Prairie Gothic (24 page)

“Don't think so,” the chairman said. “Let's go see.” He reached down and twisted the key to start the stalled Cadillac. Nothing happened.

“I'll go check,” Judy volunteered. She went out on the south side where the wind couldn't stop her from opening a door. The sheriff knew he should have done it, but he was still floating somewhere else. He knew he needed to get a grip.

“I'll check under the hood.” The chairman let himself out. The sheriff was alone with his aching head and a moaning that might be the wind, unless it was him. He didn't like listening to it. He opened his own door and joined his little posse in the road. If he was moaning, no one seemed to notice. The wind screamed like a banshee. It bounced him off the fender and knocked him down. Crawling proved an efficient method of reaching the front bumper. By the time he regained his feet, the chairman had the hood open—open and tearing loose on broken hinges. He and the chairman fell back and watched it peel off and go tumbling into a nightmare sky.

“Nobody in the Blazer,” Judy shouted. The chairman nodded his head to indicate he understood, then pointed at the Cadillac and shrugged his shoulders. The meaning was clear. He didn't know how to make it move again.

“Are there keys in the Blazer?” The sheriff combined the words with gestures that got him a distinct negative. “Then I guess we walk.”

At least the cold air cleared his head a little. If he was having trouble staying steady, he couldn't tell whether it was because of the blows he'd taken or the storm. The wind made Judy and the chairman equally awkward. He led them behind the Blazer's mashed fender where they could duck down and he could make himself heard.

They all had their guns. No telling why Mad Dog had left the Blazer here. The sheriff believed it was for a good reason, but Mad Dog's good reasons didn't always make sense to anyone else.

“How far to the farm?” No one knew, but the chairman pointed out some tracks the sheriff hadn't noticed before.

“Looks like your brother cut across country, and he wasn't alone. They couldn't go far in this so we must be close. You want to follow him?”

The sheriff shook his head and, when his head seemed to want to go on shaking even after he'd stopped the effort, wished he'd chosen another method of expression.

“We lose those tracks out there, without any landmarks, we might never find the place. No, we stick together and we stick to the road.”

They started and the wind pummeled them. The snow tried to etch icy designs in exposed flesh. The sheriff lost his footing before they were out of sight of the Blazer, one time less than each of his companions.

***

Heather English thought this was the stupidest thing she'd ever done. Toying with this manchild's confused libido could get them killed. Of course, so could all sorts of the other things around this farm, to say nothing of the weather. Going with Judah was like playing with fire, but however dangerous the flame, they needed its warmth.

He led the way down the stairs at the front of the loft, so eager that they could have turned and fled back and maybe found another exit. Only then what? So they followed. He wasn't bothering to point the rifle at them anymore, though he was still carrying it. Heather thought they could maybe get him to put it down, if they were willing to go far enough. Then, with two of them and only one of him, they might get the gun. Problem was, he would likely catch the remaining Heather at the same time.

He was big and incredibly strong. She'd never seen anyone do a one-handed chin up like the one he'd done to get his pictures. A couple of guys in her class bragged they could do them, but they grabbed the bar with one hand and their wrist with the other. And they weren't burdened with heavy winter clothes and boots and a rifle at the same time.

The forge was in a machine shop. It was crowded with shelves and benches, their surfaces covered with unidentifiable mechanical devices in various stages of assembly.

It was an old-fashioned forge powered by pressurized gas, the bottles for which stood in a far corner. Judah twisted knobs, adjusted flow, then brought one of those flint-and-steel welding lighters down near the nozzle. The result was closer to an explosion than Heather was expecting, but Judah just glanced from one to the other and seemed inordinately proud of himself.

“OK,” he said. “Now show me.”

Two smiled but shook her head. “Not yet, you silly. It's still freezing in here. Wait until it warms up some.”

He looked disappointed. “How long?”

“You'll know,” she teased. “When you start to sweat under all those clothes, then these can come off.”

He understood. He reached down and readjusted the flow of gas. Flame spilled over the bricks and began to liquefy the piles of snow on the floor. The roar of the gas was loud, even over the roar of the blizzard.

“Sweat soon,” Judah told them. Heather English was sweating already, but not from the heat.

***

“This used to be a hog barn.” Mad Dog had expected to have to drag Dorothy into the wind, but she'd dipped a shoulder and led the way through a maze of snow dunes that lay behind every inconsequential shrub and bush. She'd known where she was going. Mad Dog and Hailey followed.

He'd left the Blazer square in the middle of the road. It was the only way Mad Dog could think of to slow down his brother. If Dorothy knew what she was talking about and there really was an arsenal fit for a small army in there, he wanted to delay them until he had a chance to…Well, his planning hadn't gotten that far yet.

“Used to keep a herd of prime Yorkshires in here, long time ago.” She dropped to her knees just inside the long narrow shed, open on its south side. Under the roof, the floor was only lightly dusted with snow, ideal for her purposes. She began drawing. “Here's where we are. Here's the barn. It's right across from the house.”

He knew some of it, but welcomed the refresher. “How do I stop them?”

“Like a rattlesnake. Cut off the head. The body can writhe around all it wants to and it won't hurt nothing. They're all dangerous, but you're after Becky or Zeke, whichever you can find. Once you take care of them, and let the kids know, they won't be no more trouble.”

“Where do I find them?”

She looked at him, faintly puzzled. “I thought you could sense the evil.” And it was true. He could. It was somewhere close.

“Be nice if you had a gun,” she mused, “though I suppose that's hardly the sort of thing a sorcerer needs. Call down some thunderbolts instead.” She reached in a pocket and pulled out an ugly lump of metal. “You might need this, though. Found it on the seat of the Blazer where you must of dropped it.”

It was Tommie Irons' ring, the one all the Hornbakers seemed to be looking for. How had it gotten there? Then he remembered. Mary said she'd left Hailey and him some luck. Here it was.

“Don't know how you come by it. Guess that's why you're the Wizard. Magic ring, though, Wizard can always use a magic ring.”

She climbed to her feet and began dusting the snow from her pants. “Where are you going?” Mad Dog asked, still wondering how to call down thunderbolts.

“Me?” She seemed surprised he didn't know already. “I'll be dealing with the witch.”

***

They almost missed Tommie's farm. They might have if it weren't for the mass of the abandoned snowplow in the front yard.

Looking to the north, facing into that gale of glass-like ice shards, was nearly impossible. The sheriff never saw the driveway, only that the path that had been plowed veered into the wind and ended at the back of a great yellow truck sitting between a pair of stick-like elms. Their branches faded until they were absorbed by a wild surge of churning white.

The sheriff grabbed the chairman and Judy and pulled them behind the tailgate.

“I think the house is almost due north. I thought I saw it a minute ago. That's where we're headed. Stay together and be ready. We don't know what we're getting into.”

They nodded. The chairman massaged some feeling back into his right hand and got a gloved finger into the trigger guard. Judy drew her pistol just long enough to show the sheriff that she had chambered a round and it was cocked and ready to fire in her coat pocket.

“OK then.” He didn't have anything more to say. He led them around the driver's side of the truck and checked the cab. The door hung open and the interior was deserted. He peered out the windshield over the steel blade. He couldn't see anyone out there. Not that that meant a thing. The house should be no more than a few yards away and it was invisible. He remembered a front yard filled with elms. He could barely make out the pair on either side of the plow.

“Let's go,” he shouted as he led them around the side of the blade. He needn't have bothered. He couldn't even hear himself.

Crossing the Irons' front lawn felt as alien as crossing the face of the moon, only visibility would have been better on the moon, and even lunar shade was probably warmer. They found occasional trees, but didn't run into the huge drift that must be building up south of the house. The sheriff knew they'd gone far enough that its absence was a bad sign. He paused to reassess their position and be sure he still had both members of his posse. They were there, but so was something else.

The figure was immense. He might have taken it for an outbuilding except that it was moving. He thought it might come close enough to spot them.

“Down!” the sheriff yelled. He didn't know whether anyone heard.

***

Sweat rolled. Two of Two had peeled out of her jacket and sweater and was working on the buttons to her blouse. She had Judah's undivided attention.

Heather English was the one who was sweating. She had been deliberately slower in her own striptease. Her jacket was off, but, as bits of another Heather's flesh began to play peekaboo in the dancing light of the roaring forge, she sidled away from the action.

She had a plan. She would put enough distance between the two of them so that Judah couldn't watch them at the same time. If he noticed and turned to deal with her, she would bolt, try to give Two a chance to grab one of the hammers that lay near the forge and make good use of it. She had a spot she planned to bolt to as well. There was a double bladed ax hanging from the wall over near the door. If she could get to it, she could do some damage. If…like if he didn't rip her head off before she got there.

Shuffling toward the ax was slow work. Two was starting to look a little nervous. She was out of her blouse and at one of those scary decision points. If she opted for modesty and removed her jeans next, she might find them down around her knees when she needed to move. If she didn't take off something else, and soon, he was likely to take it off for her.

Two reached up to the clasp that secured her bra and paused. She tried to look seductive. Seductive worked better when you weren't terrified. “I'll show you mine if you show me yours,” she stuttered.

The idea seemed to appeal to Judah. He set his rifle down on the adjacent work bench and began to fumble with the zipper on his coat. “You keep going,” he said. “I'll catch up.”

One of Two was at the wall. She lifted the tool off the nails that suspended it. The ax was heavier than she'd expected. She choked up on the handle. This wouldn't be sudden and dramatic like in the movies. The damn thing weighed too much. But once she got it going she wouldn't be able to stop it short of hitting something—preferably Judah. She started edging back. She had to get close. She remembered what he'd done with the hoe.

She was watching Judah and her sister so closely that she didn't notice the coffee can full of hardware on the edge of the shelf. The ax hardly brushed it, but the can tumbled, slammed against concrete, and exploded nuts and bolts in every direction. Judah started to turn, only Two popped the clasp and her breasts sprung free.

Judah made a low, throaty noise, audible even over the wind and the forge. Heather swung the ax. She was going catch him in the shoulder and hurt him bad.

It didn't work. Even the wonders Judah beheld couldn't keep his attention. He spun, put out a hand, caught the ax handle just short of its blade, and ripped it from her grasp.

“You oughtna done that,” he said. He swung it back at her, almost casually. It came handle first so she put up an arm to block it only a bolt slipped under her boots and she lost her balance. The other Heather was grabbing for the rifle, but the ax handle was coming fast. She had to duck, get down quick and…

A nova exploded behind her eyes. Heather, the collective, ceased to be plural.

***

Mad Dog lost sight of Dorothy before she'd gone a dozen paces. He knew he shouldn't let her go alone, and yet he felt she was safe here. He wasn't. Englishman and Judy wouldn't be either.

He was back at the farm he'd been so eager to leave this morning. Someone had tried to kill him less than a mile from this spot. Since then, things had gotten more complicated. He'd borrowed a Blazer and discovered the girl and her awful secret. Was that what this was all about? He should know. He was, after all, a natural born shaman. A wizard, according to Dorothy. He knew his brother was going to be in danger here, but he didn't know why. Was this because of Tommie's body? The bones Hailey found? Mary? Her baby? The ring?

On the few occasions when Mad Dog had been able to successfully practice his shamanistic talents, and he had to admit there had been relatively few of them, he'd done it by ceremonially preparing himself for the task. He fasted first. Well, he hadn't had anything but a cup of coffee at the Texaco before dawn, so he qualified there. He normally put on a breechcloth, covered himself in body paint, and spread his paraphernalia around him—a buffalo skull, his medicine bag, a pouch of Official Magic Faerie Dust he'd bought in a toy store to use in place of the corn pollen to which he was allergic. Then he would sit cross-legged on a blanket and concentrate on letting himself become one with the universe. He didn't have any of his stuff with him, not that conditions were appropriate to sitting around next to naked anyway. And it shouldn't make a difference. Those were just props, aids to help him achieve the right mind set, focus on what he was doing. None of it should matter.