Darkly The Thunder (20 page)

“Gordie!” Bergman called out after a walkie-talkie crackled. “Fury is near.”

“What the hell is a fury?” a reporter shouted.

Martin Tobias had not taken his eyes off the sheriff. Gordie's expression did not change at the shout. Martin thought: the man is either a pathological liar, or the coolest person under pressure I have ever seen.

“I demand to know what a fury is?” another reporter yelled. “The public has a right to know.”

“Assholes,” Gordie muttered, cutting his eyes to the man.

“Some of them are that, naturally,” Martin said. “But most of them are sincere in their beliefs.”

“It's backed off,” Bergman called.

“What's backed off?” a reporter yelled. “Damnit, somebody better start giving us some answers.”

“This . . . thing called fury,” Megan said. “It's gone?”

“Not far,” Gordie told her. “But we can talk. Howie seems to think, from computations he's done, that last night's foray stretched it pretty thin. Howie thinks it's going to take it twenty-four hours to get back to full strength. Then it will expand further.”

Martin had tentatively, hesitantly, picked up the sheets of paper and placed them in the inside pocket of his suit coat. “And these papers?”

“I just told you. They explain, as briefly as possible, what our situation is. They also outline our knowledge of what will happen to us if ... the ultimate decision is reached.”

“You are all willing to die?” Larry spoke the words softly.

“That is correct. But I wish the kids could be saved.”

“Get that gun out of my face!” a reporter yelled at a trooper.

“Back your ass off, buddy,” the trooper told him.

The reporter backed off.

Martin sighed audibly. “I came out here fully prepared to face a nut, Sheriff. My mind was made up, and that is something I rarely do without having all the facts going in. I have to conclude that you people in there are awfully brave. I salute you, Sheriff. All of you.”

Before anyone could stop her, Megan pushed open the barricade and stepped inside, standing beside Gordie. She closed the wooden barricade.

“Someone from the White House has to be inside, Martin,” she said, her voice calm. “I am an authority in quantum physics. You know that. If the decision is made, you're going to need someone in here directing the operations.” She smiled. “On this side of the . . . grave.” She stumbled on the last bit. “I just nominated myself and seconded the motion.”

“You young fool!” Martin snapped at her.

“You are a very brave person, Megan,” Larry said stiffly.

Megan forced another smile. “On the contrary, Larry. I am so scared I'm about to pee my pants!”

“My suggestion is this, Sheriff,” Megan said, out of earshot of the reporters at the barricades. “It isn't very original, but it's the best I can come up with on the spur of the moment.”

“I'm damn sure open for suggestions.” They walked on, further away from the crowded barricades.

“Plague. On the order of bubonic. You have a doctor still alive in here?”

“Two of them. Anderson and Shriver. And two RN's. Shriver is not . . . stable, but he's getting better. Go on, Megan.”

“The plague has been codenamed Fury. For want of a better word. See where I'm going?”

“Yes. I like it.”

STUPID CUNT. THAT ISN'T GOING TO FOOL ANYONE FOR VERY LONG.

“Fury,” Gordie said. “Meet Megan.”

Megan was openly, visibly, startled. Her mouth dropped open.

YOU OUGHT TO STICK A DICK IN THERE, GREASEBALL.

Megan closed her mouth.

GREAT SET OF JUGS ON THAT BROAD.

“I thought you were getting your life story recorded, Fury?”

I TOOK A BREAK. HAVE TO CHECK OUT THE NEW PUSSY.

Gordie looked at Megan. Her face was flushed, but she had a mean look in her eyes. She was rapidly regaining her composure.

She'll do, Gordie thought.

SHE'S NOT BAD. BUT HER ASS ISN'T AS GREAT AS JILL'S.

Their hair crackled slightly as the Fury left them.

“Pure energy, Megan?”

“I don't know. It certainly contains a great deal of electricity.”

“That's energy, isn't it?”

Megan smiled. “Well, Sheriff, how much do you know about physics?”

“About as much as I do about plumbing.”

“And that is ... ?”

“Shit runs downhill, and you get paid on Friday.”

Megan laughed aloud. She found herself liking Sheriff Rivera. “You're keeping your sense of humor, Sheriff. That's good.”

“Call me Gordie. Let's get in the car and get away from that gang of reporters.”

Driving away from the barricades, back toward the office, Bergman and Norris following in another vehicle, Megan said, “Energy is one of the two fundamental concepts of physical science. Energy, Sheriff, is defined as the capacity for doing work. It's a very intimate relationship. You see, no work is possible without energy stored up, unless work has been done with the body. You with me?”

“How in the hell did you ever get into politics? Or better yet, why?”

“Don't change the subject. It's important that you understand this. There are two kinds of energy: potential and kinetic.”

“Which one is the Fury?”

“Be quiet.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Potential energy is when the position of a body is such as to make work possible. Kinetic is when the body is capable of doing work as a result of its motion. You with me, Sheriff?”

“Megan, the Fury is comprised, composed – made up – of the souls of the dead. That's what Sand says and I think he's in a damn good position to know.”

“I'm not disputing that, Sheriff.”

“Gordie. Call me Gordie.”

“Gordie. All right. Now this is important. Listen.”

“Wait. My head is starting to hurt. I'm a cop, not a scientist. You and Howie get together.”

 

 

The others listened as Megan and Howie talked. When Megan had reached the point she had made with Gordie, Howie said, “I understand that, Megan. Kinetic energy, due to its motion, is a gradually diminishing one as the velocity falls off, till the extreme height is reached, when the kinetic energy becomes zero.”

“That's true, Howie. As the body rises, it gains in potential energy, or energy of position, till at its highest point this energy is at its maximum.”

“I know all that, Megan. And that there is an exact theoretical equivalence between
K
at the bottom and
P
at the top; and that at any point in the path, the sum of the energies is equal to that same number.”

“What in the name of God are they talking about?” Watts whispered to Gordie.

“Hell, don't ask me.”

Sunny looked at him. “That's just basic knowledge, Gordie. They're just feeling each other out. That change of energy they just discussed is a simple textbook case, pointing out one of the fundamental laws of physical science known as the conservation of energy.”

Gordie and Watts looked at her as if she had suddenly grown horns and a tail.

Megan and Howie heard her. “Hey, that's great, Sunny!” Howie said. “Yeah, you're right.”

The computer keys in the gun vault rattled.

“Sand,” Howie said, leading the way. The others gathered around him.

Howie sat down and typed: Sand?

The screen flashed:
Joey.

“They must be doing that with their minds,” Megan breathed. “My God! I'm actually conversing with the dead.”

Howie typed: Hi, Morg.

Howie grinned and typed: Okay, Morg. That's good.

“What the hell?” Gordie asked.

Watts grinned. “Joey and Morg are at it again. You'll see.”

Howie typed: What is going on, Joey?

The screen suddenly went blank, and then dark, as if all power had been lost on the other side.

Howie frantically typed: Joey? What happened?

The screen remained dark and void of any words of reply.

“What's going on?” Maj. Jackson asked.

“I don't even know what they're talking about,” Gordie bitched.

“Well, that's basic,” Megan said. “What he, it, Joey just said. That law of universal application. I don't understand what he's trying to tell us.”

“I don't either,” Sunny said.

“Damn sure makes it unanimous,” Watts muttered.

“Howie, would you print out all that Joey has told you?” Gordie asked. “Including the last conversation. I want to look at it.”

“Sure, Sheriff.”

“What are you thinking?” Sunny asked.

“I don't know Gordie read and reread. ”Just exactly what is a neutron, anyway?”

“One of the elementary particles of an atom,” Howie told him. He was keeping one eye on another screen, watching for the Fury.

“They are also readily absorbed,” Megan picked it up. “They are uncharged, with approximately the same mass as protons. A few neutrons decay into a proton, an electron, and a neutrino. Has a half-life of about thirteen minutes. That's one of the reasons a neutron bomb is better, if that is the correct usage, than your conventional atomic weapons.”

“But it's still a thermonuclear device?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I see. Sort of. Alright. Was Joey trying to tell us that we don't have to destroy the Fury? That we could instead contain it, maybe?”

“How?” Megan asked.

“I don't know. I'm asking you.” He held up the printout. “I don't understand any of this. Was he saying that we, as a people, could harness the force of the Fury?”

“I see what you're getting at,” Megan said. “But, no, it's a good thought, but no. That would be impossible; our technology is not that advanced.”

“It came from outer space, didn't it?” Angel asked, leaning up against the doorjamb, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Howie gave her a dirty look, then abruptly his look changed to one of confusion. “Well, maybe that's not all that far off the mark.”

“What do you mean, Howie?” Megan asked the boy.

“Well, we really don't know where it came from.” He looked at Sunny. “Has it told you?”

She shook her head. “No. And I have asked it several times.”

“Scientists hypothesize that certain heavenly objects are, in fact, collapsed stars,” Megan said. “They consist of immense numbers of densely packed neutrons.”

“That's it!” Howie shouted, startling them all. “That's how it's so powerful. It's a neutron star. Listen, the surface gravity of a neutron star is something like one-hundred-billion times stronger than the surface of Earth. Let me back up. It was a neutron star. It evolved over the centuries into something evil. Megan?”

“Yes. Perhaps. Howie, you and Sunny hear this: pulsar. A pulsar star, a stellar remnant, pulses off and on at the rate of thirty times a second. From its magnetic poles, the pulsar radiates beams of energy that span most of the electromagnetic spectrum,
including,
the radio and visible wavelengths.”

Sunny said, “The Fury has, over the centuries, evolved into a thinking mass, and has also learned to refine the radio pulsations it still contains from its original . . . well, shall we say, place in the scheme of things.”

“Yes,” Megan said. “Let's start from that. Let's assume, until proven otherwise, that the Fury is a stellar remnant. That meet with everybody's approval?”

Gordie looked at Watts. Both men shrugged. “Call it Harry, the Hairy Ape, if you want to,” Watts said. “Does this get us any closer to killing the damn thing?”

“Maybe, sir,” Howie said. “If we may continue with this theorization, I would pose this question to those older than I: Why has this town, the county seat, never been able to keep a radio station on the air? Isn't the town large enough to support one?”

Watts walked to a boarded-up window and looked out of the gun slit. “That radio station was first put on the air back in ‘54, I think. Maybe'53. It never was worth a damn. Had a dozen owners over the years. No one was ever able to make a go of it.”

“Why?” Megan asked.

Watts scratched the side of his face. “Technical problems. No one could keep the damn thing on the air. You'd be listening to one record, and all of a sudden another turntable would start, that record overriding the one that was playing ... no matter what the disc jockey did with the control board. Weird things happened out there, too. Disc jockeys reported things levitating, ghostly sounds, all sorts of weird stuff. The FCC even agreed, due to the mountains spur-rounding the valley, to give it more power. That's about a six-hundred-foot antenna out there . . .”

Watts paused and faced the group. “The antenna?”

“It certainly could play a part in this matter,” Megan said. “Where is the antenna located?”

Watts smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile. “It's located up near the old ghost town of Thunder.”

Howie turned as the computer keys clattered. One word was printed on the screen.

 

 

Martin Tobias and Larry Adams sat in the motel room and reviewed everything they had found in their car. Neither man had spoken for over an hour. Finally, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes, Martin broke the silence. “Mind-boggling!”

They then watched the dubs of the videotaping. Both closely inspected the young men called Sand and Joey. Martin backed the tape up several times. It was depressing. He did not like to see such obvious talent and intelligence-such as that possessed by Sand and Joey-go to waste.

Martin was also slightly amused at the expressions on Larry's face. Larry was from an old blueblood New England family; everything right by the book. In Larry's upbringing, there was a correct way to do everything, and that is the way it must be done. One simply did not fly in the face of accepted mores.

There was no place for rebels.

And Sand was a rebel.

Larry had been appalled by the method of fighting used by Sand's Pack members.

Larry's idea of fighting-if one simply must engage in that barbarous practice-was to have seconds, put on the gloves, with a referee in the ring and refreshments ready when time was called, and fight like gentlemen.

Sand's method of fighting included no such niceties. Kick your enemy in the balls, and then stomp his damn face in was Sand's philosophy.

Larry finally rose from his chair and stretched. “How?” he asked. “Could such a person possibly meet with God's approval?”

Martin smiled. “Why, Larry! I thought you were an atheist?”

“That's assuming there is a God,” Larry quickly covered his verbal tracks.

“Of course. Now, back to the business at hand; if we ever left it. Suggestions?”

“What to tell the president?”

“Yes.”

“I think the president should call in our secretary of state, and the ambassadors from Canada, England, Mexico, and Russia, and level with them.”

“Totally?”

“Totally.”

Martin nodded his head. “See that these computer printouts and video tapes are in the president's hands today, Larry. Advise the motel manager that we are taking over this entire wing. Arrange for tight, very tight, security. I want a computer team in here fifteen minutes ago, with lines covering all bases, especially that boy's computers. Go, Larry.”