They (36 page)

Frank Black loomed in front of them. “Are you okay?” His eyes were wide with fright.

“Where’s Reverend Powell?” Mike barked.

“They got him,” Frank said. “We gotta get the fuck out of here!”

“Where did he go?” Mike yelled, grabbing Frank roughly.

“He went to the van,” Frank said. He turned and began running to the van and Vince and Mike followed, not even caring that they were being seen by witnesses, not even noticing the screams and cries of shock and surprised outrage that were now emanating from the restaurant.

When they reached the van Vince saw that Reverend Powell had ma
naged to get the sliding panel door open and climb in. He’d also taken the keys out of his pocket. He was lying on his side in the middle seat, his torso covered with blood. Frank grabbed the keys and leaped into the driver’s seat as Mike and Vince jumped in and shut the doors. Frank started the van and pulled out of the slot, speeding out of the parking lot onto Newport Road.

“Slow down!” Mike barked. “Slow down or you’ll get us killed.”

“You’ll get the cops on us, too,” Vince breathed. He kept looking at the road ahead of them and down at Reverend Powell, who was gasping for breath.

“Drive…” Reverend Powell gasped.

“He needs a doctor!” Vince said, feeling sick with dread. “We gotta get him to a hospital, he’s gonna bleed to death!”

“Negative,” Frank said as he headed up Newport Road.

“No,” Reverend Powell wheezed. “No…get me…”

“We can’t take him home, either,” Mike said, turning back to Vince in the rear. “Somebody had to have recognized him at that restaurant.”

“Get me home,” Reverend Powell said quickly, gritting his teeth. He was trying hard not to cry out from the pain. “Just get me to the house so you can retrieve your vehicle and get out.”

“I’m sorry,” Vince Walters said, feeling anguished at what had happened. “It’s all my fault.”

“None of this is your fault,” Reverend Powell said with a hiss. “It’s the Lord’s doing.”

“Bullshit,” Frank said from the driver’s seat.

“We’re deep in battle,” Reverend Powell said, gasping for breath. “I don’t take what happened to me personally. Our adversary is the most cunning, most dangerous being in creation. He will stop at
nothing
.”

“But
why
?” Vince felt like screaming in his anguish. He hadn’t asked for Reverend Powell to be shot, hadn’t asked for any of this. He had nothing to do with The Children of the Night cult even if his mother
was
involved with them. He didn’t
want
to be involved in it. So why was he being targeted for death?

“It’s—” Reverend Powell paused as he closed his eyes in pain. Frank was driving well despite the seriousness of the situation. They were approaching Meadow Lane Road and Frank signaled for a left hand turn into the narrow country road. “It’s the will of God,” he finally said through gritted, blood stained teeth. “If it’s His will for one of us to die in battle for Him, so be it.”

“We’ll dial 911 for you when we get to the house,” Mike said. He took off his shirt and knelt down beside Reverend Powell and pressed the garment against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. “You’ll be okay.”

“
We can’t just leave him
!” Vince shouted.

“You can, and you will,” Reverend Powell said, gasping for breath. “Help me into the house, then get your stuff and Maggie’s box and go! And do it quickly!”

“It isn’t
right
!” Vince said. He felt like crying from the frustration of their situation. He was kneeling beside the wounded man. “It just isn’t
fair
!”

“No, it isn’t fair,” Reverend Powell said, looking directly into Vince’s eyes. “But sometimes when you obey the will of God, that may not seem fair to you either. Abraham didn’t think it was fair when God asked that he sacrifice his only son for him. And he would have done it, too.”

“Which way do I go?” Frank Black barked. They had come to an intersection. To their right lay a farmhouse; to the left was open fields.

“Right,” Vince said.

“Do as I say,” Reverend Powell said from the rear of the van. “For your sake, for the sake of the world, take your stuff and the evidence Maggie collected and
leave
.”

“And do what with it?” Vince asked. He felt that they were losing a war that was already lost. “What’s the point?”

“We have to find this Mary Ann girl,” Mike said. He was sitting next to Reverend Powell, patting his shoulder and keeping another hand pressed on the shirt that he held over the gunshot wound. “Maybe she’ll talk to us.”

“Yes, find her,” Reverend Powell said. “And if you can…” He coughed violently. Mike Peterson held him back so he wouldn’t tumble out of the seat. “If you can, take this information to your contact. Take the information to the press. This group
must
be exposed.”

Frank swung the mini-van into Reverend Powell’s driveway. “What if nobody believes us?”

“Just do it,” Reverend Powell said. His eyes glazed over, then refocused again. “I’ll…pray for you.” Then he blacked out.

WHEN THEY GOT to Reverend Powell’s home they operated like a well-oiled machine. Vince and Mike helped Hank inside while Frank dashed in ahead of them and quickly gathered their belongings. Mike lowered Hank onto the sofa in the living room while Vince headed downstairs to the basement for the box of evidence in the storeroom. By the time he was back upstairs, Frank had emerged from the bedrooms with their overnight bags. Frank looked nervous. “Okay, let’s get going.”

Vince still felt ashamed and guilty for the trouble that had exploded around them. “I’m so sorry,” he told Reverend Powell.

“It’s okay,” Reverend Powell said. He’d just regained consciousness and Mike had brought him a glass of water. Mike’s bloodied shirt was still clamped to his belly. “Just….call me an ambulance. And…who has my keys?”

Frank rushed to the kitchen and began dialing 911 as Mike held up the keys.

“The little gold key…” Reverend Powell said, his face strained with great pain. “It opens the lock on the box. Take it.”

Mike Peterson quickly took the key off and pocketed it, then changed into a fresh shirt. “I’m sorry to have to be so abrupt about this, Reverend but….you’ve never seen us.”

Reverend Powell nodded, wincing. “No….I haven’t…”

Frank rushed back into the living room. “There’s a rescue unit on the way. Let’s go.”

Vince had only a few seconds to look back at Reverend Powell as he headed out the door. He said, “I’m sorry,” again and joined Frank Black and Mike Peterson in the rented Pontiac. Mike drove and the rest of the afternoon became a quick blur.

THROUGHOUT THE DRIVE to Ephrata, Mike kept barking at Frank to duck down below the windows. “Your description is going to be all over the police broadcasters and if a cop sees us we are dead meat,” Mike said. “Stay the fuck
down
!”

Frank stayed down during the drive to the Ephrata motel as Vince sat in the front seat silently, staring out the window. When they got to the motel, Mike headed to their room first to get some wet towels. When he came back he wiped down the steering wheel and front seat. “We don’t have time to shower and change clothes,” he said, looking at Vince. “There’s no blood on you. What about you, Frank?”

“I’m fine.”

Mike wiped his bloodied hands and arms with the towel, getting most of the blood off. “Let’s consolidate these bags,” he said. “Frank, empty your bag and put your stuff in Vince’s.”

Frank did as he was told. When he was finished, he handed the empty travel bag to Mike, who tossed the bloodied towels inside. Mike zipped up the bag. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to check us out. How do I look?”

“Nervous as shit,” Frank said.

“Okay.” Mike closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He remained that way for a moment, taking deep breaths, and when he opened his eyes again he looked a little calmer. “Now?”

“Less stressed,” Frank said. He peeked out the window. “I don’t think you have a lot to worry about, dude.” He motioned toward the end of the motel. “I think the people that run this place are used to seeing nervous looking guys.”

Vince followed his gaze. A thin woman wearing blue jeans and a tight halter-top was standing at the side of the motel, talking on a pay phone. She had shoulder length brown hair that looked like it was microwaved dry and she was wearing high heels and too much make-up. “Besides,” Frank said, “didn’t you notice that this place also rents by the hour?”

“Good point,” Mike said. He headed to the office to check them out. He returned a moment later. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

Mike piloted the vehicle back onto 272, then onto 222. Fifteen mi
nutes later they were on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, heading to Harrisburg. “Just stay cool,” he said as he drove at a cautious sixty-five miles per hour. He’d put on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that Vince retrieved for him. “All the activity is back in Lititz now and probably at Reverend Powell’s.”

“I hope he’ll be okay,” Vince said.

“So do I,” Mike said.

They were silent as they made their way into Harrisburg. Mike stayed on the expressway. “Do you know Harrisburg?” he asked.

Vince shook his head. “Not really.”

“Where’s the airport?”

“There,” Frank said from the back seat. He was lying down across the back seat and he pointed up at one of the exit signs. The sign read HARRISBURG AIRPORT EXIT, 2 MILES.

“Great,” Mike said, switching lanes to get onto the right expressway.

“Don’t you think the cops will think to look for us near any airports?” Vince asked.

“We’re not flying out of here,” Mike said. “We’re just going to stay overnight in a hotel that’s within close proximity to the airport, that’s all.”

“The bigger, the better,” Frank said.

“Why?” Vince couldn’t think straight. As far as he was concerned, they should be trying to get the hell out of Pennsylvania, not stay in Harrisburg near the airport.

“Frank, did you bring any long-sleeved shirts?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, I brought one.”

“Put it on, and tie your hair back in a pony tail. Are you adverse to getting it cut?”

“No. In fact, maybe one of you can cut it for me in the room and I can find a barber or a stylist at whatever hotel we’re staying at.”

“Good plan.” Mike took the next exit.

“Why the hell are we talking about Frank getting a haircut?” Vince said. “Why aren’t we getting the hell out of here?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Mike said as he came to a stop at the end of the exit ramp, “Frank is going to be the one person that sticks out in the minds of all those witnesses back there in Lititz. You and I look pretty normal, but they’ll remember Frank pretty easy. They’ll probably say some kind of biker-looking guy was involved, and that’s who the cops will be looking for. We need to change his appearance as quickly as possible, and that means a drastic change. You and I are going to have to do a little bit of altering of our appearances as well.”

“Like how?”

“I hear shaved heads are real popular,” Frank said from the back seat.

“New hairstyles, new clothes.” Mike was driving through downtown Harrisburg. The airport was a mile away. They were approaching the business district of Harrisburg. “Our first order of business should probably be outfitting ourselves in new clothing and lopping off as much of Frank’s hair as we can. We can do that in the car, in one of those big parking structures. Then we can check in to our hotel wearing our new duds.”

“As different people,” Vince said.

“Exactly.”

Three blocks later they came upon a ten story parking structure. Mike pulled up to the entrance, took a ticket, and swung the car in. He drove up five flights before he found a parking slot and pulled in and turned off the engine. He turned around in the back seat. “Okay, I’ve got a pair of scissors in my toiletries bag. Why don’t I do the honors?”

“Be my guest,” Frank said. He quickly peeled off his shirt as Mike exited the driver’s side and slid into the back seat.

Vince watched as Frank brushed his hair back. He couldn’t help but grin as Mike began cutting Frank’s hair. Mike’s tongue stuck out a little bit in concentration as he worked. “I’m sorry if this comes out looking half-assed, but—”

“Too bad you don’t have an electric razor,” Vince said, grinning. “You could shave his head.”

“Fuck you, Vince,” Frank said. He was trying to shoot Vince an angry look but he was also grinning. Vince grinned back.

“Boys, boys,” Mike said, grinning. “Come on now, let’s not have any of that.”

Mike snipped at Frank’s hair, cutting the length off from his shoulders. He proceeded to cut the length from the top, gathering hair in his hands the way hairstylists do when engaged in their trade. Mike was doing a pretty good job.

When Mike was finished, Frank looked like a beefier version of Tommy Lee with a bad haircut. “Okay, so it’s not the greatest,” Mike said as Frank checked himself out in the rearview mirror. “You can get it fixed at the hotel.”

“Exactly,” Frank said, donning a black long sleeved shirt.

Their first order of business was exiting the parking structure and walking two blocks to a Men’s Warehouse on Main Street. They spent thirty minutes trying on and having minor alterations done on suits. The suits came with white shirts and dark slacks. They each bought a pair of shiny dress shoes to go with the new clothes. When they emerged from the store clutching bulky bags containing the clothes they had worn into the store they looked like three businessmen out on a lunchtime shopping errand. Frank’s hair didn’t look as bad now that he was wearing a suit. They walked back to the car, transferred their clothes to their overnight bags, and then headed to the Marriot to check in.

Mike pointed at a bulletin board where the events the hotel was hosting was posted. “We’re in luck,” he said. “There’s an audio convention going on here. Perfect.”

The name of the convention was the Stereophonic Association’s East Coast Trade Show and Convention. Mike casually approached the front desk. “Hi. I was wondering if it’s not too late to get a room for the convention.”