Paradigm (36 page)

“You too. How’s Cherry?”

“Good.”

Vincent looked from one to the other and shook his head.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s bring Max home.”

They left the house and strode through the camp, Vincent signaling four other Rovers to follow. When they reached the GTO, Sam opened the trunk and the Rovers gently lifted Nathan’s body out and carried it back.

“Can we…that is, I’d like to say goodbye.”

“Sorry, Sam. No strangers for the return.”

Sam nodded. “I understand.”

Vincent looked at him and sighed, then glanced back to make sure the other Rovers were out of earshot before he spoke.

“Drive back up the hill,” he whispered. There’s a clearing at the crest. You should be able to watch from there.”

“Thanks.”

Vincent smiled briefly and headed back to camp.

Sam and Alma got into the car and drove slowly back along the edge of the lake to the narrow road, and headed up toward the crest.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Alma, pointing at the dash. “What’s that?”

“It’s an 8-track tape player,” said Sam.

“A what?”

“It plays music. Well, it does if you have the right kind of tapes.”

“Do you have any?”

“Yeah. There were three in the car when I got it. I’ve never seen any more.”

He turned off the road and coasted out to a grassy clearing. They got out of the car and sat on the warm hood. Vincent had been right—it gave them a perfect view of the shore and the lake beyond, though the great house was concealed by the trees.

“So how’s this work?” asked Alma.

“No idea.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Nope. Vincent said they do it at midnight, though, so it should be pretty soon.”

They sat in silence for what felt like hours before anything started to happen, but when it did Sam was grateful Vincent had allowed them to watch. There was something so peaceful, so right about it, as a long procession of glimmering lights made its way through the camp, circling each fire three times, before moving slowly toward the shore.

Nathan and Mario must have been in some kind of craft, because a small cluster of lights separated itself from the others and slowly floated away across the lake. When it reached the middle, all the lights on shore were extinguished, leaving the craft sparkling alone on the dark water. And then, suddenly, it was gone, as if the lake really had reached up and taken its children back home.

Sam stared at the water and thought about Nathan. The good times they’d had, the planning and the arguments. The endless driving around the Wilds. The towns, the broken down settlements and stony campsites. Nathan had wanted to see the country and he had. He’d wanted to live, but that was taken from him. Yet in the end he had only wanted one thing and Sam was glad that he had been able to give him that. The return to the lake.

“Are you okay?”

Alma was looking at him, her dark eyes soft and concerned.

“I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you put some music on?”

“What?”

“In the car. You said you had some tapes.”

Sam jumped down, climbed into the car and scrabbled around in the glove box for the old 8-tracks. When he’d first got the GTO he’d listened to them all the time, but after a while they’d started to drive him crazy and been exiled to the back of the box.

“Okay,” he sighed, standing up. “What do you want? There’s “The Very Best of the Beach Boys,” “Bert Weedon – Once More with Feeling”…um, please don’t pick that one, it makes me lose the will to live…and “Easter,” that’s by someone called Patti Smith.”

“I don’t know. What was the first one again?”

“The Very Best of the Beach Boys.”

“Who’s that?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know who any of these people are. The tapes are off the ark!”

“Alright. Calm down. Beach Boys.”

Sam turned the key, stuck the tape in and leaned against the car. There was a clunk and a whirr and music started fizzing out of the old speakers. The right hand one had a tear in it, so it buzzed slightly, giving the voices a slight husky quality.

“This one’s called
Good Vibrations
,” he said.

“Nice.”

“We can’t listen to it for too long, though. It drains the battery.”

They stayed there for a while, not speaking, just listening to the harmonies of long ago. A time when people drove around for fun, picked up girls and played by the sea.

“So, I was thinking,” said Sam. “If we drive further up into the sierras we can hide the box somewhere no one’ll ever find it. Then we can head east, New York, or wherever, to see if we can get you another Norton.”

Alma smiled her sideways smile, then reached up and removed the razorblades from her braids, letting the long black hair cascade around her shoulders. She slid off the hood and stood in front of him.

“You talk too much, Sam Cooper.”

Sam stared at her, the magnificent, beautiful, scary girl, then stepped forward and took her in his arms. He didn’t even try to kiss her at first—he just wanted to hold her, to feel her body against his.

“If you don’t kiss me soon, I’m going to throw you into that pokotiwha lake, porangi.”

Sam smiled and leaned back, taking in her face, touching every part of it, as if he was afraid that it might all turn out to be a dream and he would wake up, alone in the night once again. Then he kissed her. Gently, slowly, properly, and for a long, long time.

A night bird cried as a cold wind whipped through the trees.

“What now?” he whispered.

“It’s a long way to the east coast.”

“It is. I reckon it could take about a month.”

“That long?”

“Apparently.”

“Are you cold?”

“Yes,” said Alma. “It’s bleeding freezing up here.”

“Lets get in the car.”

“Sam,” said Alma, sliding into the passenger seat next to him and kissing him again as he struggled with the seat release. “Why did it take you so long to kiss me?”

The seat finally flopped down. Sam lay back with Alma in his arms.

“I thought if I started I might not be able to stop.”

“And?” she said.

“I was right.”

Acknowledgements

I haven’t included acknowledgements in a book before, but this time I feel I really must. So many people have helped bring this novel to completion, from those who read draft after draft and gave their honest opinions (particularly when they made me groan with despair and go right back to the ol’ drawing board) to everyone who worked on the cover, the trailers and all those who provided encouragement when it felt like nothing was working. Please forgive me if I’ve left anyone out. Author’s lives are usually solitary things, but with all the technology around these days it’s like being a kid again and telling stories to friends in the garden while waiting for the ice cream truck to show up. Thank you all!

Jeff Anderson, Josef Richardson, Chrystal Wright, John Nelson, Diana Brown, Sophie Holroyd, Oscar Holroyd, Wayne Alexander, Steve DeFrisco, Emmett DeFrisco, David Richoux, Lisa L. Anderson-Adams, Jo Gilbert, Dino Schofield, Katie Ferguson, Rita Dabrowicz, Catheryn Hornby, Sharon Levin, Donna Lancaster Kollmorgen, Barbara Metzenbaum, Sheldon Renan, Adrian Sierkowski, Greg Albanetti, Russell D. Lewis, Brandy Tannahill, and, of course, my family.