Prairie Gothic (29 page)

***

Judy's fingers probed the chairman's throat for a pulse. He was covered with blood, slick with it.

“He needs help,” Judy said. The hag was gone but the woman in the tennies was only just climbing back to her feet by the door to the hall and the kitchen.

“Honey, he needs a miracle.”

Judy was inclined to agree.

“We're in luck, though. There may be one nearby.”

Judy looked up. She didn't understand.

“The Wizard, Hon. He came with me. He's out there somewhere. I'll go see if I can find him for you. If anyone can raise this fellow from the dead, it'd be him.”

“Wizard?”

“Oz!” the woman said, proving herself as mad as a hatter. “Though maybe you know him by his other name. Folks around here, they mostly call him Mad Dog.”

Sure, Judy would take any help she could get, including Englishman's crazy brother. Maybe he knew some Cheyenne miracle cure for gunshot wounds and could free her up to search for the Heathers. “Just get help,” Judy pleaded.

The woman clicked her sneakers together. “On my way,” she said. “Only, if the wicked witch comes back, don't give her any more guns.”

***

The stairs to the hayloft were steep and narrow. The sheriff knew he could launch himself back down them and Becky couldn't get out of his way. He also knew she'd fill him with 7.62 mm slugs. He might knock her down, maybe bleed all over her, but he wouldn't be in a position to benefit from it.

“You killed Mad Dog's animals? You tore up his house and left that swastika on his kitchen floor?”

“He stole the key. I had to let him know how much I wanted it back.”

She made it sound reasonable, like she'd left a polite note instead of a farm full of slaughtered pets.

“Key to what? What could Mad Dog steal that would be worth that?”

“A treasure beyond price. I wonder if our Tommie told him? Mad Dog might want it for himself. He fancies himself to be some kind of Cheyenne magician doesn't he? He might think he can use it.”

“Use what?”

The loft was almost empty of hay, a place turning gloomy in the twilight. The dusky floor was littered with ancient bits of straw, piles of snow, and freshly broken shingles. The wind stirred little dervishes and pried at the roof.

She didn't answer. “Someone's just been up here.” She flew around him to the far corner where a few bales stood in a jumbled stack. The sheriff followed, gradually becoming aware of the black enamel box with its chrome fittings lying in a fresh avalanche of hay.

She grabbed the handle to the box and yanked. It didn't budge and that calmed her.

“It's still safe,” Becky sighed. “I didn't think anyone would ever find this. I drove it straight up here and hid it the night we killed him.”

Killed him?

“I stuck it over here in the farthest corner,” she continued. “Lots of hay up here then. I knew it'd be a long time before anyone dug back this far. Then I made sure fresh hay always got stacked in front of this. ”

“Funny thing was, we killed Uncle Abel for his treasure and, you know, he ended up leaving it all to us. Everything. And there was a lot. Enough to keep this farm going through lots of lean years. ”

“We thought he kept money in this box. Maybe jewels. Considering what was in his bank accounts, it had to be more valuable than that. ”

“I let our Tommie keep the key. I didn't need the treasure then. We had enough. Enough even to carry on the family's purpose. But I kept this hidden. Something to use if things ever came apart, like they've done today.”

The chest was a remarkable piece of craftsmanship. “French artisans,” Becky said. “Our uncle was a member of the Bund before the war. People thought this box was related to that. They didn't understand about the things he bought and sold. Or our bloodlines.”

“Bloodlines?” The sheriff was back to baffled parroting.

“You don't know, do you, Sheriff. You don't understand to whom you're speaking.” She stepped back and spread her hands, carefully keeping the Kalashnikov pointed in his direction.

“You trace your ancestry to the Cheyenne, don't you Sheriff, you and Mad Dog. Well, I can do better than that. My bloodline goes farther back. And it's more noble than you can imagine.”

He was cold and tired and frightened. She was probably going to kill him, but he was fed up with her senseless babbling.

“This is twenty-first century Kansas,” he said. “No one cares who your great-great-great-grandfather was.”

“Want to bet, Sheriff?” she said. “Mine was Jesus!”

***

This time it was a three-vehicle collision. The Dodge Ram slammed the Cadillac SUV, which, in turn, added fresh creases to the Blazer's bodywork.

“What the hell?” Simon complained. “This ain't a parking lot.”

Doc and Mary didn't comment. Doc was just glad he'd belted Mary in and had managed to brace himself before impact since the air bags hadn't deployed.

Simon didn't let the crash slow him much. He just shifted into low and eased his bumper against the back of the Caddy. Doc felt the wheels of the truck spin and grab. The Dodge lurched forward, gradually nosing the Cadillac aside. Then it did the same for the Blazer.

The Cadillac meant Chairman Wynn was here, along with Judy and Englishman, Doc guessed. The Blazer was Tommie Irons' old SUV that Mad Dog had appropriated. So, Mad Dog was probably here as well. Simon hadn't been talkative, but as far as Doc knew the rest of the Hornbaker clan was at the farm. That meant he was headed to the right place. What with shots fired at Mad Dog and an assault on Englishman, it seemed likely he'd find need for his services here. He just wished he'd had the chance to bring his house-call bag.

“Look,” Mary said. She was pointing where Doc thought the farm should be. You couldn't see more than a few yards, though, so you couldn't tell. Only Doc was surprised to see what she was pointing at. Back behind all that blowing snow, something glowed. It impressed Simon too.

“Oh shit!” he said. “Place is on fire.”

***

“Who is the baddest shaman in all of Kansas?” Mad Dog shouted. He pumped his fist and twirled and jumped up to try to high five the blizzard. It actually felt like it slapped back.

“Wind, cease blowing. Mad Dog commands you.” The wind didn't cease, but Mad Dog convinced himself it was a little gentler. It was hard to tell, since you couldn't actually face into it for fear the ice crystals would gouge your eyes out.

“Enemies, come to me,” he commanded, still filled with himself, and with relief that the bull hadn't killed him. He didn't see the patch of ice in the low spot in the driveway. His feet went out from under him and he sat down hard. Not as hard as Levi Hornbaker, though. Levi materialized out of the miasma, trotting with his head thrown back over his shoulder. Maybe he was trying to protect his face from the wind. Maybe he thought Black Death was after him. Mad Dog just had to stick out a leg to send Levi into a head-over-heels tumble that ended with him sitting on the far side of the frozen puddle.

“You got a gun, Levi?” Mad Dog wasn't worried about it. After the bull, overcoming Levi would be child's play.

Levi just stared at him. “You won't find one,” Mad Dog said.

“Uhh. I lost it somewhere,” Levi admitted.

“Take off your belt,” Mad Dog told him, getting to his feet and going to loom over Levi. Mad Dog was a big man, but not as big as Levi. It didn't matter. Mad Dog's looming was impressive because he'd drawn his power about him like a cloak. He was invincible.

“Your belt.”

Levi did as he was told and Mad Dog bent and looped it around the boy's neck, like a leash. One Hornbaker down. What, maybe four to go? Mad Dog remembered what Dorothy had said about Zeke and Becky. Like a snake, she'd said. Cut its head off and the rest would be harmless He was working on the wrong end.

“Where are Zeke and Becky?” Mad Dog demanded.

The question seemed to frighten Levi. “Last I saw her, she was in the garden shed.”

“Show me.” Mad Dog gave the leash an experimental tug that helped encourage Levi to stand up.

“We can't go back there. She's making like
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
. She might kill us all.”

“Don't be afraid, Levi. I'm armed with power from the
Maiyun, the spirits
of the seven regions of the universe. The
Maheyeyuno
, the four sacred guardians at the corners of creation are also with me. The
Hematasoomao
, the immortal spirit forms of every living thing are at my service. I can call down thunderbolts. I can kill without touching. Nothing can stand in my way because my heart is pure.”

“You're as crazy as her. She's collecting corpses and taking chainsaws to them. We can't go back there, I tell you.”

Mad Dog gave a tug and Levi stumbled along behind, the wind styling his hair and frosting it with snow.

“Of course we can,” Mad Dog said. “I'll protect you. I'm in complete control, Levi. Look, I'll show you.” He paused and spread his arms. “A sign. Bring me a sign,” he ordered. He wasn't a bit surprised when another figure materialized out of the snow.

***

Talk about name-dropping. The sheriff thought he must have misunderstood.

“Excuse me?”

“Our family, we're direct descendants of Jesus.”

The sheriff hadn't thought Becky could shock him. “You telling me there are some immaculate conceptions the Bible doesn't mention?”

Becky cackled. “Hardly. Jesus was the son of God, but he was a man. He lived in a human body. That's why he died. A god wouldn't have to do that. But to die for us, he also had to live for us. Modern scriptures edit that part out, but he had children, you know. He and Mary Magdalen. And after he was crucified, she took them and escaped by boat to Gaul. France. And she took the Holy Grail with her and preserved it. Or so our family tradition claims. I don't think our uncle really believed it to start with, but following the legend is how he got in the business. Then following the plan got us Simon and our heavenly twins.”

The sheriff was beginning to wonder whether he was hallucinating from all those head blows. Jesus' children?

“The Holy Grail? Is that what you think is in this chest?”

“It's as good a guess as any. There were references to the chalice in the old man's records. He'd been in touch with a Nazi official who was hunting it before the war. There were hints the man was successful. One letter suggested an offer had been made and accepted.”

“The Holy Grail? The cup Jesus drank from at the last supper? The one Joseph of Arimathea used to catch his blood when he was on the cross?”

“It was Mary Magdalen, not Joseph,” Becky corrected him, as matter of fact about it as if he'd confused Judah with Levi. “She bore his children. It was only natural for her to be there to catch his blood when Longinus speared him on the cross. It's only right we should have it, you know. Heirlooms belong in the family, and ours is still growing.”

The sheriff wondered if one of King Arthur's knights might happen by to put in a claim of his own. Or Monty Python.

“Growing?” the sheriff asked, stepping dangerously near Alice's looking glass. “Are you saying you're trying to…”

“Recreate the Son of God? Yes. We're inbreeding. Uncle Abel did it. He fathered Simon. And since then, we've carried on. We may produce divinity again, or something close.”

“How?” Becky, long past childbearing, was the only Hornbaker woman. The sheriff couldn't remember Simon's wife.

“Father with child, then grandchild, then great grandchild.”

“You mean that dead baby…” the sheriff was shocked again.

“Our latest failure. Every generation we get closer. I thought this one…”

“Was Zeke the father?” the sheriff guessed. He didn't think it could be Tommie.

Becky snorted. “Ezekiel couldn't father a messiah. Nor could any Hornbaker.”

“Then who?”

“Me, of course,” Becky replied.

***

It was Dorothy.

“Why's Levi on a leash?” she asked.

“Seemed like a good idea,” Mad Dog responded. “At least I've rounded up one already.”

“Nice start. You using magic?”

He nodded, glad someone understood.

“Good that you've been warming up. Come along then, Mr. Wizard. We got an even bigger task for you inside.” The steps to the back porch proved to be only a few feet away. Mad Dog wasn't surprised that things were working out so nicely.

“What task?” Mad Dog wondered as he led Levi through the door she held.

“You recall a man named Lazarus.”

“Like in the Bible?”

“Yeah. We need you to resurrect someone from the dead. Just the one when I left. Could be more now. It's turning into a busy evening.”

***

There was no way back into the shed. The walls sweated flame the way an icy beverage oozes dampness on a muggy afternoon. The door Wynn had escaped through looked like the gateway to hell. No one inside could be alive.

That's when he noticed the trail. It was a pretty obvious trail, a pair of scrapes, in some places right down through the snow to the gravel of the drive. Scrapes, like a pair of heels might make if someone were dragging them from the other end. He followed, and, sure enough, found the Heathers.

“Sheesh!” he greeted them with an overflow of relief. “I thought you guys were dead.”

Only Heather Two was capable of responding. “She may be if she doesn't get help soon.”

Wynn hadn't given much thought to what heels being drug had to mean.

“She's still unconscious?” From the way Englishman's daughter's head lolled, and occasional drops of blood discolored the snow, the answer was clear.

“Grab her legs,” Heather Lane commanded.