Scarecrow Gods (50 page)

The other agent nodded but kept his own frown in place. Both agents turned and watched The Church of the Resurrection. Last time The Ghoul had been here there’d been plenty of activity—young couples holding hands, people walking the grounds, some others farming the small fertile patches around the back buildings, even a pair of kids playing Frisbee. The place had seemed so benign then. Certainly not the site of a coming conflagration.

Which is what it would become if events kept going as they had been. Now there was no sign of life except for the flip of a blind as someone peeked out a window. After he’d punched the cult leader, there’d been a stand-off as agents and deputies alike backed out of the cafeteria, got into their cars and left. Immediately setting up road-blocks and calling in reinforcements, they still hadn’t been fast enough for the compound members who’d been able to get in place and were ready to repel any assault.

Now the multi-jurisdictional task force was also in place and the FBI was in charge which meant that SAC Louis Lipp, aka Special Agent Luis the Lip, was in charge. The Ghoul had never liked the small man. They’d clashed on several occasions.

Even now, the Napoleonic asshole was strutting back and forth in front of the three sheriff’s cars blocking the entrance, shouting demands to the compound’s occupants. The Ghoul imagined there were television cameras somewhere in the vicinity. It didn’t take long to spot them. It seemed that a news crew had rented out Reverend Robertson’s double-decker
Jesus Saves
bus, because standing atop the platform were three men from a Tucson television station. One held a camera steady upon the tripod, the other held a cue card. The third person was a slim young woman who was able to deliver good news and bad with a delicious smile.

All along the front of the property, FBI, ATF, Highway Patrol, County Sheriffs and Border Patrol held watch, weapons of every kind poised and ready. The Ghoul knew from the briefings that on the back sides were Special Action Teams in full camouflage. Not only did the Task Force have access to the aerostat, but there were fly-overs every half hour by A-10 Thunderbolts out of Davis-Monthan Air Force Base as well as twenty-four hour overflight by the Hunter Unmanned Aerial Vehicle out of nearby Fort Huachuca.

They had the place covered. Nothing could get in or out.

* * *

The Scarecrow Gods

Things were going too fast. Way too fast.

Simon had gone from wondering how he was going to
get
John the New Baptist to becoming a willing participant in a complex four-part plan involving possession, magic, out-of-body astral travel and animal domination. Until yesterday he’d questioned the possibility of one, never believing for a second that the others even existed. Now, he was expected to accept them all.

He was back to the same thing—faith, or his lack of it. He was always questioning the reason for things, always wondering about the mechanics, never once taking anything at face value. Perhaps he’d reached his breaking point, or maybe it was the truth presented in the form of the possessing spirit named Margaret. Whatever it was, Simon couldn’t ignore the truly divine jest that, although he’d spent a lifetime questioning the existence of God, in one twenty-four hour period he’d accepted God, the universe and everything, all from the mouth of a thirteen-year-old boy, a demented rocket scientist and an owl who scratched words in the dirt.

Of course, his curiosity had been piqued when the boy tried to make them believe that the Great Horned Owl was in actuality a disabled, African-American Vietnam War veteran back in Tennessee called Maggot Man.
Don’t believe me, then. Just talk to him. Ask him something,
the boy had said. And Simon did, and the owl answered every question posed to it for about twenty minutes until the Maggot Man had put a stop to it.

By then, Simon believed. He knew the kid wasn’t controlling the owl’s responses like some trained circus pet. The question Simon had asked that convinced him was
What do you feel when you see dead bodies.
The answer, an answer that no child would ever know, was a simple word:
Guilt.
In that word lay the truth of so many things.

The Land of Inside-Out
was one of the more intriguing aspects of the boy’s tale, especially since it seemed to provide a possible explanation for possession. Among all the new ideas, the concept of the Chill Blaines was the most interesting. Their existence seemed to solidify Simon’s hypothesis as more and more the boy detailed
The Land
. The only thing Simon was unable to resolve was the presence of the
Rivers.
Danny had described them as ‘rivers of light’ that traveled from one city nexus to another. Simon found the use of the word
River
an interesting choice. After all, it denoted that something was being carried or flowed to or from a place. A material river carried water, so what did a
River
from
The Land
carry?

Souls?

The boy had mentioned how Maxom had seen a point of light that had escaped one of the rivers. The farther away this point of light had gotten, the darker it had become until it was entirely devoid of the light—a Chill Blaine, one capable of harboring many souls. Unlike movies and popular culture would have one believe, a possession was not the result of the Devil, but rather a wondering soul searching for sustenance or a home. It seemed not everyone was able to house more than one soul. The
why
of that was still a mystery, but it was clear that Billy Bones had been one. What was also clear was that unlike movies and popular culture, multiple personality disorder seemed to be the result of invisible external forces rather than internal defense mechanisms.

Now, as the plan went into effect, Simon was stood in the middle of the Scarecrow Gods, flexing his arms and watching as the sun dipped below the mountains. Danny lay at his feet, his head supported by an old bed roll. His arms were crossed over his chest. Simon’s responsibility in the mission was to watch over the boy and ensure no harm came to him. An important enough task, but he wanted to do
more
. Ultimately, he lacked the skills of the others. All Simon had to contribute to the group was his faith—a glorious irony.

He clenched a Bible in his left hand and a cross made from lashed mesquite branches in the other. For only a second as they’d planned and
The Land
was explained to him did Simon wonder at the existence of God. For a miniscule moment he was devoid of
The Word
, but realized immediately that the loss of the devil did not equate to the loss of God. In fact, he struggled to explain
The Land of Inside-Out
in Judeo-Christian terms. Was it Heaven? Was it purgatory? What did the Dark Sun represent? Was it the gate to hell? Simon had become excited with the prospect of discovery. One day he too would learn to become a traveler just as the boy had. He would venture into
The Land of Inside-Out
and explore, mapping the realm as if he were God’s own Magellan.

But for now, he was to be a protector.

At the edge of the circle of saguaro, Billy knelt and scratched Bingo behind one ear. The dog stood on its rear paws, happily accepting the attention. The Great Horned Owl crouched a short distance away, staring intently at the animal. Simon wondered if the bird would rather eat the dog, than travel with it.

Finally, Billy Bones stood. Although he still wore the same old clothes, he’d slicked back his hair with some water. He looked handsome after a scrubbing. Give him a haircut and maybe he’d even fit back into society. The process wouldn’t be difficult. Simon made himself a promise to ensure this when everything was all over. He made it his goal to restore Billy to humanity.

Billy glanced over and made a thumbs up, his crooked smile bringing a grin to Simon.

“Ready?” asked Simon.

Billy nodded. The owl blinked. The dog faced towards the compound and growled. Danny lay unconscious at his feet.

“Okay. Since we’re going to do this, we might as well do it right. Let us pray,” Simon said, getting down on one knee. He paused for several seconds, collecting himself, centering himself to where his newly discovered faith blossomed. “May God bless us all as we search out and destroy the evil that is John the New Baptist. May we find the sister of Danny and return her to her innocence. May we return to these Scarecrow Gods unharmed with our souls unscathed and our humanity unaltered. Amen.”

“Amen,” repeated Billy Bones. He stood and pulled the brother to his feet and embraced him. “Thank you, Simon. You’ve done so much for me. I don’t know what to say or what to do.”

Simon returned the embrace. “Billy Bones, my friend, it has been my pleasure. When this is all over, we’ll fix you up proper. I promise.”

Billy stilled. He stared into Simon’s eyes a few moments then nodded. “Sure, Simon. Sure.” He released Simon and stepped back over to the edge of the Scarecrow Gods.

Simon adjusted his grip on the cross in his right hand. He had to be careful. The mesquite thorns were thick and wicked. “Then let’s do it. Billy, I think you’re first.”

Billy Bones nodded. He took a deep breath and then stepped outside the protective circle. He picked up his pace and began to stride confidently into the desert. He got perhaps twenty feet before he halted. His body stiffened as if he’d been shot. His arms shot out from his sides. Twice he yelled. The wind and the forever conversation of the Scarecrow Gods all but obscured the sound.

“Means movies! Means movies!”

Simon shuddered as his mind automatically translated the pleas.
Save me, Simon.
Only he couldn’t help the Dirty Bird. Not this time.

With the Chill Blaines fully engaged by Billy Bones, the dog shot off into the Sonoran dusk. The owl took to the air and soared after. The distance to the compound was three miles. A man could realistically cover it in thirty-six minutes at a brisk walk. Running, a good time would be twenty-one minutes. For a dog, it was but a fifteen-minute scamper through desert scrub. More importantly, the police wouldn’t be on the lookout for a dog.

* * *

Paradise Valley, Arizona

Agent Gil Gooly had spent the day sacked out in the back of his van. There was really no place for him to go and no reason for him to leave. At dusk, he’d awoken, brushed his teeth and washed the drool from his cheeks. He’d slept hard.

He adjusted his cap and slid his sunglasses in place. The heat of the day was still thick in the air, so he left his jacket unbuttoned, all except for the top one. Surveying the scene, he saw nothing had changed. Both sides were still at a stalemate. With no communications between the Task Force and the compound, the stalemate would continue. The place was becoming more and more like Waco.

He headed for the refreshment truck where he grabbed a bottle of ice water and a cup of coffee. He took three 800 milligram Motrins and chased them with the water. Tossing the plastic container in the trash, he sauntered over to one of the chairs sitting beside the operation’s van. He recognized several of the agents sitting there, as well as one of the local Deputies who’d gone inside the compound with him.

“Look who’s decided to join us,” said Agent Alex Rumsfeld, an old FBI acquaintance and one of SAC Lipp’s toadies. “Good thing
The Lip
isn’t here to see
The Ghoul.
”

“Got a cigarette, Gooly?” asked another agent.

“Naw. I quit. Trying to improve myself.” The Ghoul sat and took a sip of his coffee.

“Hey. What do The Lip and The Ghoul have in common?” asked Rumsfeld.

“What?” asked the other agent.

“I thought they made you promise never to tell any more jokes,” said The Ghoul.

Rumsfeld ignored the jibes. “Come on. What do they have in common?”

Everyone shook their heads. The Ghoul raised an eyebrow and showed his teeth. It wasn’t a smile.

Rumfeld snickered. “They both have the same first name.”

The Ghoul and the other agents groaned. Two of them got up, made their excuses and left. Rumsfeld laughed at his own joke, entranced with his own sense of humor.

“Get it?
The
. They both have
the
as a first name.”

The Ghoul leaned toward Deputy Aprella sitting next to him. “How goes it man?”

“Nothing much, really. We found some shoes that have been identified as belonging to the Alexian who went missing a few weeks ago. They were pretty chewed up. They’re thinking mountain lion.”

“Jesus. What a way to go.”

“Yeah.”

“What about Ortega?”

“That’s kind of weird. The coroner established the guy had a .2 blood alcohol level. You’d figure he lost control of his car and crashed.”

“So what gives?”

“What’s strange is that the bodies of six coyotes were found inside the wrecked vehicle.”