Scarecrow Gods (41 page)

Bergen groaned and wished for the thousandth time that he had the remote control. He could be watching a movie right now or some cartoons. Even the news. Anything but this crap they called talk television. The mind-numbing babble was driving him insane and there was no way for him to change it.

As the next commercial came on with three singing Labrador Retrievers lamenting gravyless dinners, Bergen felt the painkillers begin to take effect. He needed them. His surgery had been successful, but the space where his spleen had been still ached with a depth of pain he hadn’t known existed. It came from far away, sharp and sickening, promising an abyss of agony behind it. The painkillers numbed it for a time and the pretty nurses seemed willing to give him more. He’d just had a double dose and watched helplessly as the television show returned, the purple-haired girl being held down by three large men in black T-shirts.

Poor girl
, he thought as his eyes drifted shut.

He awoke sometime later, his mouth a vast and waterless desert. With trembling fingers he sought the cup from the stand next to his bed and drew the straw into his mouth. It required most of his energy and all of his concentration to drink the tepid water. When he finished, he let the cup slide to the floor.

The television was still on. Another talk show. Just your average bunch of pregnant midgets, it seemed. Before he could figure it out, however, his eyes shut again as three short people in yellow bikinis with pregnant protruding bellies strutted the length of the stage like albino Oompah Loompahs in a fashion show.

He awoke to the ministrations of a nurse who was doing something to him down by his pecker. He was still numb, so he couldn’t be sure what it was. Her back was to him as she worked carefully with something. There was a time when he’d wondered if his legs existed at all, if his pecker had perhaps gone missing. Something about a spinal block, they’d said. When they’d left him alone, he’d levered himself up just to make sure. He was happy to see his legs and even happier to see his manhood, laying damp and sick against his leg, tape and a tube protruding from the end.

His first thought had been to rename it
Robo-Pecker
. When they’d explained what a catheter was, however, the idea seemed less interesting so he tried to forget about it, enjoying the idea of peeing whenever and wherever he was. Like when the comedy show with the big fat woman with an attitude came on, he’d peed as he watched, his own private sign of disgust.

The nurse finished and turned. She smiled when she noticed he was awake, but he averted his gaze. On the television behind her was a giant spider attacking a house. She didn’t seem to mind, however, so Bergen didn’t either. She mumbled something unintelligible and reached behind him.

Again the darkness.

The lights were dim in the hall when he awoke. The television was still on, the flickering screen the only light in the room. His mother slumped in the chair beside him, snoring softly.

The pain was returning. His bladder was full as well. He looked away from his mother as he peed, inspecting the dark corners of the room. He knew it was somewhere past midnight. The hospital was very still and very silent. He could use some more pain killers but didn’t want to wake his mother.

He tried to make himself comfortable. He noticed they’d refreshed his water. He reached for the plastic glass, careful not to drop it like last time. As he sipped, he turned his attention to the television. He had to strain to hear it.

“…says one Paradise Valley resident. For now, police and local government officials are stalemated in their negotiations with the leader of The Church of the Resurrection. In what many are afraid will become Waco II, all access to the compound is now controlled by a task force of government agencies including the Border Patrol, the Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department, and the Arizona Highway Patrol.”

“We’re not so much controlling access as we are protecting the people in the compound.” White letters at the bottom of the screen identified the stout Hispanic who was speaking as Deputy Sheriff Aprella. “There’s a lot of folk who’d like to do them harm. We’re the only ones standing in their way.”

Back to the girl.

“Attention was first drawn to this small southern Arizona community when the Reverend Harry Philips and his congregation managed to spirit away a young woman who’d been a member of the church during a demonstration in which explosives, motorcycles and automatic weapons were used. In this exclusive, we’ve been provided footage taken by members of the congregation.”

The scene shifted to a view from head level of the front of a compound. People shifted in and out of the view. Bergen could tell it was an amateur video. The sound was muffled, but he could hear the chanting of a group of protestors. Suddenly the front door of the church opened and several people walked toward the camera. In the lead was a slender man, and following closely behind were seven bald girls.

Bergen felt his eyelids grow heavy.

His gaze focused on one of the girls. She looked familiar—he was sure he’d seen her someplace before. He was beginning to feel a little loopy. They must have given him some more medication. He could feel his vision tightening. Suddenly there was an explosion on the television. People started running and screaming, but the cameraman kept his camera trained on the Cult Leader. The man’s placid visage switched to rage and he began screaming unintelligible words Bergen thought sounded Asian. The girls cowered behind him. The one he thought he recognized turned her face full towards the camera. Her eyes were wild and full of tears. The freckles that bunched across the top of her nose were pinched as her face struggled with fear and sorrow.

Bergen’s head was extremely heavy. His hands fell to his sides. He began to slip back into the healing darkness. As he went, a name came into his subconscious and he dreamed of purple-headed monsters and a trapped little girl named Elaina.

CHAPTER 19

Sunday—July 1st

Chattanooga, Tennessee

“Can’t do this for long, boy,” said Maxom plopping down on the couch. “I’m as tired as dirt snot right now. Between working nights at the chicken plant and helping you days, I ain’t getting much sleep. If I don’t start taking care of myself, Maggot Man I’ll be, ‘cause I’ll fall right into the slop in that great big old vat.”

Danny couldn’t hide his disappointment. He’d been looking forward to the freedom of
The Land
. Last night in bed with his head deep in his pillow, he’d watched the shadows twist and churn upon the wall. He’d strained to hear what his mother was saying to his father. He couldn’t help himself when the tears came. He tried to flee to
The Land,
but he couldn’t concentrate. He tried not to listen, but couldn’t help himself. When she’d said the word
divorce
he’d cried, waking in the morning upon a pillow still wet with the night’s tears.

“You know, not everything in this world works out the way you planned,” said Maxom. “Just look at me. Do you think that when I was your age I had a plan to become your Maggot Man?”

Danny shook his head.

“Believe it or not, I used to be quite the man. Women wanted me. Men were afraid of me. And oh yeah, kids wanted to be just like me. I tell you true, boy! They wanted to be just like me.”

Danny grinned, glancing over at Maxom. For a long second he imagined him with two arms and two legs, whole and impressive. Then the image dissolved back to the scars and the nubs of truncated limbs. He looked quickly away.

“Whoa whooaa! Wait a minute, kid. Don’t look at me and think about yourself. There ain’t nothing in this world as evil as the Goddamned VC. What they did can never be reversed. But your folks…” Maxom licked his lips and lowered his head. “Even with what your Mom said, this ain’t a done deal. This can be fixed. The thing seems to be that we need to prove to her that your Dad wasn’t part of this stuff your sister wrote about…this nastiness.”

Maxom put his hand on Danny’s shoulder.

“There are ways, my young friend. Ever hear of the Hardy Boys? How about Shaft? See, what we need is a plan, and Shaft was the man with the plan if you know what I mean.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll brainstorm. You go into the kitchen and start on the dishes and I’ll write down what you say.”

Danny wiped his eyes. He was doubtful, but didn’t see anything else to do. He stood and plodded off into the kitchen.

Maxom called after him. “What do you mean you never heard of Shaft? Don’t you ever watch television? Where do you think James Bond learned to be so cool? That stiff-ass Brit couldn’t get that smooth without someone teaching him the way of things. Damn,” he concluded, drawing out the word. “Everyone knows who Shaft is!”

* * *

The lights blurred and elongated as he raced by a thousand living things. Gathering speed, he hurtled faster, faster and faster until the universe blurred to abstraction. All points of reference were lost. Up and down disappeared. He was the bullet shot from the end of a mind-made pistol. Direction and distance were unknown quotients in a ballistic formula calculated using entirely different mathematical and scientific principles, these unique and non-conforming to the more commonplace dimensions. Finally, Danny reached the point where his fear superceded his joy and he commanded a
stop
. And as was the physics of this singular universe, he stopped immediately, the idea of momentum, but a myth to be told to the very young in an attempt to explain away the impossible.

He’d arrived at a nexus unfamiliar to him. Partially lit, this was an opposite of the blinding light that was Chattanooga’s center. The Rivers that should be radiating from it like the forks of a wheel were intermittent here. One in three was dark, dull currents whose sight left him itching along his spine. This was not a friendly place.

Life pads spoke of neighborhoods and neighbors. In the far distance, he could make out other nexi, each of these brighter than the one before him. The itching along his spine increased. He glanced at the Dark Sun and was relieved for its presence. In the wan light of this city, its darkness was a brighter energy.

Did you have to go so damned fast? Jesus.

Danny turned to see the silvery figure of Maxom coming up swiftly behind him.

Your choice of destination could’ve been better
. Maxom looked around.
Come on. Let’s get out of here
.

Danny ignoring Maxom’s entreaty. He stared at the wrongness of the place.
What is it? What happened?

That is very very complicated. Lo Lo didn’t teach me of this, merely hinted at it. Let’s go.

Who are you afraid of?
asked Danny. He shifted his vision. Beneath the life pads and the nexus was a harsh urban landscape. Many of the buildings were in ruins.
Whoa. What happened here
?

We need to get out of here
.

But what happened?

Depression. Loss. By the way you came, I think we’re somewhere in West Virginia. Probably the closing of the coal mines.

What are those?
asked Danny, pointing to a queer mobile darkness.

Aw Jesus. And so many of them
.

Are we in danger?

In Vietnam, I saw those on the edges of battlefields or in villages where atrocities had occurred. Unlike the rest of things in
The Land
, the Chill Blaines can see you. And when they see you, they’re gonna try and get you.

Chill Blaines?

You know the bumps that pop up all along your arms and the back of your neck when you get scared? White folks call them goosebumps. We call them Chill Blaines. These are the creatures that cause them.

What are they after?

Us. Humans. Chill Blaines prey on the weak
.

We aren’t weak, Maxom. Come on. We can always run if they come after us.

Before Maxom could respond, Danny had moved forward gliding over the city, his body a silver-match to Maxom’s.

Damn kid’s gonna get us both killed
, Maxom muttered. When he caught up, he said,
When they see us, and they will, you shoot back towards home just as fast as you can. These are the ghosts I told you about and they’re not something to play with.

What will you do?

Me? I’m gonna draw them off. You’re a good kid, but you’re nothing to Chill Blaines, especially those hunting in packs.

I can take care of myself.

I’m not kidding, Danny. These things will kill you.

Danny was close enough to make out details now. The Chill Blaines were human-like. But the edges of their forms were ragged, as if they’d been torn away from a greater source. Where the chosen forms of Maxom and Danny were of a reflective mercuric fluid, these creatures were darkness, consuming light as they moved.