“He's dead," said Leif. "Cyrus Gowdy is dead."
Dunne felt light-headed as he thought about it. Was it possible he'd come all this way and gone through so much, only to find that his objective no longer existed?
Was the one person in the world who could make his dreams a reality already dead?
"That can't be." Quincy turned to Dunne. "Enrique Bocagrande said he talked to Gowdy in Willowtopia a month ago."
"When did Cyrus die?" said Dunne.
"A year ago," said Leif. "He died in a terrible fire...which is when the war started. Like I said, it was his fault."
"For dying," said Dunne.
Leif sighed and shook out his gleaming, golden hair. "If he was still alive, there wouldn't be a war. He was the one who always kept the balance between good and evil."
Dunne grimaced. He was having a hard time fitting the pieces together. "So, wait. You mean Cyrus was guiding the role-playing scenario?"
"He guided us," said Leif, "but there was no playing. He was the priest at Everyfaith Temple."
"Gowdy's a priest?" Quincy's eyes bugged, and his mouth fell open.
"Was a priest," said Leif.
Dunne was still confused. "What did you say your name was?"
"Leif Willow." Leif played with the starfish that dangled from his pukka shell choker. "And you're...?"
"Dunne Sullivan. This is Quincy Windsor." Dunne left out the part about the two of them being new Willow foster brothers. "Now what's your real name, Leif?"
"Real name?"
"Before you got here, bro," said Quincy. "Before you came to New Justice. What did they call you?"
Leif smirked. "Dummy."
"They called you Dummy?" said Quincy.
"You're the dummy," said Leif. "I've always been here."
Dunne rubbed his eyes hard. Leif sounded like he really believed he'd never been anywhere else...but that didn't make sense. Then again, that in itself fit with the rest of the picture. Nothing in New Justice seemed to make much sense.
Not yet, anyway.
"Look," said Leif. "We shouldn't be standing around out in the open like this. Weed's guardsmen will arrest us sooner or later." Leif revved his motorcycle. "Well, they'll arrest you, anyway. They'll try to arrest me."
"We need to rescue Kitty," said Dunne.
"I already told you, Kitty's been locked up for three months." Leif looked around nervously.
Dunne decided not to argue the point. "Our friend's also called Hannahlee...and Weed took her. We want her back."
Leif narrowed his eyes and directed a measured stare at Dunne. "I can try to pull together an operation, but it'll take time. There isn't much of a resistance left, you know."
"How much time?" said Dunne.
Leif shrugged. "Two, three hours. Hard to say."
"While you get that ready, the two of us can pay our respects to Gowdy." Smiling, Quincy clapped a hand on Dunne's shoulder. "You say he was head holy roller at the Everyfaith Temple?"
"Yes," said Leif. "But he's buried in Waystation Cemetery. Shouldn't you go there to pay respects?"
"We'd respect him more alive than dead," said Quincy. "We'll stick with the temple."
"Do you want to call us on our cell phone when you're ready?" said Dunne. "Assuming there's service out here."
"Cell phone?" Leif looked puzzled. "You mean like a jail cell?"
Dunne didn't try to fight the 1970s time warp act. "How about if you just meet us at the temple?"
"Okay," said Leif. "Like I said, it'll take some time. No one's attacked Jeremiah Weed's stronghold in ages."
"His stronghold?" said Quincy. "Where's that?"
Leif's expression darkened. "Posse Ranch," he said. "Former home of the Willows."
Then, without another word, Leif bent over the handlebars, revved the engine, and roared off on his motorcycle, leaving a trail of dust in the air.
Warpath Journal
Dateline: Las Cruces, New Mexico
As I check the dashboard clock again, the words of Amish Amos come back to me.
The hands of the clock are not afraid of you.
Meaning watching the clock won't make time run any faster...though I wish with all my heart it would. I wish I were closer to killing the Poison Oak imposters who got away from me.
Now that I'm totally sure of their wickedness, I can't get my hands on them fast enough. Even the three hours it should take me to reach them is three hours too long.
I hate to think it might take even longer, but it might. The truth is, I don't know the exact location of New Justice—only its direction and distance from Antelope. Just what was on the drawings the Oaks had.
At least I've got a fast ride to get me there. It's the third one I've stolen since Salt Basin, a Mazda—and third time's the charm. This baby's got plenty of horsepower...and a radar detector to keep my nose clean.
So life is good. And bound to get better soon.
As I drive, I play out scenarios in my mind: who I'll kill first, what I'll do to them, what happens after that. The only thing I've decided so far for sure is my pick for Number One on the dead Oak list.
That would be the Scaredy-Cat, the one who tricked me. Brother Dunne. As for what I'll do to him...
A rotten timber will bring the barn down on your head if you tax it.
That's what Amish Amos would say. He would counsel me to resist the urge to make the Oaks suffer. He would babble on and on about the immorality of torture and murder...and normally, I would agree with him.
But this time, I don't know. Time is running out, not just for the captive Willows, but for all America. I need fast, accurate answers, and that leaves no room for pussyfooting around.
Plus which, would it be fair to America and mankind not to put those Poison Oaks down permanently?
As wise as Amish Amos is, I can't let him skew my own wisdom. Or the sense of justice seeded in my heart by Father Law.
Or the outrage watered with the blood of my brother and sister Willows.
The white-hot afternoon sun blazes as I race toward it. Daydreams of justice and vengeance dim as the vision of the bloody church flares in the back of my mind. It hasn't stopped repeating since the diner in Alexandria, Louisiana...since Imposter Kitty asked me how she could know for sure I'm not a Poison Oak.
I wonder if I'm meant to see something in this vision. Is that why it won't go away anymore? Because there's something I've missed in this bloodbath, something vitally important to my mission?
Maybe it's meant to drive me harder to annihilate the Oaks. Maybe it's a vision of what will become of America if I don't destroy my enemies.
For that is how I know for sure I'm not a Poison Oak. Because I would never allow such a nightmare to happen. I would sacrifice anything to prevent it.
No matter what Amish Amos says.
I focus on the details of the vision, prying them apart for clues. I look harder at the familiar faces, their eyes and mouths lolling open in death.
Suddenly, I have an idea. If this vision reveals the future, who's to say it's a bad one? Who's to say the dead are innocents?
What if what I'm seeing are Poison Oak casualties? What if this is what awaits me at the end of my warpath?
What if this is what awaits me in New Justice, New Mexico?
I check the time on the dashboard clock. There is still too much of it left until I find my answers.