Jim Morrison's Adventures in the Afterlife (36 page)

“Eleven. Laud and magnify the Lord Anubis and his mighty weapon.”

She started to walk toward the obelisk, carefully picking her way through the mass of huddled grovelers.

“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . ”

She was nearing the front of the crowd. She started to hurry. She wanted to be alone with the bomb.

“Six . . . five . . . four . . . ”

She stopped dead at three. She was a very long way from the obelisk, but at least she was clear of the crowd. She stood upright and spread her arms. The Divine Atom Bomb could take her if it dared, and damn the gamma rays.

“Two . . . one . . . ”

In the first nanosecond, it was nothing more than a point of infinitely bright light.

“Ignition!”

But this grew into a ball of cosmic fire, as though a piece of the sun had been touched off at ground zero, so impossibly, searingly bright that, even from behind the visor, Semple could feel her retina commencing to bum. Beyond the realm of visible light, she could
also feel the lashing waves of radiation ripping and jackhammering at every cell of her body. Her very molecular structure seemed to be at risk; her skeleton was clearly visible, glowing with a dull red fire, beneath flesh rendered translucent by the nativity of this new sun. At any moment she felt she would melt away, blasted back to Great Double Helix by the awesome solar wind—and, right then, Semple didn’t care. The chips could fall where they might. And she was surprised to find the experience was far from unpleasant. The intensity of the screaming protons, neutrons, and electrons that howled through her transcended by quantum factors any experience she had ever known. It was worth everything that had gone before and anything that might come later. Semple was seized by a mind-bending awe at the infinity of this bliss.

“Oh! No! Yes! Oh no! I don’t believe this! I can’t
conceive
this!”

And then the heat and blast hit.

Aimee McPherson let out a small shriek. For an instant she had been blinded by clear white light, and nothing like that had ever happened to her on this side of the veil. Migraine? Brain tumor? Surely such things were impossible here in her perfect Heaven. In that instant of questioning, she knew instinctively that it was a print-through from Semple. As if in confirmation, her body was suddenly racked by a surge of feeling that doubled her over and forced a gasping groan from her lips. “Oh my . . . ”

She was about to appeal to God, but by now she was so far on the outs with the Almighty that she couldn’t bring herself, even in this extremity, to utter his name.

“Oh my”.

The nuns who were accompanying her on her walk on the terrace quickly gathered around, the cartoon bluebirds milled anxiously in the air, and a small winged Pegasus whinnied nervously. A novice stood beside her, wanting to put a comforting arm around her, but was too paralyzed by reverence to do so. “Are you all right, Mother Aimee?”

The sensation coursing through her body wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but she wasn’t about to admit that to the nuns. “Of course, I’m fine . . . except I’m wondering what in the hereafter my sister is up to.”

Jim all but jumped out of his skin. Doc Holliday was the very last person he’d expected to see in the Jurassic, although later he’d realize that Doc was more than capable of being in any time or place he wanted to be, and on occasion in more than one place at a time. “What—”

Doc put an amused forefinger to his lips. “For mercy’s sake, be quiet, boy. They’ll hear you inside.”

Jim dropped his voice to a whisper. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Doc was dressed for traveling. His boots were caked with mud and his long duster coat was stained with algae from the swamp. His pale face had a three-day growth of stubble and he appeared cumulatively hungover. He regarded Jim bleakly. “I’m getting you out of an entire mess of shit that, as of now, you’re not even aware you’re heading into.”

Bewilderment seemed to be Jim’s only option. “Mess of shit? What are you talking about?”

Doc indicated the deviant tableau in the room beyond the window. “That guy getting his back carved by the fire, that’s you, only older, am I right?”

Jim nodded. “It sure looks like me.”

Doc was becoming impatient. “It’s you. Take my word for it.”

“Is it really me, or is it another me?”

Doc pushed back his hat and looked sourly at Jim. “Don’t get cute with me, boy.”

“I was just asking.”

“It’s you. Accept it.”

“And who’s the woman doing the carving?”

“That’s Semple McPherson.”

Jim couldn’t help but smile. “Are you telling me the initials were S and M?”

“You don’t know her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So you haven’t met her yet?”

“Not that I can remember, and I think I’d remember her.”

Doc thought about this. “Then I guess you’ll meet her later. Or maybe you won’t. Your alternate paths of destiny seemed to be busy tangling themselves in a highly untidy manner.”

“So what’s all this shit I’m about to get into?”

“I thought you might have learned better by now, but I guess you haven’t.”

“Learned better about what?”

“That it’s a terribly bad idea to be meeting face-to-face with an older version of yourself. Most times, the results are messy for the bystanders and
apocalyptically
ugly for the two directly involved.”

“Are you saying we ought to get out of here?”

“Right now, boy. With all the haste at our command.”

“How are we going to do that? Dematerialize or something?”

Doc sighed. “You’re getting a mite fancy, aren’t you? We’re getting out of here by boat. I’ve got one hidden under the trees. A motorboat of some power.”

“A motorboat?”

“That’s what I said. You have some problem with boats? You don’t get seasick or anything unseemly like that, do you?”

Jim shook his head. “It’s just that there are Viet Cong all over the place.”

Doc frowned. “You’re not telling me they can see you? You’re not telling me that, are you?”

“No, they can’t see me. I was just wondering if they could maybe see you.”

Doc’s face hardened. “Are you trying to insult me?”

Jim quickly changed the subject. He wasn’t sure he and Doc were speaking in the same tongue and he decided it might be wise to stick to simple topics. “So shall we head for this motorboat of yours?”

Doc nodded. He and Jim straightened up and moved silently away from the window. Jim was about to turn for one final look back at the strange scene inside the room, but Doc shook his head. “It’d be best if you didn’t.”

“Pillar of salt?”

“Maybe worse.”

The two men walked carefully through the grove of prehistoric trees, watchful for VC or anything else that might jeopardize their departure. As they were passing the rusting hulk of the car, Jim glanced questioningly at Doc. “Here’s one thing I don’t quite understand.”

“What’s that, my friend?”

“Why are you doing all this? Why are helping me like this?”

Doc was surprised by the question. “I figured after what you did for me, I owed you the courtesy of at least one favor. When one of the Mammals with No Name told me you were headed on out here to this godforsaken pile on your own, with no idea that the Old Jim was here already, I decided I’d better follow you and make sure you didn’t get yourself blended or warped.”

One confusion seemed to be progressively layering on the last. “After I did what for you? What did I do for you?”

Doc raised his eyebrows as though he still couldn’t quite believe Jim didn’t know what he was talking about. “When someone saves Doc Holliday from a room full of aura-tweaking Selenites, I generally consider I owe that man a personal debt of gratitude.”

“I saved your ass from a bunch of aura-tweaking Selenites?”

Doc grinned. “Indeed you did. I thought I was pod-bound before you came gallantly walking into that misbegotten gin mill with a blaster in your hand.”

Jim sighed. Once again, the world in which he found himself was shedding its resemblance to reality so rapidly, it was making his head spin. “Are you sure about all this?”

“It’s hardly something a gentleman makes an error about.”

“As far as I’m concerned, the last time I saw you, you were throwing me out of town.”

Now it was Doc’s turned to be confused. “How is it I have no recollection of that?”

Jim shrugged. “Like you’ve been telling me. Time and memory can get weird on you.”

“So what do
you
think happened?”

“We were in this town you seemed to own. You came out of Sun Yat’s opium den, then went into the cantina. When you came out, you told me to leave town.”

Doc nodded. “That sounds like me. What happened next?”

“I protested some, and then Long Time Robert Moore offered me a ride . . . ”

Doc seemed not to recognize the name. “Long Robert who?”

“An old blues guy with an alien connection.”

Doc considered this. “Curiouser and curiouser, as Dr. Dodgson used to say.”

“It’s too late to worry about it.”

“So what did I do when you protested?”

“You very pointedly showed me the Gun That Belonged to Elvis.”

In almost a reprise of the night in question, Doc allowed his duster coat to fall open. The selfsame weapon nestled in a well-oiled shoulder holster. “This one?”

Jim nodded. “That’s the one.”

“At least something’s consistent. So what was it you did to awaken my ire all the way back in Sun Yat’s Palace of Mirrors?”

“It wasn’t exactly what I did . . . ”

“It hardly ever is, in retrospect.”

“These three Voodoo Mystéres came burning into town in a ball of fire and—”

Before Jim could finish, Doc’s face darkened. He suffered a brief coughing fit, and when he was over it, his flamboyant and slightly inebriated tone dropped away. “Are you telling me the truth, boy? Voodoo Mystéres are no joking matter.”

Jim was losing his own patience. “Of course I’m telling the truth. There were three of them, Danbhalah La Flambeau, Dr. Hypodermic, and Baron Tonnerre—”

“Jesus wept, boy. Are you crazy? Don’t say their fucking names out loud. We don’t need that trio showing up. The Mystéres have a nasty habit of coming if called.” Doc halted and looked around as though he expected the unholy three to instantly appear out of nowhere. “Dr. Hypodermic visits this place enough, anyway. I half expected to cross his path on the way here.” He scanned the horizon. “In fact, I still wouldn’t be surprise to see one of his hearses rolling across the swamp.”

Jim was now progressing from mystified to perturbed. “I really don’t understand.”

“No, you probably don’t.”

“Dr. Hypodermic rides a hearse?”

“He enjoys all manner of transportation. Although the old Rolls-Royce is among his favorites.”

Doc paused for a moment, but when nothing happened, he took Jim by the arm. “Let’s get to the goddamned boat. I have a nautical bottle stashed.”

The boat turned out to be a solidly constructed heavyweight powerboat from the 1930s, with beautifully maintained and varnished timbers, tied up to a small dilapidated jetty. Doc went ahead to climb aboard first. He steadied the slight rocking of the craft as
Jim followed close behind. Jim was about to step into the boat when a sudden flare of light appeared silently, low in the western sky, as though reflected from someplace beyond the horizon, a white-through-red pulsation, accompanied by a strange twinge of unease. With the Voodoo Mystéres still on his mind, Jim looked quickly at Doc, who was attempting to start the boat’s engine.