C l scheel, p.21
C L Scheel, page 21
She saw something on the bottom shelf that made her stop breathing.
"What are those?” she asked pointing to the back corner of the case.
Van looked where she was pointing. “Duck calls."
"No, those round things."
The big man opened the case and pulled out the three small objects and set them on the counter in front of her.
Suzanne felt a sudden rush of tears gather in her eyes. She clasped her hands before her mouth, too overwhelmed to speak.
"Darlin', are you okay?” Van asked.
"Yes,” she whispered. “I'm fine. How much do you want for them?"
"Well, now, I'm not sure. They've been here in the store forever. Chuck may have picked ‘em up; he's always finding weird stuff. Nah, I remember now. Some old geezer brought them in here years ago; sold ‘em for few bucks. Booze money, probably. I don't even know what they are. Looks like coasters or paperweights to me.” He shrugged. “How about three dollars?"
"Sold.” She handed him the three bills and change for tax.
Van stuffed the stone objects into a plastic bag and handed it to her. “Here you go. Now if there's anything else you need, you just give me a call.” He plucked a business card from the pocket on his shirt and handed it to her.
She took the card and read the name: Karl Vandervelde. Her heart began to pound erratically and her mouth went dry.
"Most everyone calls me ‘Van.’ Say, aren't you that famous author? The one that writes science fiction? I love that stuff.” He snapped his fingers irritably. “Suzanne ... Suzanne Something?"
"Jennings. Suzanne Jennings.” She looked at Vandervelde ... Kyrk's future nemesis. The two men hadn't even met yet.
"Sometimes I'm called ... the ‘Wordsayer.’”
"'Wordsayer', uh? Kinda peculiar."
She held Vandervelde's gaze for a long moment before he glanced away nervously.
"It's a special name,” she said. “An honorary name."
"Well, I'll just have to remember that, won't I?” He smiled broadly.
"Yes, you will Mr. Vandervelde. You will. Thank you."
She hurried out of the store on trembling legs, clutching the Tearstones to her chest.
Chapter Seventeen
ALL HELL BROKE loose the next day.
During the night, a new quake had severely weakened the dam ten miles up the Juliet River and caused major damage to large sections of the main interstate highway. Miles of pavement had been ripped to rubble.
After a restless night pondering how Chuck's Military Surplus and Hardware came to possess three Tearstones, Suzanne awoke to the sound of blaring horns and shouting angry people. She dressed and hurried outside. Many of the residents were trying to get out of the little town using every possible alternate route. Cars, lined up for miles, inched along the main street heading out of town.
Suzanne didn't know what to do. She had no car and no other means of transportation. Running back into her motel room, she crammed everything into her duffel bag and placed a loudly-protesting Legolas into his carrier.
Suzanne tried to think calmly. Leaving Mount Juliet for some other place was out of the question now that she had the Tearstones. There must be a way to get back to Splitrock Pass. But how? The only person she knew was Dane, who was no doubt, busy trying to keep law in order while everyone fled for their lives.
But he was her only hope.
She fumbled through her purse until she found the scrap of paper containing Dane's cell number. With trembling fingers, she grabbed the room phone and punched in the number then slammed the receiver down. The phone lines were dead. She had no way of contacting him and Suzanne bitterly regretted not owning a cell phone.
The manager must have one, she thought frantically.
Suzanne shouldered her bags and raced out of the room, past the Coke machine to the manager's office. Inside, she found no one manning the front desk. She beat the little bell on the counter until she almost broke it.
"Hello? Hello? Is anyone here?"
The office area was deadly quiet. Everything looked in order: the room keys hung in neat rows from a peg board on the back wall; vacation brochures attractively laid out on the counter; the guest coffee pot on the side table was full of fresh coffee. But no manager. He and his wife must have fled, too.
Panic rose within her, smothering every other emotion. She had to get out. She had to find Dane. There was no other option but to hunt for him. She looped the cat carrier strap over her left shoulder, the duffel strap over her right and headed into town.
Cars were lined up bumper-to-bumper, jockeying for position as they crawled through the town. Suzanne scurried into the street, hopping between cars and over bumpers while keeping an eye out for anyone who looked like they were in charge.
At a major intersection she spotted four harassed-looking highway patrolmen trying to keep traffic moving.
She hurried up to the nearest one. “I'm sorry to bother you, but have you seen Sheriff Dane McKenna from Black Elk?"
"Sorry ma'am, don't know him."
"Where do you think I might find him?"
"You might try the airport. There's a bunch of county sheriffs evacuating hospital patients and handicapped folks."
"Where's that?"
The officer frowned and shook his head. “I believe it's about five miles south.” He pointed behind him. “Down that route. Sorry. I'm not being very helpful, but I usually don't work this area of the state; I was called in from up north."
"Oh. Well, thank you anyway.” Great. Five miles. It might as well be five million. She shouldered Legolas’ carrier and picked up her duffel. Five miles really wasn't too far, she reasoned. If she didn't stop, she might make it in an hour or two.
Walking against the flow of traffic became increasingly difficult as more and more desperate drivers drove onto the shoulder or over sidewalks trying to get around the traffic jam. Suzanne walked across lawns and gardens just to keep out of the way, when she suddenly heard the loud, insistent blare of a honking horn. Looking around she saw Karl Vandervelde waving to her from inside his car, heading south ... toward the airport.
"Hurry up! I'll give you a ride."
Suzanne scurried across the street and jumped into his ... She did a double-take. It was a Humvee, a savage-looking vehicle, painted camo-green and bristling with radio antennas.
"Where are you heading?"
Van grinned at her. “How do you like my big bad girl?"
Suzanne slammed the door. “She's ... amazing."
"Yep. She's my darlin'.” Van patted the dash. “I'm on my way to my sister's place in Walla Walla. Now, where can I take you?"
"Could you drop me off at the airport?"
"The airport? You won't be catching too many flights this afternoon.” Van settled amber-colored aviator sunglasses over his eyes, then put his ‘big bad girl’ into gear.
"I know. Please, just get me there."
Vandervelde nodded and headed south, bouncing the monstrous vehicle over culverts and ruts, weaving in and out of traffic until they came to the end of the line of cars heading the other way. Once on open pavement, he hit the gas and his ‘darlin’ took off.
Suzanne kept silent during most of the trip, going over and over the extraordinary events that had happened in the last twenty-four hours—meeting Vandervelde and finding the Tearstones. It was more than just a coincidence; it meant something and she couldn't quite place it.
Traveling five miles took no time. Soon they were roaring down the road to the small rural airport, bouncing over pot-holes and broken pavement. Suzanne glanced at Van's profile. The man was enjoying himself immensely.
He brought the Hummer to halt in front of the terminal—a cracker box made of gray cinder block and glass. She managed to clamber out of the tank-like vehicle and set her bags on the ground. “Thanks, Van, for everything.” She started to turn, then stopped, reached into her duffel and handed him one of the Tearstones. “Here, take this. A little thank-you memento. You might need it someday."
Van pocketed the Stone, then sketched her a salute. “No problem-o. I'll see you around, little lady."
"I hope so. Goodbye.” She waved as he pulled away in a cloud of dust and gravel.
She'd never see Karl Vandervelde again, but in time, someone else would meet him—or, had already met him—under the most extraordinary circumstances. And, Vandervelde would need that Stone.
Suzanne found Dane organizing the evacuation by helicopter of the last patients from Mount Juliet's hospital. He looked tired and drawn from long hours of making decisions and giving orders. He came up to her, but did not smile. “How the hell did you get out here?"
"It's a long story. Dane, you must get me out of here. I need to go back to Splitrock Pass."
His exhaustion gave way to anger. “Are you out of your mind? Do you know what's happening? The dam upriver is on the verge of collapsing. The whole valley will be flooded. I've got to get these people out of here."
"I know, but I must get to the Pass. Please, Dane!"
"Suzanne, I need every helicopter to evac these folks out of here. You expect me to have one of those pilots take you into the mountains so you can go back to Never-Never Land? Hell, Suzanne, you can't even go back. Your barbarian friend had the Tearstone."
Dane turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm. “Yes, I can.” She fumbled in the side pocket of her duffel. “I can go back because I have this.” She opened her hand revealing one of the last two Tearstones.
He stared at it, dumbstruck. “Where did you get it?"
"From that guy in Curly's bar ... who gave ... who will give it, to you."
* * * *
SHE HAD TO wait another three hours until the last flight had evacuated all the patients and elderly residents from Mount Juliet.
Dane carried her duffel as they trotted across the grass to the waiting helicopter. They climbed inside and took their seats; she tucked Legolas’ carrier between her feet. The chopper rose into the dusky, evening light, turned gracefully and headed east for the mountains.
Suzanne looked out the window at the diminishing lights below and made her last farewells to her time and everything she knew. How history remembered her, she really didn't care and in many ways it didn't matter. Whether she died in the Cataclysms or disappeared through a rock in the mountains, nothing would change.
She explained everything to Dane: meeting Vandervelde and finding the three Tearstones. It wasn't a coincidence, she explained. Now, she had to go back because Vandervelde was, indeed, the Messenger. It was he who would eventually lead Dr. Kyrk and the other survivors over the mountains to the east. It was Vandervelde who would quarrel with Kyrk about matters of survival and who should make decisions. It was Vandervelde who would follow Kyrk back to Knife Edge Pass and try to stop him from returning to the west where he would probably become infected, or infect others.
Dr. Kyrk, the blessed Saint Kyrk, had lied. It made sense. Already maddened with grief over the loss of his wife, he struck Vandervelde, thinking he had killed him and left him for dead in the mountains. Except Vandervelde didn't die. He found himself alive and wandering in the woods near Curly's Bar. That's when he had confronted Dane and given him the Tearstone.
Strange that she should be explaining events in the past tense, when they had yet to happen. But Dane believed her.
The helicopter climbed high into the mountains. The light was fading fast and the pilot became concerned they wouldn't find the exact location in time.
Just as the sun melted into the horizon, Suzanne spotted the ruin of Curly's Bar. There was one small area in what was left of the parking lot where the helicopter could land. When it settled onto the ground, Dane helped her out and ran with her to the opening through the Pass.
"I guess this is the last time I'll ever see you,” he said.
"Same for me."
He bent to her and gave her a warm hug. “Goodbye, Suzanne."
"Goodbye, Dane. Thank you for everything. Thank you for giving my life back to me. Promise me one thing though: keep to the high ground. The highest ground."
"I promise."
"And, please take this, as a memento.” She handed him one of the remaining Tearstones. “Who knows, maybe someday you'll want to find out where I've gone."
Dane grinned and pocketed the Stone. “Yeah. Maybe."
Suzanne hastily gathered up Legolas’ carrier and her other bag. She couldn't look back; Dane would see her tears and she would probably see his.
She closed her eyes and stepped into Splitrock Pass. The wind was cool, brushing lightly against her cheek. She no longer heard the noise of the helicopter. On the other side, she opened her eyes. In the dusky twilight, the moon had already risen, its soft light shimmered across the snow-covered ground, lighting the trail to the valley below.
In a few hours, she'd be home.
Suzanne looked back at the pass one last time and noted that it didn't look anything like the jagged twin pinnacles of Knife Edge Pass when she had first walked through it. An unsettled feeling flitted through her. Odd.
The wind picked up and Suzanne shuddered. She didn't have much time to stand out in the cold and wonder about a rocky passageway.
She turned and began heading down the mountain slope, when she suddenly noted that the marker, the mis-spelled plaque imbedded in the rock, was missing. Who would have taken it? And the trail itself was much wider than before—wide enough to be a road. Another streak of unease shot through her.
Fresh determination forced her to get moving. She settled her duffel and the cat carrier more securely over her shoulders, then set off down the trail to reach Ironhold by dawn.
The shimmering moon and her new, water-resistant flashlight lit the way as she trudged back and forth following the wide zig-zag trail downward until she stopped to rest at a clearing. From inside her backpack she pulled out a chocolate energy bar and devoured it in four bites. She licked the last crumbs from her fingers, hoping she wouldn't have to dip into her supplies until she reached Ironhold. Satisfied, she leaned against a tree admiring the cold beauty of the mountains.
A soft yowl made her look down. Suzanne knelt and un-zipped the top of the bag just enough so Legolas could poke his head out.
"You can't come out, Leggos,” she said, scratching his chin. “You might run away. Besides, it's much too cold for kitties.” Legolas purred loudly. Even having a peek at his new surroundings was better than the dark confines of the cat carrier.
Suzanne stood up and brushed the snow from her knees. She reached for Legolas’ traveling bag and the duffel, then swung them over her shoulders. It was rather pleasant having the cat at her elbow, keeping her company as she slogged through the deepening snow.
But the contented feeling didn't last long. She sensed someone behind her and thought she heard footsteps.
Suzanne stopped, whirled around and aimed her flashlight where she thought she heard the noise. Nothing. Her heart began pounding in fearful, erratic beats. There was someone or something out there. She scanned the light beam over the ground and saw the prints where boots had scuffed and churned the snow. Genuine alarm flitted through her. Someone had been here recently.
She turned and headed down the pathway again, alert to the slightest sound. Legolas meowed plaintively.
"I know, sweetie, it's cold. But, we won't be out for long. Once we reach Ironhold, you'll be nice and warm."
Another noise made her stop. This time, the sound was much louder. She knew she was being followed.
"Hello? Anyone there?” she called out, feeling foolish.
Fear danced up her spine. She was being followed. Please God, not a skag.
A sudden roaring noise made her spin around. Twin beams of blue-white light bounced over the snowy roadway, coming straight toward her. The noise grew louder and the twin lights glowed brighter until they blinded her. She raised her arm to her eyes to block the glare. The engine noise subsided and stopped; the lights flicked from blazing white to spots of amber. She heard a car door slam. A man stepped in front of the left headlight.
"Well, dip me and fry me! I don't believe my eyes. Miss Jennings! How the hell did you get up here?"
"M-M-Mr. Vandervelde? I—was just—How?"
"Yep. It's me. How long's it been? Must be twenty-five years. ‘Course, I'm a little worse for wear. Can't say the same for you. You haven't changed a bit. Looks like that jimdandy flashlight I sold you is still working pretty good, too!” He grinned at her.
Suzanne took a wary step closer to him. Still garbed in camouflage and a heavy winter jacket, he looked exactly the same, except his once wild red hair had turned entirely gray. A few lines creased his broad features.
"What are you doing up here?” she asked.
"Patrol. We're out looking for someone.” He tapped his temple. “Poor guy has gone a little wacko. Thinks he's some kind of “messenger of God.” He swiped an old sword and wandered off. Hasn't been the same since his wife died, right after the ‘quakes. A shame too, since he did so much..."
"Wh-what did he do?"
"Well, Dr. Kyrk was one of those scientific types ... found a vaccine to counteract most of the contamination. But, he hasn't held up too well over the years. Mind's been goin’ for some time.” He waved his hand airily. “'Course that's ancient history. You know all that stuff. Listen, why don't you get in m'darlin', over there, and we'll take you on back to town ... warm you up. You remember my big bad girl?” he said, gesturing to the massive Hummer behind him. “She's held up pretty well over the years. She's one tough babe.” He slapped the fender affectionately.
Astonishment almost didn't allow her to breathe. The wrong time. She'd come through to the wrong time. Everything was different, changed. This was only ... twenty-five years after the Cataclysms. What had she done wrong? What had happened?
She heard the other car door open and a tall man climbed out of the Hummer. Like Vandervelde, he, too, was dressed in military camouflage and a heavy winter parka with a fur-trimmed hood. He stepped in front of the vehicle and pulled off his right glove. “Hi, I'm Sam.” He held out his hand to her.
