Under the Beetle's Cellar (16 page)

“Then he heard footsteps. He saw this old Tong woman coming toward his cage. She was really old, with a wrinkled face.

“She came to his cage and smiled at him. Most of the Tongs have these long pointed teeth, so when they smile it’s scarier than when they don’t. But this woman’s teeth were only a little pointed and they were very white and clean. The wrinkles around her eyes were friendly.

“But Jacksonville was nervous. The old woman looked friendly, but
he’d learned to be careful. She held her hand out to the bars and made a gentle sort of clucking noise like she wanted him to come to her. But he didn’t, because he was afraid. After all, she was a Barbecue Tong. And we know what they’re like.”

Walter paused to drink some water. He noticed Sandra was actually looking at him. He had suspected she followed the story and just pretended to be reading her book. After all, how many times could you reread
Stuart Little?

He went on: “The woman reached her hand into the pocket of her baggy white shorts, which was what all female Tongs wear, and she pulled something out. It was shiny, like metal. Then she did something that amazed Jacksonville. She stuck her hand right into the cage, between the bars. She didn’t seem afraid that he would hurt her or anything. If he had wanted to, he could have leaned forward and ripped a finger off with his beak, but she didn’t seem worried about that. She dropped the shiny thing she’d taken out of her pocket onto the cage floor. She gave it a little shove toward him and pulled her hand out. Then she looked around again to see if they were still alone.”

“I bet it’s a gun,” Bucky said, not removing his thumb from his mouth.

“No,” Walter said, “actually it’s not.”

“A knife,” Hector said.

“Nope. Not a knife either.”

“Let him tell it,” Lucy whined. “You’re not supposed to interrupt. Go on, Mr. Demming.”

“I know!” Hector shouted. “A what-do-you-call-it. Galaxy Peace Ray!”

“No,” said Walter, “but wouldn’t that be nice, so you could shoot the whole village into peacefulness.”

“Not really,” Hector said, “I’d rather shoot the bastards with an Uzi or a twelve-gauge shotgun.” He laughed.

“Hector,” Lucy said, “you can’t talk like that. It’s rude.”

“Why are you such a goody-goody, Lucy? What do you think the thing is?” Hector challenged.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “A magic charm or something.”

“No,” Walter said, “it’s not a magic charm. And I bet you’re not any of you going to guess what it is. Keep trying.”

“A fish,” Heather called out.

“Dummy,” Conrad said, “it’s metal.”

“No, it was
like
metal, silvery-colored,” she shouted back. “Dummy yourself, Conrad.”

“A hand grenade?” Conrad said.

“Nope.”

“A pair of scissors,” Josh said.

“Nope.”

“I know! I know!” Kim yelled. “A file, like they use for jail breaks.”

“Oh, Kim, that’s close,” Walter said. “You’re getting warm.”

“A file?” Heather said. “What’s that?”

“Come on, Mr. Demming,” Lucy urged. “Tell the story.”

“Okay. Well, Jacksonville was curious, too, about what the silvery thing was, but he couldn’t look right away. He was still scared of the old Tong woman. He had to keep his eye on her. She smiled again and—”

He stopped because the lightbulb started to sway on its cord. As it swayed it flickered off and on. All eyes darted to the door. In the pit, black boots appeared, long legs, and with a thud, the whole man. He burst through the bus door, with more energy than Walter had ever seen. He was wired. His body seemed to vibrate with it. His yellow hair looked electric. “Three more days, little Lambs of God!” He carried no Bible today, but a newspaper. He held it aloft. “Lookee here. The first newspaper we’ve seen at Jezreel in forty-seven days. We got this from them negotiators out there as part of a trade we are working out. We’re going to let your bus driver here talk on the phone tomorrow. The trade is we get to share a little of our message with the world—you’d think they’d beg for that, wouldn’t you? But no, they’re scared to hear it.”

Walter stood up. He wanted to hear the ground rules for the phone conversation. This time maybe he could do something to improve their situation.

“Sit down, Mr. Bus Driver,” Samuel Mordecai commanded. “Later. Later, with all your fussing. I’m giving the lesson now.”

Walter sat.

Josh began to wheeze, a series of high, desperate gasps. All the kids looked in his direction.

Samuel Mordecai narrowed his eyes as the wheezing alternated with coughing. “Get it under control, sonny boy. We haven’t any time for this. I thought we’d do our lesson today out of the newspaper because, Lambs, it’s all right here in the news. The signs are all present in this one edition. Look at this: war in Bosnia, war in Haiti, war in Kuwait, war in Rwanda, earthquakes in China and California, AIDS in Mexico and Africa, the European Community, a global economy controlled by computer, the Trilateral Commission, strange sightings in the heavens, debit cards, electronic transfers, movements of troops in the Middle East. Oh, Lambs, nothing is missing, nothing but us. And we will be ready in three days.”

Josh let out a series of choking coughs. Mordecai talked over them.
“ 
‘And ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars. For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places.’
Matthew 24:6–7. It’s all here. Lambs, this prophecy for what the world will be like at the end times could be the little summary of the news they do on this very front page. It’s all happening, just like it was prophesied. It’s all accomplished, just waiting for us to play our parts. Rejoice. We are the chosen human agents to—”

Josh let out some deep, desperate gasps for air.

Walter got up and went to him. Samuel Mordecai gestured for him to sit down, but he pretended not to see it. He bent down over the boy. “Water, Josh?”

“No—can’t—” Josh bent forward abruptly and put his hands on his knees. He threw his head back and gulped for air.

Walter picked the inhaler up from the seat. He held it up to Josh’s mouth. “Use your inhaler, honey. It helps.”

Josh took it and squeezed. Walter had grown to love the
poof
sound it made because he associated it with relief. Josh handed it back to Walter and began to draw some ragged breaths.

Samuel Mordecai took a few steps down the aisle to look closer at Josh. With each step he took, Josh wheezed louder. After a few seconds Mordecai backed up and said, “We’ll do the lesson later. Give sonny here a chance to get himself together.”

Brandon Betts stood up. “Wait, Prophet Mordecai!” He ran to the front of the bus and grabbed Mordecai’s hand. “I want to come with you. I don’t belong with them. I believe you, and they don’t. They aren’t listening like I am.”

“I believe you, too.” Sue Ellen stood up.

“Now, now,” Mordecai said, slapping the rolled-up paper against his leg in a nervous flurry. “We’ll all be together in the millennium. But you need to stay here until Friday at sundown. Then you’ll have your fifty days. Fifty days for the earth to purify you.” He swept his hand toward the black windows. “See the earth all around you. It is rebirthing you. Can’t you feel it happening? It makes you worthy to be Lambs of God. You have to stay here. That’s where our name comes from. Hearth Jezreelites. See hearth is earth with an H, which stands for heaven, heaven in earth. And Jezreelites because Jesus trod the valley of Jezreel and I am His, His son, His prophet, His descendant.”

He disengaged Brandon’s hand from his arm. “You’ll come with me on Friday.” He pulled the X-acto knife out of his hip pocket and leaned over to the window. With a flick of the wrist, he scraped off a Band-Aid. There were three left now.

Josh’s breathing had quieted, but Lucy and Bucky had begun to sob. Brandon was pleading and praying. Samuel Mordecai backed out the door. “Tend to this, Mr. Bus Driver.”

Seeing him leaving, Walter was stabbed with panic. With Josh’s inhaler in his hand, he bolted up the aisle. “Wait! Mordecai. You see how Josh is. This is nothing. He gets much worse attacks at night. We just need some more of his medication, an albuterol inhaler, like this one.” He thrust it up in front of Mordecai’s face. “And maybe a steroid one for emergencies. That’s all. When I talk to the negotiators, I want to ask them. I know they’ll want to send one in, leave one at the gate maybe. If
I
ask for it, it won’t be like you’ll have to give up anything for it. Please let me. When can I talk to them?”

Samuel Mordecai turned around and pushed his wild curls back off his forehead. “There will be no asking for anything, Mr. Bus Driver, but here’s something—the Lambs can send messages to their parents—one sentence per Lamb. Tomorrow. We’ll come get you.”

“Can I send a message, too?”

Mordecai laughed. “You’ll have a minute. If you can fit it in, send a message.” He turned, but Walter grabbed his arm and held up the inhaler to show him again. He opened his mouth to make another plea, too, but Samuel Mordecai reached out and took the inhaler from him. Then he stepped out the door and pulled himself up and out—quickly—a fast escape.

Walter stood stunned. He had taken the inhaler. Did that mean he was going to get it refilled? Or was he confiscating it? The one thing that actually seemed to give relief?

Walter turned back to face the chaos of the bus: Several kids were crying; Brandon and Hector were screaming at one another. Josh was gasping. Bucky was curled up into a ball, his hands pressed over his ears.

Walter stood at the front of the bus, trying to regulate his breathing. He didn’t know where to start, what to do, how to calm all this down. It was chaos, total breakdown. Then Hector gave Brandon a shove that sent him reeling against one of the seats. Brandon started to scream.

“Hector, please come here,” Walter barked.

Hector gave Brandon’s arm a final twist and stalked up the aisle. “What?” he said, looking up into Walter’s face.

“This. If Brandon believes what Mordecai is saying, that’s his right. Religious freedom.”

“He’s like a …” He searched for the word.
“Traitor.”

“No. We’re all under lots of pressure. Don’t give Brandon a hard time. He’s doing what he feels he has to do.”

Hector lowered his voice. “I’m afraid he’ll tell about our emergency
plan, our rehearsals. We can’t let Brandon or Sue Ellen tell him about it. Don’t that worry you, man?”

“Yes. It worries me a lot. But I think Brandon’s really torn apart. He’s afraid Mordecai might be right.”

“Mordecai’s a bag of hot air. Here’s what I want to do.” Hector put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a red Swiss Army knife. He held it close to his chest, his back to the rest of the bus, so only Walter could see it. He opened the largest blade and whispered, “I’m sick of this shit. Why don’t I stick him. Before he kills us, man. That’s what he’s going to do, ain’t it?”

“Shhh.” Walter put a finger to his mouth. “Don’t scare the other kids. I don’t know.” He looked at the knife with keen interest. He took it from Hector and examined the blade. He ran his thumb against the cutting edge and moved the blade back and forth to see how strong it was. Then he closed it carefully and slipped it into his own pocket.

“Hey, man,” Hector hissed. “It’s mine. It’s all I got.”

“I know. But, Hector, I need to have it for the emergency plan. I’ve used a knife before, when I was in the army. I’ve used it against men. It’s best for me to have it. If there’s any stabbing to do, I will do it. How did you manage to hold on to it through the search?”

Hector leaned over to study the three Band-Aids. “In my Jockeys, man, and it hurt like hell.” He touched one of the Band-Aids. “Three more days. Why haven’t they tried to rescue us? When you talked to that FBI guy the second day he said he’d get us out, right?”

Walter nodded.

Hector’s huge black eyes filled with tears. “Well, why don’t they, man? Don’t they know he’s gonna kill us?”

It was a subject Walter had thought about endlessly. Now he squatted down, and motioned for Hector to do the same so they could talk in some privacy. Walter told the boy, “He also said our safety was the most important thing. I think they want to come rescue us, but they don’t know where we are. Remember when we drove here, how big the property is, and there are lots of different buildings. I think for a rescue they need to know where we are. And from all I can figure, I suppose Mordecai threatened to kill us if they come in.”

He studied the boy. At twelve, Hector Ramirez was the most mature of the boys, and the savviest. The oldest of a family of seven, he’d had responsibilities beyond his years. His voice was already deepening and a wispy growth darkened his upper lip. Walter had found him to be quick-witted and dependable. It was probably inexcusable to burden a child with this, but he needed someone to talk to and Hector seemed like a good bet, a sturdy kid. “They probably worry that if they attack, we’ll get
hit in the cross fire. Or that it would take so long to find us after an attack starts that—”

Hector finished it for him: “That that scumbag will kill us.”

Walter nodded. “I’m trying to think of a way to let them know where we are.”

“When you talk to them tomorrow?”

“Uh-huh. Maybe try to give them some message that the Hearth Jezreelite guys wouldn’t know was a message, but was.”

Hector’s dark eyes gleamed. “Like some secret code or something.”

“Yeah, exactly. I’m working on some ideas. Hector, are you willing to let me use your message to your parents as a way to send a message?”

Hector thought for a minute. “Sure thing, man. How would you do it?”

“I’m not sure. But what would your parents do if they got a message from you that made no sense to them?”

Hector grinned. “My dad is not … well, not fast to see things that are new. But my mom, she’s something else. She’d know right away what we were trying to do.”

“Okay,” Walter said. “But what I want to do now is get ready for what’s going to happen. I need you to help. I want to practice our drills so that when it comes, we can all do our parts really fast.”