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neural destroyers for that. Invisible and tasteless and impossible to identify. But if you
want to take out thirty or forty people and make sure none of them stand up and walk
away& well& " She gestured around with her hand.
"Wonder what made them quit? Looks like they had a tight system going here."
They found the answer to that question in the big, silent room at the back, where they
could make out Mac and Carrie, through the partly shuttered windows, going into the
largest of the aluminum-clad barns.
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There was a sophisticated electronic synthesizer and a complex sound system capable of
pushing music or messages throughout the entire compound.
The gloomy chamber held several long, padded benches, upholstered in a dark maroon,
plush material. Prayer and hymn books were scattered all over the floor, some of them
crusted with dried vomit from the sprawled corpses.
But the eye was drawn to the body that sat in the largest chair in the place. Ornate and
grand enough to merit the name of a throne, it was covered in peeling gilt paint. The
hands of the dead man gripped the arms with a ferocious force, black blood around the
broken nails. The head was on one side, the empty sockets turned toward the ceiling,
which was crudely covered with a daubed mixture of fat-assed cherubs and cartoon
devils. A broken crystal goblet lay between the splayed feet.
The stomach was distended, stretching at the brilliant turquoise robe that hung from the
broad shoulders, and a fine piece of Navaho silver jewelry dangled around the throat.
At his side was a small, cheap cassette recorder and a microphone resting on a wire
tripod.
Jim moved to it and looked down. "Been rewound to the start," he said. "Reckon there's a
final message?"
"Be surprised if there isn't. Crazies like the world to know their famous last words."
Jim pressed Play and waited.
There was this hissing, crackling sound of the tape running through, then a loud cough.
The voice that came from the tinny little speaker had a rich, deep, resonant quality, with
the hint of a Midwest twang to it. It had an overlaid smugness of someone not used to
being contradicted.
"This is the last will and testament to the world from Jericho Malvern, apostate, prophet
and leader of this community, known by the prognosticated name of the First Oracular
Church of the Reborn Nazarene."
There was a pause and the sound of the man swallowing. Nanci caught Jim's eye and
nodded.
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"My followers have all done the deed required, and now I take my draft of the elixir of
eternal life." Another cough. "But I would first leave a message that will convey our
beliefs to the rest of mankind."
Another cough and a sharply indrawn breath.
Nanci shook her head. "What a stupid bastard," she said. "Strychnine could've been better
for them. Then again, it breaks your back and you die with a hideous grin. But
cyanide& the man doesn't have long to give us his message."
"Didn't think it would work as fast as this but& Jericho Malvern and the Church of " A
rattling groan issued from the little speaker, and the faint tinkling of his glass breaking on
the floor.
"How quick does it work, Nanci? It's only a few seconds since& half a minute at best."
"Sodium cyanide doesn't fool with you. You can have it as a gas or a powder. Doesn't
always have that almonds smell."
The voice on the tape was rasping and painful. "My chest, like a bird fluttering its...."
"Tachycardia," said Nanci, turning toward the door of the death chamber. "His heart's
starting to accelerate. Faster and faster. like a little kid running down a hill. Faster and
faster, losing control. Falling and then...."
"Didn't want to& important message about& we lost hope and food gone and& fucking
heart's bursting& can't breathe and everything's going, going& "
Silence.
"Gone," said Nanci.
JIM CLOSED the heavy front door quietly behind him, feeling profoundly depressed at
the profusion of death that brimmed out of the house.
He'd suggested setting a fire, but the woman had pointed out that the only thing it might
do was attract attention to them maybe the attention of the Hunters of the Sun. And it
would do nothing at all to help the decomposing bodies of the men, women and children
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of the lonely doomed community.
As they stood together at the front of the building, they both started at the sudden noise
of a powerful engine roaring into life from the barns out back.
"Got a tractor going," said Jim. Another engine kicked into life. "Two tractors."
Nanci smiled at him, looking twenty years younger. "Maybe the dice are starting to roll
our way for a change," she said. "Let's go see what they've got."
Chapter Twenty-Three
There were four tractors in the big, chilly barn.
One of them was in bits, with tools lying around it, as though the suicidal call of Jericho
Malvern had interrupted the mechanic at his work.
The two that Carrie and Mac had started up were both quite old, rusting some around the
edges. Blue smoke belched from the noisy exhausts, mingling with the plumes of breath
in the icy interior. There was a fourth one against the back wall, uncrated but obviously
brand-new.
"It will take a few minutes," said Mac when Jim and Nanci joined them. "But then we'll
have the brightest tractor in the land. Look at it. Hasn't driven more than about a dozen
miles in its fresh, young life."
"No," said Jim. "Take the two you already got running. Fix up a pair of decent trailers
with Nanci while I go call the others down here."
Henderson McGill stared in bewilderment at his old skipper. "But this one's new, Jim."
"Sure, Mac. Like you say, it's only done a few miles. We might want it to go hundreds [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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