The Beasts Of Valhalla

17

There are a lot of cows and trees in Wisconsin, and it took the better part of three months and most of our liberated Pentagon money to find Father's commune in northern Bayfield County, near Lake Superior.

The good news was that no one seemed to be on our trail, which could mean that Garth and I were presumed dead, and any loose guns belonging to Father or the Pentagon were off somewhere chasing after an ancient, wily Defense Intelligence Agency operative. The rest was all red ink. Whatever had been injected into our bloodstreams had been absorbed into every cell in our bodies, where it was merrily cooking away in the chromosomes, canceling controls in the DNA, finding and randomly transcribing tiny, forgotten genetic messages which had been discarded in an evolutionary wastebasket hundreds of millions of years deep, sending those messages back into our flesh First Class, Special Delivery. It had been almost two days since Garth had suffered a nervous seizure, but my right foot-the one with the scaly membrane growing between the big and second toes-itched all the time.

Naturally, it was Halloween.

We switched places a mile or so down the highway from the commune-operated fruit and dairy stand we had spotted on the first pass; Garth slid behind the wheel, and I climbed in the back. I rested my hand on the stock of the Colt automatic Lippitt had given us and pulled a blanket up over my lap; if word had been sent to Father's worldwide ring of communes to be on the lookout for the "keys to Valhalla," some unfortunate acolyte was going to find out that this particular set of keys could do a lot more than unlock genetic secrets.

Garth drove slowly up the highway, then pulled into a small parking lot and stopped close enough to the stand so that I could see without being seen, hear the conversation, and cover him. I felt vaguely ridiculous; the stand, framed by cheerful and intricately carved jack-o'-lanterns, was staffed by two young men and a woman, all of whom I judged to be in their early or mid twenties. Except for a common unisex uniform comprised of pale green overalls and matching turtleneck sweater, the three young people could have stepped off the pages of a Norman Rockwell calendar; in Nebraska they would have been described as clean-cut and fresh-faced. The men wore their hair cut very short, and the girl wore hers in a style that nicely framed a face that was every parent's-and lover's-dream. With her firm body, sensual mouth, and flashing brown eyes, she looked like the Ultimate Cheerleader, promising paradise to some lucky member of the right team.

Here, if the information given to us by a real estate agent was accurate, the team consisted of stone fundamentalists-although the woman had not been sure exactly what it was they considered fundamental. Their theology and politics were reportedly somewhere to the right of a Philadelphia television evangelist's. They were Born-Again Christians with a few twists nobody in the region had been able to describe with any accuracy.

The three smiled in unison as Garth stepped out of the car.

"Father love you," the girl said brightly. "May we serve you, sir?"

"Father love you," Garth replied easily.

Suddenly a shudder ran through Garth's body, and he staggered backward, came up hard against the car. I tensed, put my fingers on the door handle. It seemed a poor time for a seizure; if Garth did his Hulk number, the entire stand as well as the small warming hut behind it were likely to disappear, and I didn't feel this would start us off on the right foot with the commune. But the tremors passed, and I sank back down into the seat with a sigh of relief.

One of the young men started to come around from behind the stand. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Just a dizzy spell," Garth said as he pushed off the car and walked over to the stand. "Everything you have here looks absolutely beautiful."

The Ultimate Cheerleader beamed. "And everything is delicious, sir. We make all the cheeses ourselves, and the fruit pies were baked only a few hours ago. Also, you get a free jack-o'-lantern with anything you buy."

"It isn't food for my body that I need," Garth said. Nice. "I'd like to join your community."

The three young people exchanged uncertain glances. It was the girl who spoke.

"Do you have anything to say to us?"

Shit, I thought with something approaching religious fervor. It sounded like an invitation to play Password.

"I seek Father's peace." That only brought more uncertain, uneasy glances. Garth folded his hands in front of him, bowed his head. I had to strain to hear his voice. "Please. I've been so troubled-and I've come so far. There were words, but in my fear that you'd reject me I've forgotten them. Please allow me to serve Jesus and Father."

The girl came around from behind the stand, walked up to Garth and tentatively touched his hand. "You're one of the hundred and forty-four thousand?"

A beat. "Yes," Garth said.

A dozen beats. "I believe you," the girl said at last. Then she wrapped her arms around Garth's waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. "I hear the words in your heart," she continued as she put her head up and covered my brother's mouth with her own. The two young men gave little yelps of joy, ran around from behind the stand and began to dance in a circle around Garth, patting him on the head, back, and shoulders as the girl continued to kiss him.

That would have been enough to give me a seizure. However, when the girl removed her mouth from his, he turned his head slightly in my direction-winked.

Even my choked-off laugh felt good; it had been some time since Garth and I had even smiled.

The mood didn't last long. Garth was beginning to untangle himself, and I assumed he was getting ready to introduce me. Then the girl unwrapped herself from around his waist, whispered something in his ear, and skipped off into the warming hut behind the stand. Garth made a small warning gesture with his hand behind his back, and I stayed put.

The girl returned from the hut, and the four of them engaged in conversation conducted in voices too low for me to hear. After about five minutes something with a broken muffler could be heard approaching on the dirt road that ran through the apple orchards behind the stand; a trail of dust rose over a sea of trees with leaves the color of blood.

A battered, brown Willys Jeep roared out of the orchards, skidded into a turn that took it all the way around the stand, and stopped with its nose almost touching our car's. The driver got out, and I released the safety catch on my gun.

The man was as tall as my brother, a little over six feet, and burly, with a fair complexion and a shock of sand-colored hair visible under a brown beret. His matching brown jumpsuit was definitely paramilitary in style, with the cuffs stuck into shiny black leather boots. He wore black leather gloves. On one sleeve of the jumpsuit was a shoulder patch with what looked like an anemic Olympic symbol-four interlocking black rings, stacked two on two, on a gold background; it was virtually identical to the logo I had seen inside the Volsung Corporation building. He also wore a shoulder holster filled to overflowing with a.38. The man had not come to kiss and dance.

The man moved off a few yards with the three young people, and I had to shift position slightly to keep track of what was going on. I didn't like what I saw. The man in the jumpsuit listened in silence as the three spoke, didn't change expression when Garth meekly approached and said something to him. Suddenly he turned his head slightly and looked at the car. I sank back into the seat, heart pounding, and stared straight ahead through my smoked glasses.

In the middle of something Garth was saying, the man abruptly turned and marched toward the car. Garth, his face impassive, followed behind. The man studied me from outside the car, but I waited for a rap on the window before rolling it down.

"This is my brother, Boris," Garth said quietly. "As I told you, he's blind."

"Who are the hundred and forty-four thousand, Brother Boris?" the man snapped at me.

Now I turned toward him, cocked my head at an angle, and smiled benignly. His eyes, cold and appraising as he gazed at me, were set wide apart on either side of a nose that looked as if it had been broken at least once, and he had a lantern jaw that was too big for the rest of his features. "Father love you, brother. We seek Father's peace."

"Who sent you? Who's your sponsor?"

"Father's spirit is our guide."

The muscles in the man's lantern jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at me. Then he appeared to reach a decision. "Follow me," he said curtly to Garth, then turned and walked quickly to the Willys.

Garth started up the car, followed the Willys around the stand and up the dirt road through the orchards. "We seem to be missing a password," I said.

"Yeah. Incidentally, we're the Jamisons-I'm Billy, you're Boris."

"I heard. I really don't feel like a Boris, Billy."

"Well, Billy's already said you're Boris, so Boris you shall be."

I leaned on the back of the front seat, looked at my brother. The pale, late-afternoon light did not flatter his profile; in the three months that we had been searching for this commune, his nose had inexorably broadened and flattened. "It looks like we go to Plan B," I said.

Garth shook his head. "Not yet."

"I'm going to shoot Captain Midnight the first chance I get."

"No," Garth said firmly. The Willys had disappeared around a bend fifty yards ahead of us. Garth had to grip the wheel firmly to maintain control on the deeply rutted road, and now he accelerated in an attempt to catch up with the speeding Jeep. "This commune is our only link to Siegmund Loge, and we may never find another-not in time, anyway."

"You think that's news to me, Garth?" I asked irritably.

"Just a reminder."

"I don't need a reminder."

"Plan B will never work. We have no idea how big this place is. We don't know how many members there are, and we don't even know what we're looking for. Shooting this guy isn't going to solve the problem. They have to let us in."

"There's no way we're going to bullshit our way past this guy, and you know it. He's Goddamn well taking us back here so that he can shoot us."

"I think there's still a chance we can pull this off, Mongo. This is my hand; let me play it out."

"What the hell do you know that I don't? What were all of you talking about back there?"

"This big joker's more than just a guard; he's a member of the commune. He shares their beliefs."

"What the hell difference does that make?"

"There's no time to explain now. Just keep that Colt hidden, and let me do all the talking."

We came around the blind turn and Garth had to slam on the brakes to avoid smashing into the Willys, which was blocking the road. The uniformed man was standing next to the Willys, beret pulled down low over his forehead, gloved hands folded across his chest.

"Leave the gun, Mongo," Garth whispered.

I left the gun-in my belt, next to my spine, under my shirt. As far as I was concerned, Lot 56 had softened Garth's brain. I didn't plan on letting the uniformed man bury Garth and me in a Wisconsin apple orchard, and I didn't want us to end up looking like the squishy things we had seen splashed over the Caddy's fender. I was in no mood to horse around with anyone-or to waste time. In a way, I preferred Plan B. I was certain that, as night fell, I could infiltrate the commune, find some clue to the whereabouts of Siegmund Loge, and get out again. Garth might not be able to see in the dark, but I could. It was daylight I couldn't handle.

"Stay cool, brother," Garth continued as the man walked up to the side of the car and motioned for Garth to roll down the window.

"Get out," the man said.

Garth opened the door, stepped out onto the dirt road. I opened my door, waited for Garth to take my arm and help me out. I let him guide me around to the front of the car, where we stood like soldiers awaiting inspection.

The man raised a gloved hand, rested his index finger on the center of Garth's chest. "You're a liar."

"No," Garth replied simply.

"Who sent you here?"

"Fa- "

"You private detectives? Parents? Reporters?"

"We're pilgrims."

"You're a liar."

"No."

"Who are the hundred and forty-four thousand?"

"I told you- "

"Who's your sponsor?"

"Father."

"Have you brought an offering?"

"We have some money- "

"If you had any business being here, you'd know I wasn't talking about money."

"I've tried to explain to you- "

"You say your brother's blind. Where's his cane?"

"I'm his cane."

The man laughed harshly. "You're not only a liar, you're an idiot. No sponsor would ever send us a dwarf, what's more a blind dwarf."

Without warning the man's hand shot toward my face. Somehow, I managed to limit my reaction to screwing my eyes shut. Nothing happened. I'd expected my glasses to be torn off. They weren't, and when I opened my eyes I was amazed to find that Garth's reflexes had been quick enough to enable him to reach out and grip the man's wrist, stopping the hand in midair. I was impressed.

Rather than reach for his gun, the man brought his other gloved hand back, cocked it with the fingers straight, the edge on a direct line with Garth's temple. Garth continued to grip the other wrist, but otherwise made no move to defend himself.

I was content to wait and watch-for the moment; if the man couldn't control his itch to strike Garth, I was going to scratch his brains with a bullet.

"Boris mustn't be hurt," Garth said evenly. "He's holy."

My brother's fingers remained locked around the man's left wrist; the man's right hand remained cocked in the air. I just remained.

"I wasn't going to hurt him," the uniformed man said at last. His tone had become slightly uncertain. "I just wanted to look at his eyes."

"That will hurt him. His affliction was cast upon him by Father personally. It's special-as is mine. Light burns Boris."

Now it was the man who seemed impressed. Slowly, the gloved hand came down. Garth released his grip on the other wrist.

Since there had been no claim of my being mute, I decided it might be a good time to do a little downfield blocking for my brother. I cleared my throat, spoke in my sweetest voice. "If this man wishes to gaze upon Father's mark, Billy, let him. My pain will be a small price to pay if it will enable us to be admitted into Father's larger family."

Garth nodded, stepped aside. The uniformed man stepped closer, reached out with both hands and-tentatively-removed my smoked glasses.

I knew what was going to happen, and every instinct screamed for me to close my eyes-but I had to leave them open long enough for our interrogator to see the lack of iris and the huge pupils that extended vertically, like knife wounds, across the eyeballs. I managed-and paid the price. The raw sunlight poured through the pupils and smashed into my optic nerve like a bullet. Then I did go blind as the inside of my head went nova in an explosion of crimson. I bit back a scream as tears flooded my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. My hands flew to my face a split second later, but the man had seen my eyes-and the sight had apparently produced the desired effect. I heard a gasp, and then a click as the glasses dropped to the frozen, hard-packed dirt at my feet; I winced inwardly, but there was no sound of breaking glass.

I felt Garth's arms wrap around me, realized that he had gone down on his hands and knees. "Hurts, huh?" he whispered in my ear.

"Like a son-of-a-bitch," I whispered back, nuzzling my face in his shoulder and allowing him to pat the back of my head. "Speaking of sons-of-bitches- "

"Shh. If you can continue to refrain from making smart-ass remarks, I think I'm going to be able to pull this off."

"How do you know?"

"I can smell it."

That sounded pretty much like a smart-ass remark to me, but I didn't have time to reply as Garth unwrapped himself from around my neck, wiped the tears from my face, and repositioned the smoked glasses on the bridge of my nose.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. Everything was surrounded by an aura, as if I'd spent too much time in a heavily chlorinated pool. However, the pain was beginning to ebb, and I could at least see once again. It also made me feel considerably better to see that my snake eyes had given the uniformed man a pretty good case of the shakes; even through the smoked glasses I could see that his face was ashen, and he was breathing very rapidly.

Garth stayed on his hands and knees. He shuffled around in the dirt until he was facing the other man, then clasped his hands in front of him and bowed his head. "It happened when the vision came to us," he said in a hoarse, dramatic stage whisper that would have made Laurence Olivier proud-at the delivery, if not the content. "The vision asked if each of us would accept an affliction upon our bodies if that would assure our admission into the family of Father's Children. We accepted, of course. Our afflictions were visited upon us, and we were told to come here. We were not told anything else."

It was the most outrageous line of bullshit I'd ever heard, but what was even more outrageous was the fact that it actually seemed to have an effect on the uniformed man. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed nervously, and he appeared uncertain of what to do next.

"You've seen Boris's eyes," Garth continued quietly, raising his head and looking directly at the man. "We accepted our afflictions as a test of our faith. Now it seems that we have become a test of your faith."

The man wiped off a glistening sheet of perspiration that had suddenly appeared on his face with the back of a gloved hand. "What's your affliction?" he asked Garth.

It had occurred to me that Garth had gone a bit too far in claiming afflictions for both of us, and now it was crunch time. His broad, flat nose was ugly enough, but it couldn't very well be described as an affliction. Unless he intended to ask the man to wait around until he had a nervous tic that would enable him to tear the car apart, I didn't understand what he planned to do.

What he did was to rise to his feet, take off his parka and throw it to the ground. Then he took off his shirt, stood half-naked in the frozen afternoon.

The uniformed man uttered a startled cry and stepped back two paces. I lowered my head and swallowed a low, tortured moan that had begun somewhere at the bottom of my soul. I wanted to weep and shout my rage at the sky-not out of revulsion, but for the brother I loved so dearly. It had not occurred to me until then that Garth had not undressed or bathed in front of me for close to a month and a half, and now I understood why.

A sleek, glistening mat of blue-black fur girdled his torso, starting at a point just below his nipples and disappearing down into his slacks.

"The vision was of Father," Garth said evenly as he slipped back into his shirt, picked up the parka and draped it across his broad shoulders. "Father said that we would find peace here. He said to trust in the faith and wisdom of the man in uniform who would meet us. Please allow us to join you."

"Wait here," the man said in a voice that cracked. "Please."

"Oh, Garth," I moaned through clenched teeth as the man walked ahead to the Willys, opened the trunk and began to rummage around inside. "Oh, Jesus Christ."

"Shut up," Garth said flatly. "You're not in such great shape yourself, and this isn't exactly the time for an extended conversation on our mutual woes. Besides, I don't want to talk about it."

Garth and I stood side by side in awkward, embarrassed silence while the man continued to rummage. I've experienced a few bad moments in my life, but this time-being forced to battle raging emotions and play a passive role when all I wanted to do was reach out and take my brother's hand-was perhaps the worst.

Finally the man emerged from the trunk and came back to us. He was carrying two heavy, pale-green robes and two pairs of sandals. Neither of the robes looked as if it would fit me, but the man had obviously made an effort to find my size.

"I'm Mike Leviticus," the man said, extending his hand to Garth.

"An unusual name," Garth replied as he took the hand.

"We all assume biblical names-first or last-when we're accepted as Father's Children," Leviticus said, then turned to me. The gloved hand he rested on my shoulder somehow felt strange, but I wasn't sure why. "Forgive me, Brother Boris, for causing you pain. It's not easy to find this place, yet some do. Most of those who come here uninvited mean to cause trouble. That's why I'm here. I hope you understand."

"I do understand, Brother Mike, and there's nothing to forgive. Uh, do some of the people who decide to leave the family tell others about it?"

Leviticus shook his head. "Nobody ever leaves. What Father's Children find here is what we've been searching for all our lives."

"Mmm."

"I realize that you've been given no instructions, so I'll give them to you now. At this point you leave behind everything from your old lives. All of your personal possessions will be sold, and the proceeds will go to the commune. Your clothes, which you'll leave here in your car, will be burned in a ritual ceremony. You'll don these robes and sandals while I wait, and then walk the rest of the way to the commune-a symbolic journey signifying that you join Father's Children with nothing, and are ready to be reborn. Even though it's cold, I think you'll find 'he walk invigorating and spiritually cleansing."

"Are you going to walk with us?" Garth asked.

"No. I've already taken the walk; this is for the two of you. I'll stay behind and check out your car. From the looks of it, we may be better off stripping it down and selling the parts."

Garth seemed tense, and I knew why; he thought the gun was in the car. He didn't know how big a problem we had. Fortunately, Garth was large enough to cover a lot of sins.

Sidling closer to and slightly behind him, I reached behind my back and took the Colt out of my belt. I pressed it against his spine so that he'd know what it was. Leviticus glanced away for a moment; Garth coughed loudly, and I flipped the gun into some brush at the side of the road.

Because of the cold, Mike Leviticus suggested that we change in the car. However, Garth-as if in defiance of his discomfort-proceeded to strip in the middle of the road. I did the same. We donned the heavy robes and sandals, looked at Leviticus.

"The commune is two miles down the road," the man said, beaming. "I'll drive back to the stand and call ahead. Reverend Ezra and the others will be waiting for you. Welcome, and the peace of Father be with you."