‘How come LBJ hasn’t got the exterminators in?’ one of the men said through tears of laughter.
‘Because there’s been a cover-up.’ The teen was red-faced with anger. ‘When Life magazine borrowed the film to copy it they said they damaged it. Six frames were cut out and it was spliced back together. They were the frames with the spider-guy in them.’
As the jeering rose up again, the teen turned on his heel and marched out. Church followed a moment later.
The teen was sitting in an old pick-up on the dirt road. The Beatles were on the radio singing ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’ and the youth was beating the rhythm on the steering wheel.
Church leaned into the passenger window. ‘I heard what you were saying in the bar.’
‘Hey, you’re English. Like these guys.’
‘My name’s Jack Churchill. Church to my friends.’
‘Gabriel Adams. Gabe. So what – you come to laugh at me, too?’
‘I’ve seen them.’
Gabe’s eyes grew wide. He snatched a cardboard box from under his seat. Inside were newspaper clippings, sketches, maps and pages of detailed notes. ‘JFK couldn’t have been shot by a lone gunman. It’s impossible. And I can prove it.’
Church stopped him getting out the sheaf of papers. ‘I just wanted to say stay away from the spider-people. They’re dangerous. Don’t waste your life chasing this kind of stuff. Enjoy yourself.’
Gabe looked hurt. ‘You don’t want to hear my theory?’
Church’s attention was caught by a blaze rising up away through the trees. Gabe blanched when he saw it.
‘What is it?’ Church asked.
‘I don’t know … I think … Marcy?’ Gabe turned the ignition.
Church hesitated, then got in. ‘Trouble?’
Gabe’s pale face revealed the answer as he gunned the pick-up in the direction of the fire.
2
Church could smell the thick, tarry smoke long before Gabe crashed the truck through vegetation into a field next to the woods. A twelve-foot-high cross blazed brightly against the night sky.
Eight men stood around in white robes and hoods. At the feet of the Ku Klux Klansmen sprawled a woman of Gabe’s age, a noose tied around her neck. One of the men held the other end like a dog leash. She was mixed race with long hair tied up in bunches. Her eyes were wide with terror.
Gabe brought the pick-up to a juddering halt. ‘That’s Marcy,’ he said. He was shaking.
One of the Klansmen raised a shotgun and called out, ‘You want to back off, boys. This ain’t for you.’
Gabe had frozen. Church released the handbrake and jammed his foot on top of Gabe’s on the accelerator. Dirt sprayed in a fountain behind them as the pick-up lurched forward. Church dragged Gabe down as the shotgun blast frosted the window.
‘They’re going to kill us,’ Gabe said, but he kept the pick-up racing towards the Klansmen.
The Klansmen scattered as the pick-up rammed the base of the burning cross. It crashed down on the man with the shotgun, the impact killing him before his robes ignited.
Church jumped out to retrieve the shotgun. One barrel was still loaded. He brandished it at the remaining Klansmen while Gabe raced out to pull the noose from Marcy’s neck. Crying and coughing, she rubbed at the sore flesh as Gabe helped her into the pick-up, with Church close behind.
One of the Klansmen threw himself onto the side of the vehicle to try to wrestle the shotgun from Church. As he forced his upper body through the passenger window, the gun discharged, killing the Klansman instantly. He slumped limply halfway through the window just as Gabe prepared to reverse the truck away at speed.
‘I know you, Gabriel Adams,’ one of the Klansmen yelled in a thick Southern accent. ‘You want to get out of town before sun-up, or we’re gonna pay your momma a visit.’
‘Your kind don’t belong here,’ another yelled. ‘Consorting with niggers. Knew you were no good the minute you and your momma set foot here.’
As they sped away, Gabe yelled, ‘Dump that damn body!’
‘I need to check something,’ Church replied. ‘Just keep driving for now.’
Church told Gabe to pull the truck over when they were a couple of miles away. Marcy had already recovered from her ordeal, and her fear had given way to a cold anger. Church pushed the dead Klansman back through the window onto the side of the road and jumped out. He stripped off the Klansman’s robes and searched his body for any sign of a spider. There was none, which Church found even more disturbing. He returned to the pick-up where Gabe was hugging Marcy tightly.
‘Are you all right?’ he said. ‘If we hadn’t seen the fire—’