He noticed a particularly large group had congregated around one camper van that had a barbecue on the go.
Inexplicably, not only had most of the Celestial Church of New Hope’s followers congregated in the middle of the desert for no reason, but seemingly a whole lot of other people had turned up too. Walter didn’t understand such things, but he guessed someone was going to use the word “viral” in a minute.
In the back seat, Martha thumped the armrest. “What the actual fuck? This thing must have gone viral.”
Walter tensed. After spending the first half of the drive out here alternating between berating him and attempting to call Freddie, Martha had gone unexpectedly quiet. Walter hated when that happened. At least if she was talking, you could get a feel for just how mad she was. When she went quiet, it was like waiting for the axe to fall, knowing there was no way to avoid it.
“What we’ve got here,” she said, “is someone has Pied Pipered us.”
“Who?”
“The Pied Piper,” said Martha. “Didn’t you read any stories when you were a kid? Guy who used a flute to attract rats or kids, or rats and kids, or, screw it, I can’t remember the exact details. What’s important is I’m going to bring the flock back with us.”
Walter nodded. “Good.”
“And then you’re going to take care of whoever this flute-wielding fucker is. Understand?”
Walter nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. He knew exactly what she had meant the other three times she had asked him to “take care” of somebody, too. Walter hadn’t killed anyone then, and he wasn’t going to now. He’d got rid of two of the people in question by asking politely, and the third by giving a waiter a hundred bucks. Martha wasn’t subtle.
Jackson Diller, in the guise of Carl Worthington, circulated among the crowd in his purple robe. There was a sense of real excitement in the air. People didn’t know why they were here, but it felt as if it was going to be big.
There had been discussions that the plan was to band together, head to Area 51 and demand the release of the Roswell aliens. Diller quietly dampened that down. Aside from anything else, they’d headed out of Vegas the wrong way for that to be the plan. Diller was surprised by how many of the church had made their way here, and even more so by the number of non-members who had joined. Word had spread with more virulence than he’d expected. It was quite possible a lot of the interlopers were here to mock, but that was fine. They were here. That was the important thing.
At the edge of the crowd he noticed a BMW pulling up. Martha was in the back. Technically, this wasn’t part of the plan, but they’d anticipated it might happen. He touched the radio in his ear.
“She’s here. I repeat, Martha is here.”
Zoya was in the back of the Winnebago in the curtained-off area. She was checking and rechecking things with her latest creation. Everything in front of her told her that it was all OK, but she was nervous. She’d had very little time to get it ready, and even less to test it.
Still, at least it was tech. She knew how to deal with tech. Sitting back here, failing miserably to talk to another human being for a whole journey, had proven she’d no idea how to deal with the non-mechanical. She’d run away and join a nunnery, only she was sort of already in one, and it didn’t seem to prevent that kind of social disaster from happening. Speaking of which. Her comms beeped and Diller’s voice came through her radio, informing them that Martha was here.
“Roger that.”
Sure, now she could talk.
She switched channels to get Dionne back at HQ.
“OK, D, the Messiah has turned up, so we need to get this show on the road pretty soon.”
Dionne sounded stressed. “Hang on for a few minutes.”
“What?” said Zoya. “We can’t do that.”
She looked at the monitor that showed her the view outside the van. Martha had got out of her car and was climbing onto the back of a truck. Someone handed her a megaphone.
“Seriously, D. She’s about to give the Sermon on the Mount here. It’s go time.”
“There’s been a complication,” said Dionne.
“OK, but unless we go pretty soon, there’s going to be another one.”
“Just hang on,” repeated Dionne.
Zoya could hear the edge of panic in her friend’s voice.
Chapter Fifty-One
Dionne and Arthur looked at the monitors and watched numbly as a posse of guards dealt with the aftermath of the sixth-floor attack. A couple of guards were leaning over Bunny’s bed, looking down at him.
“Is he …?” started Arthur.
“I don’t know,” replied Dionne.
Bunny hadn’t moved since he’d seemingly passed out. She’d been trying hard not to think the word “dead” but, increasingly, it was all that came into her mind.
It had taken an interminably long time for the guards to reach him. It hadn’t helped that the partially blinded member of Vatos Locos had flown into a demented rage and half a dozen guards had been needed to subdue him and drag him away.
Breida looked in better shape. Blood was coming from his arm wound, but one of the guards had managed to stem it. They’d placed a leather mask on him before leading him away.
“There!” said Dionne, relief flooding through her. “He moved his leg, he moved his leg!”
So at least he was alive.
“What are we going to do?” asked Arthur. “It’s great he’s alive, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re screwed.”
“Hang on,” said Dionne. “Let me think.”
Two
