Part 32 (1/2)

Buddy grinned and nodded to us. ”See you in the big time,” he said.

The silver object sank lower, and lower, and Buddy melted into it, head to toes, until it touched the ground beside his guitar. Then it rose, pa.s.sed the image of Jupiter, and shot off the screen. A silver afterimage glowed for a moment before fading away.

All that was left was gray rock and dust, the impa.s.sive striped planet, empty clothes, black-framed gla.s.ses, and the woodgrain-and-white Stratocaster. SkyVue's speakers were silent.

We stood as silent as they. The only sound was the buzz of the Beechcraft's engine.

The picture on the movie screen became faceted, like a mosaic, and gradually dissolved into white light.The speakers crackled.

And the whiteness blossomed into Technicolor. John Wayne returned Natalie Wood to the bosom of her family, and then, satisfied that he had done a man's job, turned and strode away into the great Western desert. The music swelled, the cabin door closed, and the credits rolled.

The crowd, bathed in reflected warmth, stood mesmerized.

Then the credits vanished and were replaced by an ugly dog dancing on a bartop while pouring beer for a softball team. On a stage in the background, three women in gold bikinis sang, ”It's the winner's brew/It's the one for you/Buy me one too/And you won't be blue/Oop-boop-be-do.”

The crowd erupted, cheering, waving, laughing. They leaped into the air, hugged each other, rolled on the rocks, humped the speaker poles. Tiny TV screens flickered to life throughout the lot, and all of the pictures were different.

Regularly scheduled programming was back. G.o.d was in his Heaven, and all was right with the networks.

In the sky, a meteor flared and was gone.

William Willard's flock, including the Corps of Little David, forgot about their captured demons.

Whether they believed that their rally had defeated the Antichrist's broadcast, or whether they didn't care what had happened so long as TV was back to normal, I don't know. In either case, they were finished with SkyVue. One minute after the conclusion ofThe Searchers, scores of vehicles were trying to leave at both the exit and entrance. Although united in spiritual matters, the w.i.l.l.yites became divided in their cars, and they honked and cursed at each other.

I was swaying and would have fallen if Pete hadn't shown up to steady me. Gretchen, Boog, Sharon, and Bruce joined us, and I saw that although Bruce was holding his shoulder, he was standing without help.

”Well,” Sharon said, looking around at the departing w.i.l.l.yites, ”thank G.o.d for short attention spans.”

”Or whoever the f.u.c.k's in charge,” Boog said.

Ringo emerged from among the crowd's stragglers, dragging the Bald Avenger across the rocks to us.

The Avenger's body was limp, but as the Doberman released his coat collar at my feet, he looked up at me.

”All of you,” he said hoa.r.s.ely, ”are under arrest.”

Gretchen raised an eyebrow at his torn pants. ”Cute b.u.t.t,” she said.

The Avenger closed his eyes and sighed. ”Okay, forget it.” He sounded relieved. And old, and tired.

Above us, the Bonanza's engine throttled back, and we watched as the airplane, illuminated by a diaper commercial, descended to land in the field east of the theater lot. Ringo bounded away and leaped over SkyVue's back fence to greet Laura and Mike. ”Rotten kids,” Pete said with pride.

I saw the plane come to a stop just short of the refinery fence, and then, my eyes stinging from a breeze full of oil-rich smoke, I looked away and down.

Several speaker poles away, Peggy Sue lay trampled on the white rocks. A black pool had formed beneath her. With Pete's help, I hobbled to her, and my friends followed. We left the Avenger behind.

My Ariel's chrome was bent, her headlight smashed. Her handlebars were twisted, her fuel tank crushed. Both tires were flat, and spokes jutted like exposed bones. Her drive chain had snapped and fallen from the sprockets.

All of the violence that had been aimed at me, she had taken upon herself. I heard distant, mechanical wailing.

”I'm so sorry, Oliver,” Sharon said.

”Me too,” Pete said. He was looking across the lot at the Oklahoma Kamikaze, which seemed intact except for its missing gla.s.s.

Boog squatted beside the bike and touched the carburetor, then grinned his usual grin. ”Don't be sorry yet. My hands have the power to heal the sick and raise the dead.” Hearing him say it, I knew that it was true.

Light snow began to fall as Mike, Laura, and Ringo ran to us. While the kids collected hugs from their father, the first carload of Authorities rolled through a jumble of civilian vehicles into SkyVue.

”I hope there's an ambulance,” Sharon said, s.h.i.+vering as the snow came harder. ”Bruce and Oliver need a doctor.”

”Bulls.h.i.+t,” Bruce said. ”Just get me a G.o.dd.a.m.n pair of pliers to pull out the bone chips.”

I laughed. Bruce had transformed since the last time I had seen him.

”You seem to be in a surprisingly good mood, Mr. Vale,” Mike said, ”for a man about to be taken into custody by the musclemen of bourgeois repression.”

Gretchen glanced at the approaching car. ”Uh, Oliver,” she said, ”the cops are coming.”

My contacts were hurting me, so I removed them. ”I know,” I said, my hands before my face. ”That makes it tough.”

When I lowered my hands, the movie screen had gone black. The refinery flame blurred. I leaned back and opened my mouth so that I could catch the last snowflakes before the end of the world.

CATHY AND JEREMY They sat on the bench in the dark projection room, staying quiet long after the sirens had droned away and SkyVue was silent.

”It didn't turn out the way I expected,” Cathy said at last.

”What way was that, love?”

”I don't know. I had a vague notion in this defective head that we could distract the crowd long enough to hustle Vale away. But when you couldn't get the projector working, and Vale had to do it himself...

things happened.”

Jeremy patted her hand. ”We couldn't have known that Holly was about to end the broadcast.”

”Even if we had,” Cathy said, ”I wouldn't have guessed that a mob of the fleshbound would juststop like that.”

”Me either. We didn't do a d.a.m.n thing to help Vale, and we didn't have to. I can't figure it.”

There was a low chuckle from the doorway. ”Can't, or won't? The truth is that you did do something to help him, but you aren't willing to admit it.”

A light came on, and Dwight D. Eisenhower entered the cubicle, followed by Nikita Khrushchev.

Cathy and Jeremy stood. ”Where the h.e.l.l have you two been?” Cathy demanded. ”This mess was your fault-”