The Klaatu Terminus (13 page)

The deputy puffed out his cheeks, then let out the air with a soft
phtt
. “Understand you had a little accident a few days back.”

Kosh had gone to high school with Jeff Wahlberg, but they’d never really been friends. He chose his words carefully. “Well, my bike got sort of bunged up. Totaled, actually.”

Wahlberg looked at the Triumph. “New bike?”

“Refurbished.”

“How many you got now?”

“Just a few. Mostly in pieces.”

“I heard you had your nephew living with you.”

“I did, but he’s gone. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“Nope. You the only one here now?”

Kosh considered how he might answer that. If he said yes, would the deputy leave? Probably not. He decided to counter with a question of his own.

“Can I ask you what you’re doing here? Kind of out of your jurisdiction.”

Wahlberg shrugged and held up his palms. “Seems there’s a missing woman. Thought you might know her whereabouts.”

“You think I kidnapped somebody?”

“Nah, don’t figure you for a kidnapper. But if you run off with a fellow’s wife,
that
I wouldn’t put past you.”

“And what if
she
ran off with
me
?”

Wahlberg shrugged. “Is that what happened?”

Kosh said, “Is there something I should know? Outstanding charges? Am I in trouble?”

“You tell me. We found the husband tied to a tree in front of your old house. He says you assaulted him.” He looked pointedly at the scabs on Kosh’s knuckles. “Can’t say I’d blame you. The guy’s a piece of work. One a them Lambs.”

“He rammed me with his truck and wrecked my bike. Nearly killed me.”

“I figured something like that. He says you stole his SUV, too.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Kosh said, hoping Wahlberg wouldn’t look behind the barn. “You here to arrest me?”

Wahlberg laughed. “You see a SWAT team? Nah, the guy declined to press charges on the assault. I figure he’s got something to hide. I’m just here to find the woman, make sure she’s safe.”

“She’s safe,” Kosh said.

“Mind if I talk to her?”

Kosh couldn’t see any way around it. He looked up at the third-floor window. Emma was standing there, watching. He waved for her to come down. A minute later, Emma emerged from the barn, walking as if she were headed for her own execution. She stopped several steps away from them.

Wahlberg smiled. “Are you Emma?”

Emma nodded.

“Your husband is worried about you.”

“I have no husband,” Emma said.

“That a fact? Pretty quick divorce.”

“Our marriage was not legal. Not here.”

“Oh.” Wahlberg shifted from foot to foot. “Well, either way, I guess you got a right to leave him. I just stopped by to make sure you weren’t being held prisoner against your will. This guy treating you okay?” He looked at Kosh.

“He is very kind,” Emma said. “I am here of my own free will.”

As soon as the deputy’s car headed off down the driveway, Emma started to shake. Kosh put his arms around her and held her until the police car was out of sight.

“I was afraid he would take me back,” she said.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Kosh said.

She stepped from his embrace. “So you say. I am not so sure. To my people, leaving one’s husband is a sin against God.”

“You’re not with your people now.”

“That is a sin as well. I am destined for
infierno
.”

“What is that?”

“You call it hell.”

Kosh removed the sensor from the motion-detector light above the barn door. He attached it to the mailbox at the entrance to his long driveway, then strung several extension cords from the mailbox to the barn. He found an old clock radio on his junk shelf and plugged it in to see if it worked.

Emma appeared in the doorway and stood watching him with a puzzled expression.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Hacking together an alarm system. We get any visitors, I want a heads-up.”

He tuned the radio to a moldy-oldies station out of Whitehall.

“The Lambs believe digital devices are evil,” she said, watching the numbers flickering on the display.

“Can’t say I blame them.” He finally found the station. They were playing an old Aerosmith tune. “You like music?”

“Is that what that is?”

“Not a classic-rock fan, huh?” He unplugged the radio from the wall and plugged it into the extension cord that led to the sensor on the mailbox.

“I’m going out to trip that sensor. Will you let me know if the radio comes on?”

“How will I know it’s on?”

“Sound will come out of it. If it comes on, wave to me.”

Kosh hopped on his Triumph, drove to the end of the driveway, and stopped at the mailbox. He looked back at the barn. Emma was waving to him from the doorway. He drove back.

“The digital device is making noise. A man is shouting
‘la vida loca’
over and over.”

“Must be nineties week,” Kosh said.

The music stopped.

“Good. I got it set so it only comes on for thirty seconds. Now if anybody comes in the driveway, I’ll be ready for them. I got a feeling when Jeff Wahlberg tells your ex you’re okay, he might just let slip where you went to.”

“You think Tamm will come here?”

“Yeah, I do. To get his truck back, if nothing else.”

K
OSH WAS NAPPING ON THE BEAT-UP SOFA IN HIS SHOP
the next day when an old Duran Duran song, “Hungry Like a Wolf,” invaded his dreams. He had never liked that song. Why was the wolf hungry? It made no sense.

He opened his eyes and sat up. The radio! He jumped up and ran to the open doorway. An SUV was coming up the driveway fast, raising a cloud of dust. Standing at the head of the driveway, Emma was holding the
arma
in her hands.

“Emma!” Kosh shouted. She ignored him.

The SUV skidded to a stop. Emma raised the weapon and fired. Shards of hot metal exploded in every direction. The front of the truck leaped into the air liked a rearing horse. The truck thumped back down. Kosh could see the glowing, molten remains of the engine — the grille and bumper were gone. Both front tires were in flames.

Kosh ran to Emma and tried to take the
arma
from her hands, but she would not let go. Her face was as bloodless as stone, jaw rigid, lips a tight line. Kosh released his hold on the weapon and took a step back.

The passenger door of the SUV opened and a man jumped out. Tamm. A second man tumbled out of the truck headfirst. Kosh recognized him as one of the men at the park. Tamm grabbed the man under the arms and dragged him away from the burning truck.

Emma pointed the weapon at them.

“Emma, don’t!” Kosh pushed the tube down so that it pointed at the ground. “It’s not worth it.”

Her jaw loosened. “They will keep coming,” she said, a slight quaver entering her voice.

“I’ll talk to them,” he said. He walked toward the two men. Tamm was standing unsteadily, stunned and bewildered, watching the truck burn. The other man was on the ground, holding his leg, his face a mask of agony. His right knee had a brace on it.

Tamm saw Kosh coming toward him and put his hand to the stun baton at his waist.

“You’re in no shape to fight me, son,” said Kosh. “With or without your stun stick.” He hoped it was true — his rib cage was still fragile, and the stun baton would give Tamm an advantage. “You maybe figured this out all on your lonesome, but you’re not welcome here.” Kosh stopped with about twenty feet between them. He knew from experience that confidence and bluster won more fights than fists.

“I came for my wife,” Tamm said, looking past Kosh at Emma.

“Consider yourself divorced.”

“Lambs do not divorce.”

“You had best make an exception. Unless you want me to kick your butt from here to
infierno
. You hear me?”

Tamm glared at him.

“And if I don’t”— Kosh jerked his head toward Emma —“she will.”

Tamm looked at Emma, who was pointing the
arma
at him. Tamm then looked at Kosh, and at the truck. The upholstery had ignited; the interior of the vehicle was a mass of flames.

“I recommend you drag your buddy a little farther away,” Kosh said. “That gas tank might go any second.”

Tamm did as Kosh suggested. Moments later, the back end of the truck exploded with a soft
whoosh
. A pillar of black smoke rose to the sky.

“Now you should maybe think about leaving,” Kosh said.

“How? Koan cannot walk.”

“Your other truck is behind the barn. I’ve been saving it for you.”

Kosh was not happy about the pile of slag the burning SUV would leave in his driveway, but he felt good about the way things had gone. Tamm and his friends would think twice before returning. Or so he hoped.

“He won’t be back,” he told Emma, trying to sound confident.

Emma nodded, but he could see she didn’t believe him.

The following morning, the first hard frost arrived. Kosh went to work on his neglected garden, harvesting several buttercup squash and some of the kale. He pulled up the spent tomato plants and threw them on the compost pile, then turned the soil to make it ready for next spring. He was digging up onions when he felt a sharp, violent tug on his left arm.

Almost simultaneously, he heard a sharp
crack
. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what had happened. He looked at his arm. A blotch of bright red had appeared on his shirt sleeve. Confused, he raised his head and saw movement behind the old woodshed, fifty yards away. His right leg collapsed, followed instantly by another
crack
. By the time he hit the ground, he knew he’d been shot.

A man wearing a camouflage jacket stepped out from behind the woodshed, holding a rifle. The man came slowly toward him, dragging one leg.
Koan
. A second man came into view. The priest known as Gheen. Knowing it was hopeless, Kosh tried to drag himself back to the barn. The men smiled grimly at his feeble effort and kept coming.

Funny thing — it didn’t even hurt.
I must be in shock
, Kosh thought. He kept moving, leaving a streak of blood on the frosted grass. He didn’t stop until the two men were standing over him. They were talking, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. Seconds later, he heard another voice. He looked toward the barn. Tamm was coming out, holding a baton in one hand and Emma’s wrist with the other. Tamm gave Kosh a contemptuous look and walked past him, pulling Emma along.

Am I dreaming?
Kosh wondered. It felt like a dream, but he knew it wasn’t. Still, it was more as if he were watching things happen from a distance. He wondered how much blood he had lost, and why the sky had become so distant and blue, and how long it would take him to die.

He did not have to wonder long. Gheen said something to Koan, who pointed the rifle at Kosh’s chest and pulled the trigger.

H
OPEWELL
, A
UGUST, 1997 CE

B
ISCUITS, BLUEBERRY PIE, CORN CHOWDER, SWEET
tomato sauce, zucchini cake, shell bean fritters, creamed potatoes, raspberry scones, fresh cucumber pickles — Emily showed him how to make them all. Kosh, in turn, showed Emily how to butterfly a chicken, make sourdough pancakes, and stir up a delicate herb omelet. Every Sunday afternoon they would cook together for Hamm and Greta. It became a ritual, the centerpiece of Kosh’s week.

Kosh had been cooking since he was a kid, teaching himself from cookbooks inherited from the mother he had never met. He had cooked for Adrian, for himself, and at Red’s Roost. But this was different. Cooking with Emily Ryan was a labor of love.

During the week, Kosh would experiment at home, trying new recipes and techniques to share with Emily. One of his more ambitious efforts was chocolate soufflé. One week he made six attempts, progressing from muddy sludge to light and heavenly deliciousness. He tried to duplicate his success the next Sunday, but a slamming oven door reduced his soufflé to a puddle of chocolate. He served it anyway, covering the collapsed soufflé with large dollops of fresh whipped cream. Greta said it was the best pudding she had ever eaten.