Darkly The Thunder (9 page)

Gordie explained how to get to his office and stood watching as Sunny drove off.

The deputy walked up. “Ah ... Sheriff?”

“I know, Sid. I know. It just keeps getting stranger and stranger.”

Watts almost spilled his freshly poured coffee. “She's been doing
what?
”

The retired cop had been waiting at the sheriffs department when Gordie returned.

“Interviewing Richard and Linda Jennings,” Gordie told him. “About Sand.”

“That's impossible!” Watts yelled.

“I'm just telling you what she told me. And she was very sincere about it.”

The military was out, voluntarily, helping to beef up the roadblocks. The college students were housed at a motel. The office was quiet, with only a dispatcher, Norris and Bergman, and Lee Evans joining Gordie and Watts.

Norris and Bergman didn't understand the fuss Watts was kicking up about the interview. Bergman said, “You know what bothers
me?
The phones still work; the teletype is fully operational. It's like this . . .
thing
knows we can't beat it, so what the hell!”

Gordie glanced at Watts. “We'll see what happens tonight, and then I'll make up my mind about calling in more personnel and phoning the governor.”

Watts grimaced at the thought of calling Gov. Siatos. Watts disliked the man intensely.

“Colonel,” Norris said. “Before this reporter gets here. What about Sand?”

Watts was reflective for a moment. “The system failed. Justice did not prevail in our courts. Those turd-heads from over Monte Rio got away – for a time, a short time – with murder. They killed Joey and Tuddie, they killed Boom Boom, and then they finally killed Sand's wife. The whole scummy crew of them lied to protect each other. I'm not going to defend what Sand and Morg did – certainly not – but I can sure understand it.”

“Boom Boom?” Bergman asked.

Watts chuckled in remembrance. “Boom Boom Do-brinski. Ramrodded an all-girl motorcycle club a couple of counties over. She was wild, I'll tell you that for sure. Wild, but not a mean person. You see, people, after the trouble started, several custom-car clubs, hot-rodders, and several motorcycle clubs all banded together under Sand's leadership – ”

“So it wasn't just a few rich kids from Monte Rio after Sand's butt?” Norris asked.

“Oh, no. Those crapheads at Monte Rio got several fraternity houses involved for about a year.
Some
members of certain frat houses,” he amended that. “It was open warfare whenever the two factions met. Which was often. The governor at that time – whose main base of support, financially speaking, came from the wealthy – unofficially declared war on Sand and the others. A lot of city and county cops around the state rousted Sand and those who chose to follow him. I am proud to say that the state patrol took no part in any rousting ... that I am aware of,” he added.

Bergman sighed. “People, I am not a practicing Jew. I don't know whether there is a heaven or a hell. I like to think there is a better place after this one. Point I'm trying to make . . . where did this creature we're facing come from? And where, in God's scheme of things, is Sand?”

His partner looked at him. “You mean, is he in heaven, or hell?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe he didn't make it to either place,” Lee said. “Personally, I think there are levels of heaven and hell.”

“I'll go along with that,” Gordie said. “And I'm not a Catholic either.”

Watts agreed. “With Sand, I'd have to opt for Valhalla. His grandfather, on his mother's side, was an emigrant from Norway. And Sand believed very strongly in Valhalla.”

Gordie said, “The voice said that Sand and his friend interfered – interferes actually” He felt reasonably sure the voice was listening. “Would that be like Sand?”

Watts smiled, and the smile was soft. “Oh, yes.” All had gotten the impression that Watts had genuinely liked Sand. “Sand hated a bully. He'd go out of his way to hunt one up and stomp the piss out of him. And if that sounds like a contradiction in terms, it is. You all must understand that Sand was one hell of a young man. Extremely powerful physically and extremely intelligent. Brilliant. He was a walking contradiction. He respected brains much more than brawn. He and Joey had I.Q.'s that went right through the ceiling. Highest ever tested – to date – here in Willowdale. And yet,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “they did nothing with all that brilliance. Except die needlessly, foolishly. Rebels fighting the system, both of them knowing they could never win.”

SAND IS A MEDDLING, IDEALISTIC FOOL.

Watts looked up. There was no fear in him. He had never backed up for anybody or anything in his life, and he wasn't going to start now. “And you're afraid of him, aren't you?”

The voice howled with wild rage. It screamed in a language that none in the room could understand. A table was picked up and hurled across the room, shattering against a wall. The building actually shook under the powerful wrath of the being.

Hard-breathing pulsated, the rage touching them all in its fury.

I HAVE ALLOWED YOU TO LIVE, BECAUSE I ENJOY THE GAME AND WISH IT TO CONTINUE. BUT DO NOT PUSH ME TOO FAR.

The front door was ripped from its hinges and flung out into the street. The voice left with a wild rush of sucking any loose paper in the office out the open doorway.

Gordie was the first to speak. “You touched a raw nerve that time, Al.”

“I didn't make any brownie points, that's for damn sure,” he agreed.

The men began cleaning up the office. Sunny drove up, got out, and walked in through what was left of the doorway. She looked around. “My God, what happened?”

“Have a seat, Miss Lockwood,” Gordie said, after introducing her all around. “Have a cup of coffee. Just as soon as we get this mess cleaned up, we'll tell you a story, and explain why I've ordered the town sealed off. Have you had anything to eat?”

She had not.

“Lee, call the Lodgepole and have them send over a platter of sandwiches.”

Sunny tried a smile. “It's all so mysterious.”

Gordie returned the smile. “Like they say, ma‘am: you ain't heard nothin' yet.”

 

 

Howie shut down his personal computer and rubbed his face. He had learned a few things about the voice; but not nearly enough. What he had uncovered had chilled the boy. He decided not to tell Angel just yet. He had time. But he wasn't sure how much time.

 

 

It had laid dormant for years – thirty years. It surfaced in the world every thirty years, creating somewhere hurricanes, typhoons, floods, wars. Then it rested, gathering strength, feeding on the energy of evil taken from the souls of the newly dead. It had no shape; it could take any shape. It could be small enough to fit in a box. It could be as large as ten supertankers.

It was thousands of years old.

It was not from hell. It had not been created by either God or Satan. It was evil. If evil could be pure, this then was ninety-nine point nine percent pure evil.

Like all things, it had a flaw, but no one it had ever encountered it in its thousands of years of existence had ever managed to best it. Nothing living, nothing dead residing on the other side of life.

Until now.

To have its efforts thwarted by a few smart-mouthed punks in leather jackets was infuriating enough. But for them to stand in the way of what it was created for, that was mind-boggling.

The Fury had never met an idealist yet that it could not reduce to a mass of quivering, quaking fearful jelly in a matter of seconds.

Some had even willingly chosen hell to get away from it.

Until now.

Sand had yawned at the Fury. Joey had made some smart-aleck comment about how ugly it was. And Morg had said that if he had a saddle, he'd strap it on and ride the howling mass.

And that had been during their first encounter.

Damned insolent punks! The Fury knew they could leave; go to their place in the hereafter. They were just hanging around to cause aggravation.

In time as measured in the firmament, only a blink of an eye. In time as measured on Earth: thirty long years. The Fury had been battling Sand for thirty years. Disgusting having to expel precious energy against a damn rebel who didn't know when to quit and to take his place with the other dead.

But now the Fury was all-powerful again, and it was time for a showdown.

Its thirty-year rest period was nearly over, and it was time to play games. The Fury loved games. Death games.

For years, the Fury could not understand how Sand and his friends came to be, but now it did, and knew how to best Sand. Now the Fury had the edge. It thought. But it had to separate Sand and his bunch from the Force. The Fury's archenemy had found another friend. And to make matters even worse, Sand had made friends with that damned old mercenary, Michael. And if that unspeakable being that Michael served could ever be convinced to turn Michael loose ...

The Fury shuddered at that thought.

And the Fury couldn't let Sand out of his sight for any length of time, for Sand had found the door – the way out.

The goddamned inquisitive, poking, prying, meddling, arrogant, insulting punk!

So the Fury would have to take it slow and easy with the town. At least for a few more days. Sand couldn't stop humans from killing other humans; at least he hadn't found a way to do it yet.

The Fury had never before met people like Sand and those who followed him. Sand was not especially religious; did not race about willy-nilly, mouthing heavenly utterances and boring everyone who came in contact with him. Actually, as far as the Fury was concerned, Sand had been nothing more than a thug during his short span on earth. Yet . . . even He liked Sand. Probably due in no small part to Michael, who was nothing more than a damned thug himself. He was not yet ready to fully accept Sand into His home, but the Fury knew all the signs. And He would. Eventually.

Disgusting.

It was almost enough to make one lose their faith and go straight.

And that really was a disgusting thought!

 

 

Sunny had listened to Gordie and Watts explain what had taken place over the past twenty-four hours.

It was mind-boggling.

“Your turn, Miss Lockwood,” Gordie said. “We've leveled with you, now you level with us – deal?”

“Deal. But I don't know anything about what's been happening in this town. What can I tell you that would be of any importance?”

“Tell us about your day with the Jennings.”

She looked nervously around her. “What if that . . . thing is listening?”

“I'm sure it is listening, but we can't do anything about that.”

Sunny told them everything she could remember. The Jennings' strange behavior. The musty smell in the house. The dated magazines, newspapers, and medicines. Of her not having a reflection in the mirror. The funeral-home smell of the house. Her sensation of time-travel. She told them of the car Richard kept in his shed. Of being so close to Sand, she felt as though she could have touched him.

Gordie finished his sandwich and drained his cup of coffee. “Do you have a firm grip on your chair, Miss Lockwood?”

She tried a laugh that didn't work. “I guess so.”

Gordie nodded at Watts.

Watts took a deep breath and said, “Miss Lockwood, Richard and Linda Jennings both died in a house fire . . .”

Sunny felt her world began to spin.

“ . . . They were positively identified by their dental work and by their personal physician, who still had X rays of broken bones. The pictures were taken when they were both involved in an auto accident. They died ten years ago, almost to the date.”

Sunny fainted.

She regained consciousness slowly, swimming slowly through a fog of jumbled memories of the events of that day. She opened her eyes and looked up at a man she did not know. He smiled at her.

“I'm Dr. Anderson, Miss Lockwood. Don't worry. All your vital signs are strong and steady. You fainted, that's all.”

She sat up, blinked a couple of times, and felt her strength returning. “You . . .” It came out as a croak and she cleared her throat. “You know what is going on in this town, Doctor?”

“I know what. I don't know why.”

“Could I have some water? My throat is awfully dry. Oh, hell, I know where the water fountain is. I saw it on the way in. There's nothing wrong with me.”

Anderson helped her up and escorted her into the main room of the office. There were some half a dozen new people that she did not know.

And she was not at all surprised to learn that they were military.

“Some sort of top-secret government hoo-doo that went haywire – as usual – causing all this?” she asked sarcastically.

“Don't be stupid!” Lt. Smith snapped at her. She had been told who Sunny was and what she was doing in town. “Goddamn press people are all the same. Blame everything on the military before you even bother to gather up all the facts.”

“Ladies,” Maj. Jackson said, stepping between them. He was not fearful for Kathy; she could take care of herself and had, several times. Kathy was no hair-puller. She'd just haul off and knock the crap out of somebody. What the major didn't want was to see this reporter bounced around the room like a loose basketball. He looked at Sunny. “For your information, Miss, we are an advance team, in here to act as liaison between the townspeople and a base that will soon be completed in this area. Sheriff Rivera asked us to assist him in this, ah, matter, and we agreed. I gather you're feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you.” Sunny had lost a brother in Vietnam. She had no use for career military types.