“The philosophy at work,” Pete said.
“No, I mean it. I write so much... That book was a long time ago.”
“I have the advantage,” Barbara said. “I just read it last month.”
“Hey, maybe you’re becoming that guy. Turning into your redneck cop. There’s an idea for a story, huh? A writer starts turning into this character he made up.”
“Has possibilities.”
“Well, if you use it, remember where you got the idea.”
“Ah-ha!” Barbara said. “Over on the left.”
Looking across the road, Larry saw the ruins of an old structure. It no longer had a roof. The door and window-panes, if it ever had them, were gone. The upper portions of the walls had crumbled away, and some of the rocks that might once have formed the square enclosure now lay in rubble around it — returning to the desert from which they’d been taken.
“Well,” Pete said, “I guess this
“Prince Henry.”
“Doesn’t look like much of a ghost town,” Jean remarked.
“That isn’t it,” Barbara told her. “But we stopped and had a look around before we got to Sagebrush Flat.”
“Nothing much there,” Pete said. “Wanta take a quick look?”
“I’d rather get on to the main attraction.”
In spite of Jean’s earlier comments about her difficulties in getting him out of the house, they’d taken several day trips during the past year to explore the region. Sometimes with Pete and Barbara, a few times by themselves or with Lane — when they could drag their seventeen-year-old daughter away from home. On those outings, Larry had seen plenty of ruins similar to the one they were leaving behind. But not a real ghost town.
“Don’t you always wonder who lived in places like that?” Jean asked.
“Prospectors, I should think,” Pete said.
“ ‘Dead guys,’ ” Larry quoted.
“Leave it to you. The morbid touch.”
“Actually, that was Lane’s comment. ‘Dead guys.’ Remember, hon?”
“She went back to the car and waited for us that time. She wanted nothing to do with it.”
“I know the feeling,” Barbara said. “I think this stuff’s interesting, but you gotta know that whoever lived there’s been pushing up daisies for a while.”
“Cactus,” Pete said.
“Whatever. Anyway, dead. Makes it kind of spooky.”
“All the better for Larry here.”
“Doesn’t bother me,” Jean said. “I just think it’s neat to see where they used to live, and, you know, imagine what it must’ve been like. It’s history.”
“Speaking of history,” Larry said, “what do you know about this ghost town of yours?”
“Not much,” Pete told him.
“
“It must be in some of those guidebooks,” Jean said.
“Nope. We checked.”
“I guess it’s nothing all that special,” Pete said. “Maybe it’s not an official ghost town, or whatever it takes to get noticed — just a wide spot in the road that got deserted.” He suddenly grinned at Larry. “Hey, suppose it’s just there for us? You know? Like a figment of our imaginations.”
“A
“Yeah! How about that? Another idea for you. You’re gonna have to start paying me a consultant’s fee.”
“You’d do better if you wrote the books yourself.”
“Hey, maybe I oughta give it a try. How long does it take you to knock out one of those things?”
“Six months, maybe, to write one. About twenty-five years to learn how.”
“You’d better just stick to repairing televisions,” Barbara said.
“We coming up on the turnoff?” he asked.
“I’ll let you know.”
“We didn’t get any chance to explore the place last time,” Pete said. “Spent too much time screwing around back at that pile of rocks.”
“Watch it, buster.”
“Anyway, we had to get home for some party you were having, so we just drove right on through Sagebrush.”
God, Larry thought, he’d meant it literally. Otherwise Barbara wouldn’t have reacted that way. They’d actually screwed in that old ruin. Inside those tumbledown walls. No door. No roof. Right out in the open, almost.
For just a moment he was there. On top of Barbara. Her eyes were half shut, her lips peeled back, her naked body writhing under him as he thrust.
He banished the image, ashamed of his minor betrayal and the desire it stirred. No harm in daydreaming, he told himself. He had such fantasies often, and not just about Barbara. But he’d never cheated on Jean. He planned to keep it that way.
“You’re coming up on it,” Barbara said.
Pete slowed nearly to a full stop by the time he made the right-hand turn. The road ahead looked as if it had gone ignored by a generation of repair crews. Only a few faint traces remained of its center line. The gray, sunbaked asphalt was cracked, crumbling, pocked with holes.
The van pitched and bounced, swerved to miss the worst of the potholes. Larry found himself hanging onto the armrest.
“You want to slow down?” Barbara suggested.
“You want to get there, don’t you?”
“In one piece, if that’s feasible.”
A bump rammed the seat against Larry’s rump. His teeth clashed.
“Goddamn it!” Barbara snapped.
“Okay, okay. Didn’t see that one coming.”
After he eased off the gas, the ride was still rough, but not punishing. Larry relaxed his grip on the armrest. Looking out his side window, he saw the rusted-out hulk of an overturned car. Its roof was mashed in and it had no wheels. It was well beyond the embankment bordering the road, surrounded by the desert’s litter of broken rock, by cactus and scrub brush. He couldn’t imagine how it had come to be belly-up. He considered mentioning the wreck, but decided to keep silent. The thing would probably inspire another story concept from Pete.
No doubt a perfectly mundane explanation for how it got there. Maybe it broke down and was abandoned by the roadside. People had come along later, pushed it out there for the hell of it, and flipped it over. Had nothing better to do. If someone wanted to salvage the tires, rolling the thing probably seemed more sensible than jacking it up one corner at a time.
Not just someone.
Larry felt a quick rush of joy.
A roving band of desert scavengers. A primitive, bloodthirsty pack.
Maybe they don’t just wait for breakdowns. Maybe they block the road or booby-trap it, then ambush the unlucky travelers. They slaughter the men. They take the women back to their lair — maybe an abandoned mine — for fun and games.
Not bad. Worth toying around with later to see if he could make it work. He needed a new idea. And soon.
“Just around the bend,” Barbara said.
Larry peered out the windshield, but the view ahead was blocked by low, rocky slopes. The road curved through a gap between the desolate rises.
