nice, and all that sort of stuff, aren't they?" Sure, Archie said. See you." Tim got into the car and Rick asked him how everything went. Fine, Tim said. I met somebody named

  Archie. He's a nice guy." Good, Rick said. You'll like it here." That was the problem, Tim thought. If anything happened to these people, it would be awful.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Prohaska groaned and sat up in the bed, then fell back. His face was badly swollen and the cuts and scratches radiated around his nose like a starburst. He had two deep gouges in his chestfrom the boar's fangs, apparentlyand he was now shirtless and bandaged. What happened? the reporter asked, his voice muffled by puffy lips. You opened the door, Fowler said. An animal jumped on me. How did you get it out?" Fowler held up a small plastic bag filled with gravel. With a shovel, mostly, he said. Prohaska tried to focus on Fowler sitting
in a chair next to the bed, then gave it up as a bad job. You're lucky, Fowler said. Your eyes aren't hurt badjust scratches on the lids. Most of it is bruises and shallow cuts. You'll be sore for a week or two." What was it? Prohaska asked. A pig. A large boarvery large. Four or five feet at the shoulders, built like a nightmare. Built out of a nightmare, too, I'd say." Is it gone?" I don't know. There's enough gravel in the driveway to build one or two dozen of them. If it runs out of that, then it might go to dirt and sticks. Either way, I'm not going outside until daylight." Psychlone The reporter felt his face tenderly and groaned again. All this for a curiosity story, he said. Go back to sleep if you can." Brave guy. Stay in the house alone with an injured man. Why don't we try to leave?" Because the cars are wrecked, Fowler said. Windows smashed, hoods caved in. I haven't gone out to see if they're drivable, but I doubt it." Calling out?" Fowler took the bedroom phone extension off its receiver and held it to Prohaska's ear. A sound like the rush of wind hissed out of the earpiece. What is it? Prohaska asked. I don't know. I found it when I tried to put through a call to DotDorothy, my friend in Los Angeles.