Thunderbird (27 page)

“Uhhh, yeah. I guess so, Ernie.”

“You looking for the floater?”

“Actually, yes. Any sign of it today?”

“No. Not that I know of.” He took the money, rang up the sale, and handed her the change. “You need a bag?”

“No, thanks.”

“What will you do if you find it?”

“We're going to try to take it back where it came from.”

“And that's one of those places up on Johnson's Ridge, right?”

“Well, yes. In a way.”

“Why do you want to do that? It hasn't done any harm. Don't misunderstand me, but why don't you just go away and let it be?” A car pulled up to one of the gas pumps.

“Have you seen it?”

“Down by city hall a few days ago.” He sucked his cheeks in. “One of our people wouldn't be alive if it hadn't been here.”

“This isn't its home,” she said. “Look, I've got to go.”

“I wish you would.”

•   •   •

S
HE
PULLED
ONTO
Bannister Street, which ran through the center of town, and parked in front of the post office. If anything generated some excitement in Fort Moxie, she would surely see traffic moving from that vantage point. As the sky grew darker, lights came on, and the few pedestrians dwindled and disappeared.

Nothing was open save Clint's Restaurant and the Prairie Schooner. April left the engine on. She sat for a while and eventually threw a U-turn and parked in front of Clint's. She climbed out, went into the restaurant, got a table near the window, and ordered coffee and a grilled cheese.

She took her time eating, nursed her coffee, and finally went back outside, got into the pickup, and began patrolling the town. At 8:00
P.M.
she caught the KLYM news again. There was nothing of substance. She continued cruising through the empty streets and, after about three hours, returned to the gas station, said hello to Ernie again, and refilled the tank.

The stars were disappearing as heavy clouds moved in from the west. She listened to some more of Hawking, heard nothing on the midnight news, and wandered into the Prairie Schooner. A TV was playing, carrying a game from Los Angeles between the Twins and the Dodgers. April wasn't a fan, but she wondered whether there was a chance they'd break in if somebody spotted the floater. But that was crazy. She began to think maybe she should call it a night. The place was quiet as bars go, a few people watching the TV, two or three drinking alone, and occasional laughter at a couple of tables.

She had a beer. April didn't usually drink much and consequently didn't have any capacity to speak of. She quit with one and returned to the pickup.

Every street in Fort Moxie was empty and quiet. She pulled up again outside the Prairie Schooner as two guys were coming out. One stumbled, but his buddy caught him before he went down. They climbed into a
black Buick and left. April waited a few minutes before swinging back out into the street. She was moving slowly, watching the trees pass overhead. “Come on, pal,” she said. “Where are you?”

Once you got away from the center of town, there were few streetlights, and the houses at this hour were mostly dark. Someone working in a garage looked up and waved as she passed. Within a couple of minutes, she reached the tree belt on Fort Moxie's northern limit.

When the first gray light of dawn appeared, she was back on Bannister Street, near the post office. Her head was bent over the steering wheel and her eyes were closed. The radio was on, somebody talking. Time to go home.

The main of life is, indeed, composed of small incidents and petty occurrences; of wishes for objects not remote, and grief for disappointments of no fatal consequence; of insect vexations which sting us and fly away; impertinences which buzz a while about us, and are heard no more; of meteorous pleasures, which dance before us and are dissipated; of compliments, which glide off the soul like other music, and are forgotten by him that gave, and him that received them.

—Samuel Johnson,
The Rambler
, November 10, 1750

A
PRIL
WAS
ASLEEP
in her office when Barbara walked in. “Sorry,” she said, “but you might want to take this call.”

“Who is it?”

“June Tully. She's the mother of the special-needs child. From Fort Moxie. The one who's been in the news.”

The child, Jeri Tully, had been all over the media a few weeks ago when she'd wandered out of her house and somehow gotten onto Route 11, apparently headed for her special-education class in Walhalla, which was thirty-five miles from her home in Fort Moxie. It had been a Saturday.

According to the parents, it had been the only time in Jeri's life she'd done anything like that. She'd gone almost a mile in near-zero temperatures before getting off the highway. A frightened search had developed in Fort Moxie, where nobody thought to look on the road. Fortunately, Jim Stuyvesant, the editor of the
Fort Moxie News
, was on his way to the Roundhouse
when he spotted what appeared to be a churning wind in the middle of a snow-covered field.

“Yes, Ms. Tully, what can I do for you? How is Jeri?”

“She's fine, thank you. Are you the Dr. Cannon who's connected with the Roundhouse?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I'm going to be in Grand Forks this afternoon. Do you mind if I stop by?”

•   •   •

J
UNE
T
ULLY
,
A
few years earlier, could easily have qualified as queen of the prom at most schools. She had soft chestnut hair, bright blue eyes, and classic features. “I appreciate your taking time to talk to me, Doctor.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Tully.” April gave her a hand with her coat, led her into her office, and invited her to sit on the couch. “What can I do for you?”

“You know about my daughter? And the floater that called attention to her?”

“Yes. It was a remarkable incident.”

“It was.” She laid her purse on a side table. “I promised myself I wasn't going to bring up the rest of the story, but I probably have no choice.”

“What else is there?”

“Jeri's life has always been very limited. Mentally, she's still three years old. And that's probably an optimistic appraisal. The doctors tell us she's never going to improve. She doesn't talk and doesn't understand anything that's said to her. And she has no clue what's going on around her.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Aren't we all? We've never had an explanation for the problem. The doctors have never been able to tell us what's wrong with her, or what caused it.” Her eyes closed for a moment, then opened again. “Something happened the day she got lost. I'm not sure what it was, but when she came back she was different. For one thing, she was talking. And when I asked her if she was okay, she said, ‘Yes, Mommy.' Dr. Cannon, you have no idea
what that meant to me after all those years. She's eight years old and she had never before put together even a two-word sentence. Her eyes had come alive, and for the first time I could see that there was somebody looking out at me. I know this makes no sense, but she told me about being afraid when she was out in the snow. She thought she might die, and she didn't know where she was. I wouldn't have believed she'd had any idea what death was. She looked at me and said, ‘What's wrong with me?'”

“Did you report this to the doctors?”

“Yes. But they never
saw
it. The condition went away after a day or two, and she went back to being what she had always been. The doctors offered no explanation, other than that the shock of going through the experience had forced her to recognize reality. They said we still don't really know enough about how the brain works. But I could see that they thought I was making it up. Or imagining it.”

“I'm truly sorry, Ms. Tully. I wish there was something I could do.”

“There might
be
something.”

“Really?”

“Yes. This is maybe a bit off-the-wall. But I had a long conversation with Jim Stuyvesant.”

“The guy who found her.”

“Yes. He pulled Jeri out of a snowbank. He's convinced that the alien, if that's what it really was, deliberately led him to Jeri.”

“So what is it that I can do?”

“The floater not only saved Jeri's life but opened her eyes for a couple of days. Made her who she was supposed to be. And it's happening again. When it's nearby, she comes
alive
.” Her voice was breaking. “When it goes away, Jeri goes with it.”

“Can I get you anything, June?”

“No. Just, please, don't let them take it away. Some people are scared of it. It's something they don't understand. And I'm hearing that there's a lot of pressure on the Sioux to find a way to send it back to wherever it came from. I don't know whether anybody knows how to do that, but it would be
a terrible mistake. That creature, whatever it is, has helped a lot of people in the area. Especially Jeri.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “If you have any influence on the reservation, please don't let them drive it away.”

“But it's a hazard, June. It's just a matter of time before it gets somebody killed in a car wreck.”

“I know what you're saying, Dr. Cannon, people suddenly finding themselves outside their cars, floating in the air. But if you talk to them, they'll tell you they were always aware that their hands were still on the steering wheel, and they still had access to the brake pedal. When something like that happens, all we have to do is stop the car and wait for the problem to go away. I understand it's dangerous, but we stand to gain so much. This thing, whatever it is, opens our minds. People are getting a new perspective on what really matters to them. It's like having an angel in town. Please, Dr. Cannon, do what you can.”

April sat for a long moment before she could bring herself to reply. “June,” she said, “what would you do if the evidence indicated that the angel was lost and alone, and wanted to go home?”

“No,” she said. “Please, no.”

Fare thee well! and if forever,

Still forever, fare thee well.

—Lord Byron, “Fare Thee Well,” 1816

“S
O
WHAT
ARE
you suggesting we do?” said Walker. “I understand your feelings, but if someone goes off the road and gets killed, they're going to come after
us
. The police are telling me it's inevitable.”

April wanted to take the phone and throw it through a window. “I don't have a choice that I like.”

“Then why don't you back off this thing? I can send Sandra Whitewing over to your place to pick up the truck, and she'll take it from here. You just find something else to do and let us handle it.”

“I can't do that. I told Mrs. Tully I'd be taking the floater home if I could. And I tried to explain why.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me to do what I have to and walked out.”

•   •   •

A
PRIL
WATCHED
THREE
more sunrises from the vicinity of the post office. George saw nothing in Devils Lake, and there were no more reports
anywhere of the floater. One of Brad Hollister's callers thought that the creature had probably moved north into Canada to stay with the snow.

She arrived in Fort Moxie for her fifth night there. It was getting dark, and she was pulling out of Ernie's gas station when two cars hurried past on Bannister Street, headed into town. They all turned left on Twelfth. She followed, drove one block, and saw a few people gathered under a tree.

She slowed to a crawl. Cars were parked on both sides of the street, leaving no space for her. Everybody was looking up, pointing at the tree. It was the same tree where the hosing incident had occurred. She needed a minute to find it, but there
was
an incandescence floating in the branches. It might have been a reflection from a streetlight. Whatever it was, the thing rotated at a leisurely pace. Precisely like the one everybody had been watching on cable news. She drove slowly past, looking for a place that would allow her to stop and angle the TV so it would be visible to the creature. The only thing available was a driveway.

She pulled into it and sat for a minute, waiting to see if anyone inside the house would react. Its outside lights were on, but the door stayed closed. Good enough. She got out of the truck and looked up at the creature. Damn. They needed a name for it.
Floater
didn't exactly hit the right note. And she wished the crowd would go away. It would be easier to talk to it if she were alone.

“Hey,” somebody said, “that's the woman who's been on TV.”

April tried to think happy thoughts, it's good to see you again, do you remember me? She tried visualizing the ocean with the giant planet and its rings reaching down below the horizon.

“You need help?” someone asked. A woman was crossing the street to get to her.

I need a name.
She had a particular affection for her uncle Louie. He entertained her with his guitar and always took time to play games with her.
Can I call you
Louie
?
She tried to project her thoughts.
Hello, Louie.
Are you reading me? Can I do anything for you?

The woman arrived. “Aren't you Dr. Cannon?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I'm glad to meet you.”

A door opened behind her. June Tully came out onto the porch and stood watching with her arms folded.

April looked away, looked
up
at the rotating light in the tree, and decided she might as well say it: “Louie, if you're reading me, if you understand me at all, could you give me a sign? Please? Anything?”

It continued to turn quietly among the branches.

April went back to trying to project thoughts:
Follow me, and I'll take you back to Johnson's Ridge. You can go home if you stay with me.

A crowd was gathering. They hadn't been making much noise to begin with, but now they'd gone absolutely silent. April pressed the remote, and the cover over the pickup bed began to rise, exposing the television. “What are you going to do?” asked a guy with a fur hat pulled down over his ears.

“Just hang on.” She used the remote to adjust the angle of the TV toward the creature. Toward Louie. “I'm going to try to get it away from here.”

“With a television?” The guy snorted. “How in hell are you going to do that?”

April touched the remote again. The screen blinked on, and the floater appeared. It could have been a live image of what was actually happening.

“You think it watches television?” someone across the street yelled.

“Louie,” she said, “can you hear me? Do you remember who I am? I can get you home if you'll just follow me. Okay? If you can hear this, if you understand what I'm trying to tell you, show me.”

A man said, “We don't want it to go away.”

A few people clapped their hands.

Someone wanted to know whether his name was really Louie.

Another guy, wearing a Border Patrol uniform, touched her arm. “Pardon me, Dr. Cannon,” he said, “but that thing could be dangerous. You might want to stay clear of it.”

Louie kept spinning at the same quiet rate.

Several members of the crowd were talking into cell phones.

A man standing in the middle of the street yelled, “Great. This is just what we need, for you people to show up and try to help.”

“We might be able to get it back where it belongs,” April said.

“Please don't,” said June. She was walking across the grass, coming in April's direction. Jeri stood silently on the porch just outside the doorway.

Okay. Lloyd said it was empathic. It might be able to feel her emotions. The problem was that the only emotions she was feeling at the moment were frustration and a growing sense of guilt. She was trying to imagine what Louie was feeling, might be feeling, an awareness of being lost, of everything that comes with being cut off in a strange world.

The Border Patrolman moved closer. “Why do you think it comes here?” he said. “Jeri loves it.”

She remembered having heard that June's husband was a Border Patrol officer. “I'm sorry, sir,” she said. “We don't have a choice.” She thought of June Tully fighting back her emotions, and of the damaged child lost in the snowbanks. Of the man lying in the snow outside his garage, helpless in the freezing night.
Louie,
she thought,
I love you.

For the moment at least, it was true.

A pained sadness came over April, and it was as if the world had stopped. Memories flooded in of guys she'd liked but left, of friends who were no longer in her life, of her mom, who'd died too soon. Of one guy who'd simply stopped calling. Where was that all coming from?

The hazy glow continued its methodical rotation.

April had had enough. She screamed “Stop!” and glared at the tree. And suddenly she was aware again of June and the little girl standing on the front porch.

“Are you all right?” June asked.

“Yes. I'm okay. I'm sorry. Don't know what happened.”

“We're used to it.” June did not take her eyes from April. “Please don't take him away.”

April looked at her, at Louie, at the television, now running images of the ringed moon. And at Jeri.

I'm leaving, Louie. Make up your mind. Follow me if you want to go home.
Maybe she should have said it aloud, but she was too much of a coward to do that. She got back into the pickup, turned off the television, lowered the cover, and started the engine. She eased out into the street, turned right at Bannister, and headed out of town.

•   •   •

A
FTER
A
FEW
blocks, she stopped, got out, and looked behind her. No sign of Louie. All right, she thought, I'm done with it. She reached into a pocket for her phone.

George picked up on the first ring.

“I'm giving it up,” she said. “You might want to do the same. I'll explain to the chairman in the morning.”

“Explain what? Why are you quitting?”

“I'm not really sure, George. I just know I've had it. I got within thirty feet of that thing and had no luck at all communicating with it. It's useless.”

“You're okay, right?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. It's still in the tree, by the way. At least it was last I looked.”

“The TV didn't work?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Why are you giving up, April?”

“Look, let it go for now, George, okay? I'll explain when I see you. In any case, you might as well quit for the night.”

•   •   •

I
T
WAS
CLEAR
to June that using a television to lure away the floater was a crazy idea. But April was one of the lead scientists in the Johnson's Ridge project, so it was possible she'd known what she was doing. Consequently, June was relieved when the television got turned off. She knew April couldn't hear her, but she nevertheless whispered a
thank-you
as the engine started, and the pickup backed into the street and pulled slowly away.

She stood at the edge of the driveway, looking at her husband, and
friends and neighbors, not knowing how to explain any of what they'd witnessed. Probably it didn't matter. She glanced back at Jeri, still on the porch, watching the crowd. The pickup's lights disappeared around a corner. The
thank-you
stayed in her mind, directed now toward the floater, which had not moved.

Jeri came down from the porch, walked across the grass, smiled, and hugged her. Smiles and frowns were the only language Jeri knew. Years before, she'd had a small vocabulary, maybe a dozen words, like “hot” and “ice cream” and “stop.” But they'd long since gone away.

“You okay, Jeri?” she asked.

The child squeezed her tightly while Tony came up the driveway. She smiled up at him. “Daddy.”

June had read enough about her daughter's condition to know that she was trapped inside a narrow world in which stars were no more than lights in the night sky. That she didn't recognize neighbors and lived in a place where almost everyone was a stranger. That she couldn't communicate, couldn't ask to be taken for a walk, couldn't say, at least not directly, how much she liked their two cats. The cats, in fact, were sometimes afraid of her.

She would have given anything to protect the child from the environment in which she lived. And gradually, as she stood with Tony at the edge of the driveway, holding Jeri while her neighbors asked if she was okay, she realized she was looking at the world through Jeri's eyes. In that moment, June wanted to tell everyone she was okay, that she was happy because her family cared for her. But June couldn't remember the words. She wasn't sure who she was. Couldn't remember why the crowd had gathered.

She wondered why everyone kept talking to her mother.

But they were talking about
her
, about
Jeri
, and it was nice to have all that attention. She was having a good life. She couldn't have described the emotion, or even named it, but she started laughing. She loved to laugh, loved her life, and wished for nothing. Wanted for nothing.

Then the dichotomy was gone. June was staring at her neighbors, trying to grasp what had just happened. One of the men was holding her, keeping her on her feet. And Tony was wearing a confused expression.

Jeri was still holding her tight. She wasn't laughing, but she wore a large smile.

Above them, the branches were empty.

•   •   •

A
PRIL
WENT
HOME
to Grand Forks, put on the TV, and watched CNN reporting on the latest eruption in the Middle East. She killed it after a few minutes and sat down with Henry James's
Roderick Hudson
, which she'd been trying to get to since her college days. She'd barely opened it when the phone rang.

It was George. “It's at the Roundhouse!” he said.

“What? Louie?”

“Who the hell's Louie?”

“The floater.”

“Yes. It's there.”

“How's that possible?”

“Don't know. Maybe it read you better than you thought. Anyhow, I just got a call from Paula. It's out on the edge of the parking lot, in the trees.”

“Where are you now, George?”

“Devils Lake. Where I've been most of the week.”

“Okay. Call them back. Tell Paula to open the door.” She stared across the room at an award she'd received from Colson Labs several years before. “If they get a chance, try to bring it inside.”

“Will do.”

“Yeah. If it comes in, close the door. They want to get it to the grid. If it goes anywhere close, they need to hit the rings icon. Send it back to the Maze, if they can. Tell them I'm on my way.”

•   •   •

T
HE
NEXT
CALL
came after she got on the road and was headed west. It was Paula this time. “It's just sitting out there,” she said. “We've had the door open, but it's not showing any sign of coming in.”

“Okay. Leave it open, Paula. I know that makes things a bit cold, but—”

“I understand, April.”

Ten minutes later, as she moved across the wide, sprawling plains, George called again. “It's still outside. I'm looking up at it now.”

“You getting any reaction?”

“I don't know if you'd call it a reaction, but I spent a couple minutes out there with it, and I kept feeling as if I was inside the Roundhouse.”

“Good. You've connected with him, George. He recognizes you.”

“How do you figure that?”

“That was where he saw you when he came through from the Maze.”

“Wonderful. I almost threw up.”