Part 33 (1/2)

”Weather Channel 11-2, 9:15 a.m. PST. Reference to unusual cloud formations.”

”Lat.i.tude and longitude? Need location.” ”8.6 mi. WNW Prescott AZ 11-4.”

”Denver Post 914P8C2-Headline: 'Unusually high lightning activity strikes Carson National Forest.MT2427.'”

”What do you think that stands for?” B.T. said, pointing at the string of letters and numbers.

”Matthew 24, verse 27,” Mel said.” 'For the lightning cometh out of the west and s.h.i.+neth even unto the east, so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.' ”

B.T. nodded and scrolled the screen down.

”Triple lightning strike. 7-11, Platteville, CO. Nov. 28. Two injured.”

”Lightning storm, Dec. 4, Truth or Consequences.”

”What about that one?” B.T. said, pointing at ”Truth or Consequences.”

”It's a town in southern New Mexico,” Mel said.

”Oh.” He scrolled the screen down some more.

”Falling star, 12-30, 2 mi. W of U.S. State Hwy 191, west of Bozeman, mile marker 161.”

”Coma patient recovery, Yale-New Haven Hosp. Connection?”

”Negative. Too far east.”

”Possible sighting Nevada.”

”Need location.”

Need location. ” 'Go search diligently for the young child,'” Mel murmured,” 'and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come and wors.h.i.+p him.'”

”What?” B.T. said.

”It's what Herod said when the wise men told him about the star.” He stared at the screen: ”L.A. Times Jan 2 P5C1. Fish die-off. RV89?”

”Possible sighting. Old Faithful, Yellowstone Nat'l Pk, Jan. 2.”

And over and over again: ”Need location.”

”Need location.”

”Need location.”

”They obviously think the Second Coming's happened,” B.T. said, staring at the screen.

”Or aliens have landed at Roswell,” Mel said. He pointed to the convenience store entry. ”Or Elvis is back.”

”Maybe,” B.T. said, staring at the screen.

Mel went back to looking at the maps. Barren Rock. Deadwood. Last Chance.

Need location, he thought. Maybe he and Ca.s.sie and whoever had written ”Too far east” on the website had all misinterpreted the message, and it was not ”west” but ”West.”

He turned to the gazetteer in the back. West. Westwood Hills, Kansas. Westville, Oklahoma. West Hollywood, California. West-view. Westgate. Westmont. There was a Westwood Hills in Kansas. Colorado had a Westcliffe, a Western Hills, and a Westminster. Neither Arizona nor New Mexico had any Wests.

Nevada didn't either. Nebraska had a West Point.

West Point. Maybe it wasn't even in the west. Maybe it was West Orange, New Jersey, or West Palm Beach. Or West Berlin. He shut the atlas and looked over at B.T. He had dozed off, his face tired and worried-looking even in sleep. His laptop was on his chest, and the Gideon Bible he had stolen from the Holiday Inn lay beside him.

Mel shut the laptop off and quietly closed it. B.T. didn't move. Mel picked up the Bible.

The answer had to be in the Scriptures. He opened the Bible to Matthew. ”Then if any man shall say unto you, Lo, here is Christ, or there; believe it not.”

He read on. Disasters and devastation and tribulation, as the prophets had spoken.

The prophets. He found Isaiah. ”Hear ye indeed but understand not; and see ye indeed but perceive not.”

He shut the Bible. All right, he thought, standing it on its spine on his hand. Let's have a sign here. I'm running out of time.

He opened his eyes. His finger was on I Samuel 23, verse 14. ”And Saul sought him every day, but G.o.d delivered him not into his hand.””For all these things must come to pa.s.s, but the end is not yet.”

- MATTHEW 24:6.

All the roads were open, and, from Grand Island, clear and dry, and the fog had lifted a little.

”With roads like this, we ought to be in Denver by tonight,” B.T. said.

Yes, Mel thought, finis.h.i.+ng what B.T. had said, if you fly back with me, we could be there in time for the ec.u.menical meeting. n.o.body'd ever have to know he'd been gone, except Mrs. Bilderbeck, and he could tell her he'd been offered a job by another church, but had decided not to take it, which was true.

”It just didn't work out,” he would tell Mrs. Bilderbeck, and she would be so overjoyed that he wasn't leaving, she wouldn't even ask for details.

And he could go back to doing sermons and giving the choir plenty of warning, storing the star, and keeping the pilot light going, as if nothing had happened.

”Exit 312” a green interstate sign up ahead said. ”Hastings, 18. Bed Cloud, 57.”

He wondered if Ca.s.sie was already at Willa Cather's house, convinced she had been led there by Bartlett's Quotations.

Ca.s.sie had no trouble finding signs-she saw them everywhere. And maybe they are everywhere, and I'm just not seeing them. Maybe Hastings is a sign, and the truck full of mirrors, and those stuffed toys all over the road. Maybe that Chinese finger-trap I got stuck in yesterday was- ”Look,” B.T. said. ”Wasn't that Ca.s.sie's car?”

”Where?” Mel said, craning his neck around.

”In that ditch back there.”

This time Mel didn't wait for an ”Authorized Vehicles Only” crossing. He plunged into the snowy median and back along the other side of the highway, still unable to see anything.

”There,” B.T. said, pointing, and he turned onto the median.

He had crossed both lanes and was onto the shoulder before he saw the Honda, halfway down a steep ditch and tilted at an awkward angle. He couldn't see anyone in the driver's seat.