The Totem 1979 (39 page)

“But there isn’t any pattern,” Rettig said.

“Of course, there is. Don’t think about what’s happened in the town. Just concentrate on incidents near the mountains. I’ve been here only since Friday, but I spotted right away that everything has happened on the western section of the valley.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Rettig said impatiently.

“Use it!”

Slaughter shifted his attention to the map. “Okay, if you’re so confident. Why not? It’s worth a try. We haven’t anything to lose.” He drew an X. “That’s Bodine’s ranch, pretty close to where we found the abandoned truck. Here’s the lake where Altick’s men were lost.”

“And here’s the deserted compound.”

“Don’t forget your own place,” Rettig told him. “It’s obvious those weren’t bobcats. You live near that section, too.”

“Can you think of any other things?”

“The ranchers who reported mangled cattle live over there, and that hippie staggered into town from that direction.”

There were X’s all across that section of the map.

“I don’t see what that accomplished,” Slaughter said.

“I do,” Lucas answered. “Draw some lines up toward the mountains. Intersect them.”

Slaughter did, and the men grouped around the table, frowning toward the map.

“Well, it’s high up. That’s what you expected,” Slaughter told Rettig.

“High enough that people don’t go up there much. You see that there aren’t any trails marked.”

“What’s this broken line here?” Slaughter asked.

“That’s the railroad that went up to where they used to mine the gold back in the old days. It’s all broken down now.”

“Mine the gold? Mine what gold?”

“This was once the richest section of the state. Back in eighteen ninety-five. There used to be a town up there.”

And Slaughter felt the chill begin.

“Dear God, the answer’s been there all along, and we were just too dumb to see it,” Owens said.

“The ghost town,” Rettig said. “They called it Motherlode. It’s hard as hell to get there now that we don’t have the railroad up there. I mean, there’s no wagon road, no trail. That’s why they built the railroad in the first place.”

“Motherlode, and there are shafts that cut in through the rock walls. If you knew what you were doing, you could live up there a long time. All those miners did.”

“And now the hippies,” Slaughter said.

“And now the hippies,” Owens echoed. “There’s no telling what we’ll find up there.”

“I’m sorry, Slaughter.

“Parsons’ voice came strong across the room. They whirled and looked beyond the glass partition at the group of men with rifles who were hurrying through the main door, standing in the middle of the larger office. Parsons was ahead of them, looming huge and staring toward the glass partition.

“You keep barging in. It’s not a habit I admire,” Slaughter said.

“Well, this will be the last. You’ll have to come with us.”

The room was silent. The shuffling feet had stopped. The officer on duty at the radio was frowning. The three men who’d been answering the telephones halted in mid-sentence. They made brief remarks and set down the phones. At once, the phones started ringing again.

“Pull the jacks on those things,” Parsons said. “I don’t want to hear them.”

They were looking first at Slaughter, then at Parsons.

“Pull the jacks, I told you.”

They leaned down quickly, pulling out the jacks.

“That’s better. Now we won’t be interrupted. Well, you heard me, Slaughter. Let’s get moving.”

“Where? What for?”

“I just declared emergency conditions.”

“I don’t-“

“This is what you’d call a citizen’s arrest.”

“You’re joking.”

“Am I smiling? Move before we make you.”

“But you can’t be serious.”

“I’m not prepared to argue. It’s a known fact that you wouldn’t follow orders.”

“That’s because you didn’t want to deal with this.”

“Do I appear as if I’m not prepared to deal with this? Your logic’s not convincing. You’ve been acting on your own without authority. Your methods have been irresponsible. You’ve let this thing get out of hand while you, the medical examiner, and Owens were conspiring to hide evidence of murder.”

“What?”

“The boy the medical examiner slashed open in the morgue. The boy was still alive. You think I don’t know about that? Once I figured that the parents would be suing us, I had a second autopsy performed. That slash is hardly what you’d call professional. Oh, sure, the medical examiner worked hard to make it seem a part of his procedure, but he didn’t do it well enough. We’re holding all of you until we learn the truth about this.”

“Not including me.” Dunlap stepped ahead. “I don’t know anything about this.”

“But you’ve seen enough to be a circumstantial witness. Slaughter bragged about that. And this fellow here. I don’t know how he’s involved in this.”

“I’m passing through,” Lucas said.

“You’re Wheeler’s son. I know that much by now. You used to chum with all those hippies, and we can’t afford to trust you. How much money do you have?”

“I don’t see-“

“How much money?”

‘Ten, maybe twelve dollars.”

“Not enough. You’re a vagrant, and we’ll likely find a record on you once we start investigating. All of you, I’m tired of waiting.”

“What about me?” Rettig stepped forward.

“I have nothing I can claim against you. Actually I’m putting you in charge, although I’m still suspicious of your friendship with Slaughter. Make one move to help him, and you’ll join him. This department’s been in bad shape for too long. I mean to put some muscle in it. / won’t ask you anymore, ” he told them. “Rettig, take his gun.”

But Rettig hesitated.

“It’s all right,” Slaughter told him. “Every second we argue, there’s more trouble outside. Do what he tells you. I’ll make good on this.”

Parsons laughed. “Sure you will. In your own jail. Let’s get this finished.”

Rettig looked at Slaughter, then took Slaughter’s gun. The men with rifles stepped ahead to form a cordon, and the five men went out, guards around them.

Rettig watched as Parsons remained in the office and studied the map.

“How much help did he call in?” Parsons asked.

“Sheridan and Lander, places like that.”

“Well, I think that I can keep them quiet, keep the word about this strictly in the valley. I don’t want those ranchers ruined. Did he call in the state militia?”

“He wasn’t sure yet.” Rettig had troubled speaking.

“Good,” Parsons said. “I stopped him just in time. Slaughter meant to ruin everyone.”

“I hardly think so.”

Parsons tapped his fingers on the map. “Rettig, what I need now is cooperation, someone who can do the job. Are you prepared to help, or aren’t you?”

“Yes, I want to help.”

“Then there isn’t any problem, is there? You stay, and you work to keep the town safe. I have people who’ll be downstairs watching Slaughter.”

“But that reporter. Surely you don’t think you can muzzle him. Eventually he’ll write about the valley.”

“What, a drunk, a common lush? When I’m through smearing his reputation, there won’t be anyone who’ll listen to him. Plus, there won’t be anything for him to see. He’ll never have the story.”

“He can try.”

“But he’ll need evidence, and if you think your chief was good at coverups, you haven’t seen what I can do. When I’m finished, this place will be happy valley. We’ll have had a small exaggerated rabies scare.”

“And Slaughter-“

“He’ll be on his ass in jail or on the road to nowhere. He can’t take charge of a town the way he planned and not get punished for it. We still have laws, you know.”

“I guess it all depends on how you look at it.”

“You’re learning, Rettig. I might have a place for you. Let’s get these phones in order.”

“Tell me how much force you’ll let me use.”

“Enough to get the job done.”

“That’s too vague.”

“I mean it that way. Walk the line. It keeps you careful. This town’s economy is based on animals, on livestock. If you have to shoot, take time to get permission. Get in touch with anyone who owns a cat or dog. The court house has the license records. If you see a hippie-“

“Yes?”

“Well, I think you know how to handle it.” Parsons looked at him, then slowly walked across to where he paused in the doorway, looked again, then went off down the hallway.

Rettig stood there, silent, stunned by what had happened. Glancing toward the window, he saw people in the front yard, mostly men, and they were angry, holding weapons. He felt suddenly exhausted.

“Tell me what that bastard thinks he’s going to do,” the officer beside the radio said.

“I don’t know. He saw the pattern on the map. He heard us talking. It’s my guess he plans to go up to the ghost town, pick a fight with them, and kill them all.”

“But that’s crazy. He can’t get away with that.”

“Oh, can’t he? If those hippies have the virus, they’ll attack for certain, so the killings will be justified. And even if they aren’t, if Parsons takes enough men with him, we can’t prosecute the whole town.”

“But he’s instigating them.”

“No, he’s just doing what they tell him. That’s what he’ll say later, and that’s always been his pattern. Oh, he’ll get away with it all right, and he’ll come back with twice the power he started with. We’re going to see some bad times, and I don’t know how to deal with them. I wish Slaughter were in my place.”

“Go downstairs and spring him.”

“Do it for me.”

“No, thanks.”

“Then you see what I mean. We’d only end up in there with him.”

Rettig turned to face the window once again. Outside, the crowd had shifted so that Parsons could go through, haranguing them. The phones were ringing. Officers were answering.

“I hate to say it, but no matter how you look at it, we’ve got some bad times coming, and God help us, there isn’t any way to stop them.”

Chapter Four.

He was feeling strange now. They had warned him this might happen, but the bite had not been deep across his finger. Lots of scratches on his face and neck, but just the one slight bite where he had reached up to defend himself against her. When she’d started last night, he’d assumed that she was crazy from her grief. Their only child and he was dead now. Then he’d vaguely understood that even grief could not account for how she acted, and he’d tried to get away from her. She wouldn’t let him. If that woman hadn’t clubbed his wife, he doubted that he would have had the strength to fight her off much longer. Now more grief. His wife unconscious. Although grateful, he was sorry that his wife had needed such strong force to be subdued. He wondered if their lives would ever regain normalcy. He worried that his wife might even not survive.

And now the knowledge of the virus she and Warren had contracted, of the virus he himself might harbor. They’d explained to him that, if he had the sickness, he would demonstrate the symptoms in the next full day, and they had put him in this chamber. Locked him in the chamber really. It was padded, floors and walls and ceiling, without windows. It was for hysterics, and the thought of what he might become was reinforced by these conditions.

He glanced at his watch. They’d let him keep it, which to some degree was comforting. He saw that it said three o’clock-fourteen hours since he’d been bitten. Maybe he’d survive this, but he felt the strangeness in him. Only grief? Depression? Was it something else? Was this the way it started?

Angered, suddenly he punched against a padded wall. He kicked it, cursing. Yesterday his life had been perfection. Driving home with Warren from the doctor, he had felt relief and happiness, togetherness. Now everything had been destroyed for him. His son was dead. He punched the padded wall again. He growled at it. So easy to imagine how this day could have been different. Then he understood that he had growled just now.

He stood immobile, startled. No, he’d merely been angry. It was nothing. But the sharp salt smell of sweat in here was powerful. He sniffed. It came from the walls. He stepped close, sniffing harder. This was how it started then, he guessed. There wasn’t any question. Although he should have felt more fear, his grief and anger had wearied him. He didn’t at last care. And maybe that passivity was part of this thing too. He didn’t have a choice. It forced him to accept it.

And that sharp salt smell of sweat. He leaned close, sniffing. He was licking. Then he realized that he was licking, but he couldn’t stop himself. The urge was irresistible. His tongue scraped against the rough canvas. For an instant, he could recognize his double personality, but then analysis was past him. When they came ten minutes later, he was raving.

Chapter Five.

Parsons waited in the field beside the fairgrounds. There were many who were here already, but he knew that soon there would be more. He had sent messengers to all the ranchers in the valley. Other men from town were driving in now. He saw ranchers whom he knew well just behind them. It was almost time to start. He climbed up into the Jeep and stood and raised the bullhorn.

“Listen to me.” Amplified, his words boomed stridently toward them.

They stopped talking, checking their weapons, or organizing gear in the back of their pickup trucks. They turned to face him, tense from expectation. Small motions rippled through them. Then the group was still, and they waited.

Parsons stood straighter, using his weight and size to gather their full attention. “Everybody knows the risk.” His voice blared through the bullhorn. “Second thoughts? You’d better say so now because we won’t turn back once we get started. If you want to go home, we won’t think less of you, but make your minds up now before you don’t have a choice.”

They didn’t move or speak. They just kept watching.

“Good. I knew I could count on you. Now there’ll be outsiders who don’t like what we’re doing, who’ll call us vigilantes. They don’t understand the spirit of this valley, how our fathers’ fathers got this land and more important how they kept it. These outsiders sympathize with weakness. If they had their way, we’d all have nothing. But I don’t intend to give up what I’ve worked for, and it’s plain that you don’t either.”