Rockabilly Limbo Read online

  “No,” Hank interrupted. “I mean, tell me about the individuals. What kind of lives do they lead?”

  “Well, most of them go to church regularly . . .”

  Hank smiled.

  “. . . but I don’t think they’re very nice people, tell the truth. They want people to think they are, but they really aren’t. There goes Miss Alice Preston, riding with Jerry Dorman. Miss Alice is one of the richest women in the community; her ancestors settled this area. She’s in church every time the doors open, but she isn’t a nice person. She’s the town gossip and a mean-spirited woman with an ugly mouth. Hates dogs; sets out poison for them. Jerry is married to a real nice lady, but beats her up several times a year. He’s been screwing Miss Alice for years.”

  “I get the picture,” Hank said.

  “Hank?” the young man asked.

  “Yes?”

  “What is God?”

  Hank was silent for a moment, as the cars and trucks turned around and headed back. One of the passengers gave Hank the bird, and without hesitation, Hank returned the middle finger. Russ smiled at the antics of the priest.

  “God is everything,” Hank finally said. “The Creator of it all. I think he’s part human, a being that grows and becomes more intelligent as the millennia roll by. God makes mistakes, and regrets them . . . in that respect, He’s human. Did He create us in His own image? Well, sort of, but more than that, He created us to be as He would like to be seen. When angered, He can be savage. He destroyed the world once—this world,” he added mysteriously. “I think God is eternally in conflict with Himself. Because of what He created. Us. I think God tried dozens of times to get it right. You see, Russ, I’m not in disagreement with evolution. We don’t know how many times God tried to create us, and failed. Did we come from the ape? Probably. But who created the ape? God. You have to understand, Russ, that the books in the Bible were penned by men, human beings. Divinely inspired? Well . . . maybe. But still men. They didn’t want to record God’s mistakes, so they deliberately left them out. God is love and compassion, yes. But God is also hate. His wrath is awesome. God hates a hypocrite. If you study God, you have to take what you find. The good, the bad, and the ugly, so to speak. In the beginning, I think God was curious about himself. So to understand Himself, He created us.”

  Russ smiled at Hank. “I could maybe go with religion, the way you explain it.”

  “And I may be completely wrong, Russ. But we’ll all know someday. That’s the one thing we all can be sure of.”

  “And that day may not be far off?”

  “Could be.”

  * * *

  Jenny walked into the den carrying a dozen or so sheets of paper. “I just printed these out,” she said. “I’ve been talking with others around the nation . . . by computer. There really are hundreds of groups like ours all over North America. You were right, Hank.”

  “But we’re going to be badly outnumbered, people,” the priest warned. “For every one of us, there will be a hundred, a thousand, of those who have, in one way or another, rejected a decent life and accepted the way of the darkness.”

  “You didn’t say ’accepted Christ,’ Hank,” Jenny asked. “Why is that?”

  Hank smiled at the young woman. “I have a lot of Jewish friends, Jenny. Also any number of friends and acquaintances who belong to other religions. I have never been so arrogant as to believe that ours is the only true way. Although I never expressed those views to the church hierarchy.”

  “A thousand to one?” Russ questioned. “Then how can we win?”

  “By being trickier, meaner, dirtier, and faster on the trigger than our enemies,” Cole said.

  The old country/western hit, “Don’t Take Your Guns to Town,” sprang out of the speakers, overriding the news program on the television.

  Ruth got up and turned off the system.

  The words and music continued to push out of the speakers.

  “Oh, shut up!” Ruth shouted.

  The music grew louder.

  “Say please,” Hank said.

  Ruth looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

  “Will you please stop the music?” Ruth said.

  The music stopped.

  Jenny held up the printouts. “These people are also experiencing strange music. But how can that be? I’ve networked with people all over North America. How can he, that . . . thing, be in so many places at once?”

  A voice, doing a very good imitation of Doris Day, suddenly filled the large den, singing “It’s Magic!”

  The music slowly faded away, the news program once more pushing through the speakers, the newscaster’s voice filled with urgency.

  “... The rocket attack killed several staff members and Secret Service agents and did considerable damage to the White House. However, the President and First Lady and their two children escaped injury. They have been moved to an undisclosed location. Martial law has been declared in the Washington, D.C. area and a dusk to dawn curfew imposed. In all, ten federal buildings were hit simultaneously. All federal workers were told to go home and stay there. Washington has shut down until at least Monday. Stay tuned for further updates as we receive them.”

  “What is today?” Sue asked.

  “Thursday,” Cole informed her, standing up and looking out into the growing dusk of evening. “I think it’s going to be a very long three-day weekend.”

  * * *

  A strange sullenness had been slowly creeping across the land, affecting only a certain type of person. But that certain type of person numbered in the millions. The sullenness respected no age, race, or gender. Now the brooding sensation was moving faster, like some deadly airborne virus. And deadly was the key word.

  “What’s happening?” Katti asked, walking into the den and seeing the worried looks on the faces of Cole and Hank. Jim and Gary were outside, on guard duty. Since the visit of Hal Hardesty and the caravan of vehicles, two people were outside at all times.

  Cole pointed toward the wide-screen TV. “Violence has picked up all across the nation. It’s reached the epidemic stage. About a third of the nation’s police didn’t show up for work. This time I don’t believe the violence is going to stop.”

  “And a certain type of preacher isn’t making things any better,” Hank added. “They’re proclaiming it’s the end of the world.”

  “And you don’t think so?” she questioned.

  Hank shook his head. “No. Not after giving it some very careful thought. The human spirit will prevail in the end. But until that end arrives, it’s going to be very bloody.”

  Sue walked into the room and sat down. “How can you be so sure?”

  “We’re not going to kill each other off down to the last person,” Hank said, looking up and smiling as Bev placed a fresh mug of coffee on the table in front of the sofa. “There will be millions of survivors, all over North America. The news just broke about the meeting of leaders of all nuclear nations. Silos are being deactivated. Ships and planes with nuclear capabilities are being recalled. This isn’t a war between nations. This is a battle between people. I’ve always believed there are only two kinds of people. Decent and indecent. Good and bad. Satan isn’t going to destroy the world. If he allowed that to happen, it would be the end of the game. And Ol’ Nick has too much fun playing with the lives of people to let it end. What would he do then? It would be over and he would be the ruler of ... Hell, I suppose. How boring. There would be no challenges left.”

  “This is a ... game?” Sue asked.

  Hank took a sip of coffee. “Sure. Has been since the beginning of time. God wins some; Satan wins some. Back and forth. They worked out the rules millennia ago.”

  “This is happening worldwide?”

  “No,” Cole said. “No yet. Just in North America. But the other nuclear nations have agreed to stand down. Just in case the codes fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Why just in North America?” Sue asked.

  “Biggest kid on the block, mayb
e,” Hank answered. “Really, I don’t have a clue. Yet,” he added.

  “Maybe you’ll never know,” Russ said, speaking from under the archway leading into the den.

  Hank smiled knowingly. “We will all know every answer to our questions when we stand before God.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to postpone that for a few more years,” the young ex-deputy said. “Like about fifty or so.”

  “Don’t blaspheme, Russell,” his wife told him, after a stern look.

  The rifle bullet slammed through the picture window, sending glass flying and putting a halt to conversation. The bullet stopped when it reached a wall.

  Everyone in the den had done exactly what Cole had drilled into their heads for the past few days: they hit the floor and bellied down.

  Cole heard the crack of Gary’s rifle and the boom of Jim’s shotgun. He jumped to his feet and ran to the bank of switches, plunging the room into darkness. He grabbed his M-14 and moved to the front door. “Stay down low,” he called over his shoulder, then slipped out into the humid late summer night. Lifting his handy-talkie, he said, “I’m out of the house and coming down to you.”

  “That’s 10-4, Cole,” Jim responded, just as several more shots ripped a hole in the night. “We’re both all right and in good positions down by the fence.”

  “Stay there,” Cole told his friend.

  “No one’s hurt, Cole,” Hank softly called from the house.

  “Take a walkie-talkie and move to the rear of the house,” Cole returned the call. “The three of us will take the front. Shoot anything that moves to the rear.”

  “Understood,” the priest said.

  Cole was about halfway down the front lawn, staying off the blacktop driveway, when the rifles across the road cracked again, and this time Cole pinpointed the muzzle flashes. They were about two hundred yards away. Dropping to one knee, Cole gave the muzzle flashes half of a twenty-round magazine. The nine-pound weapon absorbed much of the recoil, but at rapid fire, Cole’s shoulder still took some punishment.

  A faint choking cry reached him, then silence. Cole waited for a slow ten count, expecting some return fire, but none came. He could detect no movement across the road. Cole moved down to the fence line and joined Jim and Gary.

  “You got at least one of them,” Gary said.

  “You sons a bitches!” the shout jumped out of the night, coming from across the road. “You’ve killed Max. Now you’ll pay for this.”

  Acting on a hunch, Cole lifted his handy-talkie. “Hank? Have Ruth hit the rear floodlights. Shoot anything on two legs that you see.”

  “Affirmative,” Hank replied.

  “You know something we don’t?” Jim whispered.

  “Just a hunch.”

  The rear of the house and surrounding lawn was suddenly lit up as Ruth turned on the floods. Cole recognized the crack of Bev’s Mini-14 as it began spitting out 5.56 rounds, and the heavier crash of Hank’s Browning 7 mm magnum. Then came the sounds of a shotgun, and Cole figured that was Ruth, pouring out the double-ought three-inch magnums.

  The handy-talkies of the three men crouched by the fence hissed, and they all could clearly hear the sound of someone retching in the background. Hank’s voice came out strong and clear. “There were six of them, Cole. One got away. But he was shot in the butt by Ruth. I imagine that double-ought torn him up pretty badly.”

  “Who’s being sick?”

  “Jenny. She’ll be all right. Everybody is okay here. You guys?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “Cole?”

  “Go, Hank.”

  “One of the men out back is alive. Should I go out after him.”

  “Negative. Just stay put.”

  The sounds of vehicle engines roaring into life drifted to the three men by the fence. “I think it’s over for the time being,” Cole said. “But we can’t be sure. You guys stay put. I’m going back to the house.”

  Cole zigzagged his way through the darkness back to the house and tapped on the front door. “It’s Cole.”

  “Come on in, Cole,” Ruth called.

  Cole was pleased to see the woman was standing with her shotgun pointed at him when he opened the door. She immediately lifted the muzzle and smiled.

  “Very good,” Cole said. “I can stop worrying about you. How did the others do?”

  “Katti got off a few rounds, but I don’t think she hit anything. Jenny doesn’t know a thing about guns. Hank . . . ?” She smiled. “For a priest, he’s got balls of brass. Bev dropped one. Russ is all right. He’ll stand. Sue froze up. But I expect that’s only natural.”

  “And you?”

  Ruth smiled. “I dropped one and shot another in the ass. I would imagine he’s out of the game for a long time.”

  Chuckling softly at how well the little group did in their first firefight, Cole moved toward the rear of the large home. Hank pointed out the wounded man.

  “Cut the lights,” Cole said. “I’ll wait until my night vision returns, then go drag him in. He might be able to tell us something.”

  Russ stood up. “I’ll go with you, give you some cover.”

  “All right. Let our eyes adjust to the darkness again and we’ll get him.” He looked at Hank. “The man might have had a change of heart after catching a slug. He might want you to pray for him.”

  Hank gave his friend a very jaundiced look. “I’ll be sure to think of something appropriate for the moment,” he said, very sarcastically.

  Cole grinned. “I’m sure you will.”

  Eight

  The man had a bullet crease on the side of his head that had just barely broken the skin. Other than that, he appeared to be unhurt, but he stank so bad the odor almost made Cole throw up.

  “Jesus Christ!” Cole muttered. “Stay back,” he warned Russ. “Unless you have a very strong stomach.”

  “I smell him from here,” Russ said. “What’s wrong with these people? Why won’t they bathe?”

  “I don’t think the devil is especially fond of water,” Cole replied, grabbing the man’s wrists and dragging him over to the stone patio.

  Hank came out of the house, took one whiff, and almost gagged. “Strip him out of those stinking clothes,” he said. “Or cut them off him. Whatever. Then we’ll turn a hose on him.”

  Cole tore the clothing off the man and tossed them to one side. When the cold water from the outside spigot hit the man’s naked body, he started coming fully conscious. He cursed the water, cursed God, and cursed the men gathered around him.

  He stopped cursing only when Cole stuck the end of the hose in his mouth.

  Russ had dragged the dead men off to one side and piled them up in a heap. He was pale and shaken when he returned.

  “Hang in there, Russ,” Cole told him. “It’s going to get a hell of a lot worse.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  Ruth got a towel, found some of her late husband’s clothing, and tossed them out to the men.

  “Dry off and put them on,” Cole told the naked man.

  “Screw you!”

  Cole knelt down and shoved his 9 mm against the man’s genitals. “Put them on or lose your equipment.” He cocked the hammer.

  “Wait! Wait!” the man hollered. “Don’t pull that trigger!”

  “Towel off and get dressed.”

  The man quickly dried himself and scrambled into the clean clothing. He still did not smell like lilacs, but the hosing off had helped considerably.

  In the den, Bev cleaned out the cut on his head and stuck a large Band-Aid on it.

  “I’ve seen this man around town a number of times,” Russ said. “But I don’t know his name.”

  “John Brown,” the man said.

  The group all groaned at that.

  “It’s the truth, damnit!” the man insisted. “My name is Jonathan Brown. You can check my driver’s license.” He glared defiantly at the men and women standing around him. “You can’t win this fight. You might as well give up. Th
ings will go easier for you.”

  “What things?” Cole asked.

  “You’ll be treated well during indoctrination. I can guarantee that. If you don’t give up, you’re going to be killed. All of you.”

  “Indoctrination into what?” Hank asked.

  “The NWO,” the man said.

  “What the hell is that?” Ruth blurted.

  “New World Order,” Cole told her. “A lot of people believe that America is soon to be taken over by a group of world powers. But this is the first time I’ve heard that the devil was behind it.”

  “It’s either us or ZOG,” the man said. “You better make up your minds real quick.”

  “ZOG?” Sue asked.

  “Zionist Occupation Government,” Hank answered that one. “That crap has been circulating for nearly fifty years.”

  Jenny left the room, heading for the office and the computer. She had a lot of networking to do.

  “It’s over for you people here in North America,” the man said. “Your God has given up on you. We won. We’ve been preparing for this for years. You can’t win.” He grinned, and it was a nasty pulling back of the lips. “You’re all a bunch of rabbits. Running scared.”

  The trumpet and band of Ray Anthony suddenly blared forth, even though the TV and stereo were off. The sounds of the fifties song and dance, “Bunny Hop,” filled the house.

  “Do you mind?” the prisoner asked.

  “Mind what?” Cole said.

  The man stood up and began dancing to the music. Da da de da da da, hop, hop, hop. All around the room. The music faded, Jonathan ceased his hopping about and sat back down. “My parents used to dance to that. Now I feel better. That was quite refreshing.”

  During the impromptu dance, the look on both Cole’s and Hank’s faces was priceless. Cole cut his eyes to Hank, the expression on the priest’s face was one of bewilderment.

  Cole turned to Ruth. “You wanted a guard shift earlier. Is your offer still open?”

  “Surely.”

  “Can you and Russ take the rear of the house for a little while.”

  “Consider it done,” the woman said, and picked up her shotgun. Russ got his borrowed rifle and they left the den.