Chapter Thirteen
The screen on the TV set went dark and Watts stood up. Sand, are you going to finish it this night? he projected.
No. I’ll be away for a time. I must see if the path is clear. Warn the others that they will be pestered on their journey, but that no harm can come to them, as long as they do not step off the path.
Pestered?
You’ll see. Talk to you later, Al.
“Pestered?” Megan questioned, after Watts had briefed them all. “What does he mean?”
“I don’t know. I guess you people will find that out when you get there.”
She touched his arm. You and Mack haven’t changed your minds, Colonel?”
“No.” He smiled at her. “You better get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy, busy day.”
UP, UP, UP, PEOPLE! Fury woke them all at dawn. WE’VE GOT A LOT OF WORK TO DO. HUP TWO THREE FOUR. MARCH, MARCH, AROUND THE FLOOR. GET THAT BLOOD CIRCULATING.
“Do we get to eat breakfast before you start cracking the bullwhips?” Gordie asked.
THAT’S NOT A BAD IDEA, GUNFIGHTER. THIRTY LASHES MIGHT HELP STRAIGHTEN YOU RIGHT UP. OH, GO ON AND EAT. I WAS JUST HAVING SOME FUN.
“He’s gone,” Howie called. “Back to the mountain.”
“Major,” Gordie said. “Right after we eat, start planting the rest of those explosives that you can detonate electronically. We can have that much done. Lee, start soaking those piles of tires with kerosene. Al, you and Mack can start placing fire bombs around some of the older houses. The rest of us will be burning bodies.”
They worked until noon, with Fury popping up every now and then to inspect their work.
“You have any objections to us breaking for lunch?” Gordie asked.
NOT A BIT, BOY SCOUT. ARE YOU GETTING ANY CLOSER TO A DECISION?
“Yes, we are. We’ll vote this evening after work. Are you going to allow us a secret ballot, or will you be snooping around?”
UMM. OH, VERY WELL. WHEN YOU KNOCK OFF FROM WORK, I WILL LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR ONE HALF HOUR TO EXERCISE YOUR DEMOCRATIC PROCESS.
“We’re almost finished with this sector. We’ll probably work late this evening. If that’s all right with you.”
THAT’S JUST PEACHY WITH ME. SINCE YOU PEOPLE ARE GOING TO BE SPENDING HUNDREDS OF YEARS IN THIS PIGSTY – SERVING ME – I WANT IT AS CLEAN AS POSSIBLE.
“You shall certainly have everything wiped clean, Fury. I promise you a place befitting a being of your caliber.”
Sunny looked up at that and could not hide her smile.
GOOD. YOU’RE LEARNING YOUR PLACE WELL. SEE YOU LATER, ALLIGATOR. DO BOP DE DO BOP DE DO BOP, DE DO.
“Insufferable asshole,” Gordie muttered. “Let’s break for lunch, people.”
The government people had already begun packing up equipment and moving out, a few at a time. The preachers continued to rant and rave, the reporters continued to ask questions of anyone they could corner, and the police had been forced to close down any roads leading into the area for as far out as fifty miles. The area simply could not sustain any more people.
“Leave these temporary quarters, Larry,” Martin ordered. “Leave the portable toilets and anything else that might draw attention to our pulling out.”
“The bomber is fully fueled, and the crew is awaiting orders to arm the weapon, sir.”
“That’s up to the president, Larry. That is his decision and his alone.”
“Sir, do you believe President Marshall will really level with the people of the world about this matter?”
Martin sighed. Thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Larry. ”Like an attorney, he’ll try to be as honest as he can be.”
“That’s an ... interesting reply, sir.”
“Quite.”
President Marshall had canceled all appointments, clearing the day and night. At 2030 hours, the president knew his life would be forever changed, altered as surely as the valley where the neutron bomb would explode at near ground level.
He decided he would try to take a nap. There damn sure would be no sleep tonight.
“Megan,” Howie said. “I’ve been doing some computations, and I’m not at all sure I like what I’ve found.”
“Explain, Howie.” She sat down beside him.
“We know that Fury thrives on the souls of the just-departed. We know that it’s been doing that since the beginnings of time. What we don’t know is what forms it ingested in other worlds, and in earlier times here on earth.”
“I’m ... not sure I’m following you, Howie.”
“The neutron bomb will destroy the bulk of the energy mass. It will not destroy it completely. And we don’t know, none of us, in here and outside, not the smartest scientists in all the world, what changes these two clashes are going to produce. See what I’m getting at?”
“Are you talking about some metamorphosis; energy into . . . whatever?”
“Yes.”
“My God, Howie. I haven’t given that any thought.”
“Neither did I, not until this morning. But it’s frightening. The impact of two large energy masses – one an unknown factor – could spin off . . . ” He shrugged his shoulders. “Anything.”
“Are you suggesting,” Megan spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully, “that since the Fury is made up of once-living souls, or still-living souls, the clash might produce some form of life that could exist . . . once more. I mean, like us?”
“Yes. It’s possible, I think. And it would be quite a danger to us all.”
“Have you discussed this theory with anyone?”
“My CIA contact up north of here.”
“Your . . . CIA contact?”
“Yes. He’s quite a nice fellow. Major Jackson okayed the link for me.”
Megan left the computer room, shaking her head. The CIA never missed a bet.
The major and the others had returned from their work. Gordie walked over to him. “Everything go?”
“Ready to pop.”
Watts said, “Joey just spoke to me. He’s ready to wrap this up so we can store the final tapes. Gather around. But I warn you, it isn’t pretty. I know. I was there.”
OUT OF TIME
Captain Al Watts was at the state patrol barracks ten minutes after receiving the call. Some campers had heard the shot and had investigated, finding Alan Jeffery. They had hiked out and called the state police.
Sand and Morg had been spotted, each in their own vehicle, driving aimlessly in the mountains.
“They’re not driving aimlessly,” Watts said, a grim expression on his face. “They’re letting me have time to get ready. They’ll head for Thunder Mountain.”
“Why there, Captain?”
“Why not? They have nothing to lose now. Sand is telling us to come and get him. Goddamnit!” he cursed.
“Four college boys dead. Another with his privates cut off. God, what a bloody night.”
“How is the Marlson punk?” Watts asked.
“He’s going to live. But he doesn’t have any equipment left.”
“Good,” Watts said. “The son of a bitch won’t be able to sire any like him.”
“We got more troubles,” a trooper said, entering the room. “Carl Lee was spotted about one hour ago, getting gas. He had two German Lugers stuck in his belt. Then he was seen following two college boys pretty close. They looked scared. Carl looked grim.”
“Names of the boys?” Watts asked, quickly putting it all together.
“We think they’re Alexander and Center.”
“Get some people on it,” Watts ordered.
“Captain?” another trooper stuck his head into the room. “The hospital just called. Judge Wentworth and the D.A. were just admitted to the emergency room. Both men have been stomped and it was Carl Lee who did the stomping. I guess he’s getting back at them for all the times they refused to indict and prosecute those Monte Rio shits. And for the times they hassled Sand. The judge is in bad shape.”
“Goddamnit!” Watts hollered. “Where the hell is the sheriff?”
“The sheriff took off for Denver about two hours ago. His deputies have cleared out. They’re running scared, now that Sand has flipped out.”
“With good reason,” Watts said. “All the times they applied a double standard of law enforcement. All right, roll every man.” He walked to his office and got his rifle. “Are the roadblocks in place?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right, boys. Let’s stop Sand and Morg.”
“Shoot to kill, Captain?”
Watts gripped his .30-06. “Yes. I somehow always knew it would come to this; felt it would. Sand was a genius; Morg was a genuine national hero. Something ... somebody, has to take part of the blame for what has happened, and will happen. But, I suppose as badge-toters it isn’t our position to analyze or criticize the present mores of society, is it, Sergeant?”
The sergeant wasn’t really sure what Watts was talking about. “Ah ... I guess not, sir. Sir, you used the past tense talking about Sand and Morg.”
Watts sighed heavily. He looked as though he had aged ten years in one hour. “Yes, I did. Sand told me just a few hours ago that I would soon Know, Kill, and Create. Very well. I know that much of what has occurred and will occur is not altogether the fault of Sand, I suppose that I will be the one to kill Sand. But what am I creating?”
The sergeant didn’t know it at the time, but he was being very profound when he replied, “A legend, sir.”
Sand took Morg back to his customized hearse, and they both headed for Thunder Mountain. Both now knew why that had to be. They took high risks when they discovered the roads were blocked off to traffic and that they were in no danger of killing some innocent. They laughed grimly at the gods of fate and chance. They took mountain curves at speeds no other hot-rodder had ever done – and lived to tell about it.
Morg pulled up alongside Sand and yelled over the rush of wind and roar of engines, “I’m goin‘ out first, Sand. See you, pal!”
Sand laughed with the now constant Force and lifted one gloved hand in a final salute.
Watts and his troopers intercepted the hot-rodders at a roadblock just inside Blue Smoke Valley. The hot-rodders went through the blockade at eighty miles per hour, sending troopers scattering for cover as the wooden sawhorses were splintered and tossed high into the air.
“Fire!” Watts yelled. The rifle slammed his shoulder and bucked in his hands.
The night rocked with muzzle blasts.
“I’m hit!” Morg yelled, losing control of his hearse. He went over the high side, shouting as he went down. Not a cry of fear, but a shout of defiance, directed at a world that does not care nor attempt to understand the nonconformist; to a society that decorates genuine heroes and then refuses to associate with them; to a society that would prefer a nation of clones, patterned after a very narrow concept of right and wrong, dress codes, social behavior, and arrogance.
The polished hearse sailed through the air, headlights blazing, spinning in crazy space as Morg held on, laughing as he experienced his last ride. The tank exploded on contact with the rocky canyon floor, and Morg got his wish: he met Jane.
Sand had slowed, spun around, and stopped, watching as his friend met what he had been born to meet. He got out of his car and watched the flames far below him. He could not see Watts raise his rifle.
“Are you ready?” The Force asked.
A line from Kipling came to Sand. “God help us,” he spoke to the night. “For we knew the worst too young.”
“Yes,” the Force agreed. “But you also knew the best, and were able to see the middle ground and the flaws in what your world calls justice. And that is an accomplishment that few are able to achieve.”
“Didn’t help me much, did it?”
“Your contribution is still years away. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.”
Watts shot him twice, in the stomach and in the shoulder, knocking him down on the road. Sand staggered to his boots and reached his Mercury. He dropped it into gear and roared out, tires smoking. He floored the gas pedal, tearing through the night, heading for Thunder Mountain, climbing upward. The pain from his wounds sent brilliantly flashing lights through his head.
So this is how it feels to die.
He didn’t care. Up the lower slopes of the mountain, faster and faster and higher and higher. He weaved from side to side in the gravel road.
“Do it!” the Force commanded.
Sand spun the wheel to the left and went over the side. The Mercury impacted with earth and sent him flying through the windshield. He landed on his chest and belly, one leg bent under him. He heard ribs crack and a leg pop as he hit the rocky ground. Sand lost consciousness for a few moments.
When the blackness lifted, he lay still for a moment, disoriented in his pain. His nose and mouth were smashed and bloody. He ran his tongue over broken stubs of teeth. He was so confused that for a moment he thought that he was on his honeymoon with Robin, in Key West. He called for her. Something began shimmering far above him; but only silence answered his summons. He could hear sirens below him.
Reality stuck him hard with hot agony. Fighting the pain, Sand began climbing and crawling toward the shimmering lights far up the mountain. He used the powerful muscles in his arms to pull himself upward.
After several minutes of painful climbing, he stopped and looked down the mountain. Men and lights moved below him. Death circled below him, death circled above him. The shimmering shapes were closer. Sand shivered, as if the icy finger of the reaper had lightly touched him.
“How prosaic,” the Force whispered. “Come along, young man,” it urged. “You still have some distance to go.”
He dragged himself upward, higher and higher, mangling and bloodying his hands on sharp rocks. The pain in his chest became almost unbearable. He crawled on. He was almost to the shimmering, misty lights.
Then his strength failed him. He could go no further. For the first time in his life, the young man gave up.
“Oh, the hell with it,” Sand muttered, blood from his lips staining the ground. He pressed his face against the coolness of mother earth. “What’s the use?” he questioned the night. He laughed, a grotesque, blood-spraying vocalizing of dark humor. “You can tell everybody you were right, Dad. You said I’d never amount to a hill of beans.”
“Your father was wrong,” the Force told him. “Your father judged everything from a materalistic point of view. He was, and always will be, afraid to challenge the system. He is a narrow-minded, bigoted, cowardly little man. He is everything you were not. You know the value of beings, including God’s lesser creatures. Someone had to do you harm before you would think ill. You did not expect more from an animal than you did from humankind. Every good and bad point is recorded.”
Sand raised his head as all pain suddenly left his broken body. His world was very clear and bright. The lights of towns widely separated shone below him. “You couldn’t break me,” he spoke to society. “You never made me beg. And you couldn’t make me conform.”
“Was it worth it?” the Force asked.
“You bet your ass, it was.”
The Force laughed.
A few hundred yards below Sand, Watts and Mack stopped as the sounds of the laughter reached them.
“What the hell is that?” Mack asked.
“I’m not even sure I want to know,” Watts replied. “Come on. He might be still alive.”
“What if he is, Al? What are you going to say to him?”
“I’m going to apologize.”
The laughter of the Force faded into a chuckle. “Rebel to the end, right, Sand?”
“You got it.”
“Very well. Lift your eyes upward.”
Sand turned his head and looked. Robin was standing a few yards away. He smiled at her. “I love you, Robin,” he spoke to the shimmering image before him.
She was so beautiful, so fresh-looking and lovely. She was peaceful, dressed in a garment of sparkling, misty colors. She seemed to be... he struggled for the word. Fluorescent. She returned his smile.
And she held their son. But the boy had grown, as if time had somehow hung suspended for Sand, and flown for them. The child laughed and waved at his father.
Joey was there, holding hands with Tuddie. Morg and Jane stood beside them. None of them appeared to be touching the ground; but instead seemed to drift slowly about, smoothly and effortlessly. Their movements fascinated Sand. He reached out to touch Robin.
She laughed and moved away. “Oh, no, Sand. Not yet. It is not yet permitted.” The child laughed with its mother. Robin’s voice was deeper than Sand remembered. Hollow, almost spiritual in tone. She seemed to be speaking from a great distance. “You have to make up your mind to join us, Sand. We’ve waited for such a long time. Finally, we got permission to come down to join you.” She held out a small hand. “Come on, now, honey. It’s time. You’ve run out of time, as you know it.”
“Wait for me, Robin,” he gasped. “Wait for me.”
Morg said, “It ain’t half-bad once you get used to it, man. It ain’t that real good place; but it ain’t that bad place either. You gonna have some talkin’ to do, but you can do it. Come on, Sand. We got a lot of catchin’ up to do.”
“You’ve waited so long?” Sand whispered. “I don’t understand.”
“You will, my old friend,” Joey said. “Come on over, Sand. You made your point. We all did. It’s done.”
“Not yet,” Sand muttered.
Tuddie smiled at him, her blonde hair all sparkles and multicolored hues. “You never were one to give up, Sand. But it’s over where that small part of you still lives.” She pointed. “There is the door, and there is the path. Take the door, and follow the path.”
Sand looked at Jane. The beatnik girl said, “There is no need to fear death, Sand. For the word is a contradiction. You’ll soon see that.”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Sand managed to say. He could hear the footsteps coming up the mountain. And he knew it would be Al Watts. “Just give me a minute.”
“He’s talking to someone, Al,” Mack said. “Jesus God, who is he talking to?”
But Watts chose not to reply to that.
“Just one more minute,” Sand pleaded.
“Your time stopped hours ago,” the Force whispered.
Sand looked into the distance and could see the lights of Willowdale and of Monte Rio. Painfully, he turned his face toward the twin cups of light shining through the night. Just before infinity took him winging into the unknown that humans fear and animals accept as a part of living, just before Sand joined his wife and son and friends, slipping through that misty curtain to stand on the shores of the dark river, the young man tried very hard to speak just two more words to the lights below him. The profanity would not form on his bloody lips.
He was at peace with all things.
He smiled, curving bloody lips. He thought: if You are doing this, would You just cool it for a minute, please?
“He is not,” the Force told him. “But I will give you the necessary seconds for your final salute to the world that birthed you and killed you.”
“Thanks,” Sand said to the voice that only he could hear.
“I think,” the Force added, “that you are going to turn into the proverbial pain in the butt.”
“Probably,” Sand agreed. Just as his mouth filled with blood, his lungs, punctured and torn, collapsed, just seconds before his heart stopped, Sand clenched his right hand into a bloody fist and extended his middle finger to the lights below.
“Fuck you,” he said. His final hail and farewell to a world that had birthed him one too many times.
He looked up and saw Watts and Mack standing over him. He spoke to them, and hoped they understood.
The sighing winds on Thunder Mountain became a shrieking cry; the mist became a shroud for Sand. The clouds moved in, covering him. His legs trembled and jerked, the coldness now moving swiftly, touching each part of him, finally stilling the heart.
His last conscious thought as the electricity left him was: I just wanted to be me. I just . . .
Sand’s physical body died on the mountain, his field of force that would never die moved from him to join his friends. The clouds swept away, presenting a velvet sky pocked with diamond stars – luminaries that seemed to play a silent symphony over the mountains and valleys. A dirge for the fearful, timid beings who are content with the ordinary and do not care what might lie beyond the next mountain. But it was a cantata of rebirth for those few, who are ever fewer in number.
The hall clock in the empty house began ticking, its mainspring repairing as time directed.
Julie von Mehren had awakened when a strange force began humming, circling her bed. She rose, to stand by her window, watching the sky over the mountains.
“So he’s dead,” the old lady muttered. “I’m sorry, Sand. I’m sorry.”
Captain Watts and Mack stood over the broken, bloody body. Both of them heard the words he whispered; neither of them, then, knew what he meant.
Watts shook his head and smiled through his tears. Sand’s right arm was raised, propped against a rock, the middle finger still erect.
To Know, To Kill, To Create.
“What a waste,” Watts spoke to the night. He knelt down, opening the fist, erasing the obscene gesture. “You made your point, Sand. And, by God, I agree with you.”
Watts stood up just as something almost tangible moved in front of him. He would swear for years that whatever it was, was laughing. A victorious laugh, as if even in death, Sand had won.
The thunder began to roll.
“Captain?” the voice came from behind him.
Watts turned. “Yes, Gleeson?”
“Carl Lee killed two college boys about an hour ago. He just turned himself in.”