The Influence(101)

Everyone seemed angry, though not at anything in particular. It was the type of mob, Ross thought, that would require only one incendiary word to graduate to a riot.

They needed to get out of here. Now. If only…

He saw Jill’s van turn on to the street.

Filled with relief, Ross put the car in gear, honked his horn and swerved around the growing mob. Jill had seen him, and instead of pulling into the gas station, she remained on the street, waiting. She motioned for him to pull in front of her, and he did so, turning right, heading out of town.

There were still no red flowers, but there were people on the street, and he drove slowly so as not to hit them, Jill’s van following closely behind. Many of those they passed ignored the vehicles, but some individuals stared, openly hostile. Ross thought of Jill’s painting depicting a line of armed and angry men with long animal shadows, the street littered with bodies of mutilated women.

And of course that painting of a monster looming over the smoldering ruins of Magdalena was never far from his mind.

He wondered what the thing in Cameron Holt’s smokehouse looked like right now.

Ross slowed the car as they reached the end of town. Standing forlornly in front of an empty adobe house, looking lost, was Father Ramos. The priest stood next to an overturned red tricycle, his collar open and partially ripped, a dark bruise on his cheek. Ross pulled over, concerned. Stopping before the house, he got out, shooting Jill a look through the van’s windshield as he moved around to open the back door of the car. “Hop in, Father.”

The priest stared at him blankly. “They won’t listen to me,” he said, perplexed. “I tried to get them to stop, but…” His voice trailed off.

Ross felt a chill caress his spine. “Stop what?”

The priest shook his head. “It all got away from me.”

“Get in the car,” Ross said gently. “We’re leaving. We’re getting out of here. We’ll take you with us.”

Father Ramos hesitated. “This is my flock. I’m responsible—”

“Not any more, Father. And you know it. You need to come with us. We need to get out of here. It’s dangerous to stay.”

It was obvious that the priest didn’t want to leave, but while he’d probably be wracked with guilt later, he was dazed enough to be pliable, and, at the urging of all of them, he reluctantly got in the back seat of the car next to Lita.

Apparently, they were not the only ones to feel that it was time to leave, because other vehicles were also on the road heading in the same direction. It was a virtual caravan out of town, and Ross was glad to see it. The more people who left Magdalena, the better. They’d be safe.

But the ones who remained…

He didn’t know what would happen to them and tried not to think about it.

When the monster hatched…

He really didn’t want to think about that.

Father Ramos, atypically, did not seem to be in the mood to talk, and none of them pressed him. He looked as though he’d gotten into a fight, and Ross wondered what had happened, but unless and until the priest wanted to share, neither he, Lita nor Dave had any right to demand answers.

“I think it’s time we told someone about this,” Dave said as they were travelling toward the highway. “Sheriff, National Guard…someone.”

Ross looked over at him. “You think they’ll believe that—”

“We tell them there’s been looting, a riot, civil unrest. Magdalena has no police force. They’ll have to come out to investigate.”

“Not a bad plan,” Ross said admiringly.

“And when they go out there, they’ll find…what they find.”

“I’m going to tell the diocese.”

They were all surprised to hear Father Ramos’ voice—Ross had not even been sure he’d been paying attention to the conversation—and not only was it a relief to discover that the priest was alert and aware of what was going on, but it was reassuring to think that the Catholic church would be getting involved. As heathenish as he might be, deep down Ross thought that Jill was right: this was something that might require a religious solution.

“It is not an angel,” Father Ramos said. “I know that now.”

“What is it?” Lita asked.

“That is what we need to discover.”

There were lineups at nearly all of the gas stations in Willcox, mostly Magdalena refugees. While Ross filled up at a Shell, Lita and Dave got out to talk to some of their friends and acquaintances and compare notes. Jill had pulled up to the pump behind them, and Ross set the clip on his gas nozzle and walked over to her. They hadn’t spoken since their short conversation on the phone this morning, and the first thing he said was, “Are you all right?”