“Really bad gas,” he murmured, breathing hard.
“We’ve had plenty of complaints about that guy. I guess you can’t blame him. Most of the business goes straight into town. He has to work for everything he gets. Here, let me have a go.” Frank passed the cylinder over, curious to see what the patrolman could do. He wasn’t particularly big, and if he possessed unusual reserves of lung power they weren’t visible from the outside.
Lung power didn’t enter into it. To Frank’s shock the sergeant put the cylinder to his lips and inhaled. He kept sucking until a stunned Frank thought the man’s face was going to collapse in on itself. Only then did he remove the cylinder from his mouth and smile hugely.
Even then Frank didn’t suspect something was seriously wrong until the sergeant sniffed appreciatively—and swallowed.
“Here.” The patrolman extended the hand holding the now perfectly transparent filter. When Frank made no move to take it, the man added, “You’ll need this back.”
“Yeah. Yeah, right.” Not knowing what else to do, his thoughts churning furiously, Frank gingerly took the cylinder and moved to reinsert it on the fuel line. “What—what did you do with all that gunk? You didn’t really swallow it, did you?”
“Sure! You don’t think I’m going to waste it, do you? That old stuff may not be so good for your engine’s digestion, but when it’s aged like that it acquires a real tang.” He licked his lips approvingly. “Premium unleaded. Wasn’t sure I’d like the stuff when they started switching everything over. Turned out to be an improvement. Taking out the lead changed the flavor, but this way you get more of the original hydrocarbon essence. Not to mention the additional distilling it’s undergone.” He threw back his head and roared anew, this time producing not only rich, deep laughter but a gout of blue flame pure enough to have issued from the nozzle of an acetylene torch. It shot four feet into the air. Frank felt the heat of it keenly.
As laughter and fire faded, the sergeant removed his silver sunshades and Frank saw his eyes for the first time. Vertical pupils set in irises of intense yellow. Cat’s eyes. He wanted to scream, dared not.
A finger dug road grit from one eye, then the glasses were slipped back in place. “I’m no connoisseur.” As Frank fought to still his trembling hands, the otherwordly officer methodically checked the positioning of the filter. “Can’t afford the really good stuff. Racing fuel, top octane. Nice to sneak a swig now and then. Keeps you alert and on your claws. Of course, we’re not supposed to drink on duty, but a quick shot now and then’s not going to upset anybody’s applecart, right?” Frank nodded numbly.
“Besides, back at the station they really don’t know what the hell’s going on out on the road. All they know is what they read in our reports. They’ve got enough vices to deal with at the Entrance without worrying about the staff’s. That’s one of the compensations of this assignment. You have some privacy.” He coughed and blue flame exploded in a narrow stream from his lips. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he glanced at the surrounding desert and said conversationally, “Starting to warm up again. First time in months it’s been comfortable out here.”
Frank retreated as inconspicuously as possible. “Thanks for the help.”
“Hey, no problem. That’s what we’re here for.”
Both turned as the patrol cruiser sidled up next to them, out in the slow lane. A tall, much younger officer partly rose from his seat on the driver’s side to shout over the top of the car. Frank couldn’t tell for certain, but he thought the younger patrolman’s eyes looked normal.
“Hey, Jack!”
“What’s up, Joe?”
The younger officer glanced briefly at Frank. “Seems we’ve got a problem here.”
“Problem?” The sergeant turned apologetically. “Excuse me a minute.”
“Sure thing.”
As the sergeant moved to check with his partner, Frank hurriedly re-entered the motor home. Panting hard, he locked the door behind him.
Alicia was staring at him. “What is it? What’s wrong now?”
Without replying he threw himself into the driver’s chair and started the engine. It spat a few times, clearing the last of the bad gas from the fuel line, before turning over.
“Nothing,” he told her, grim-faced. “It’s nothing.”
She moved up next to him. “Don’t give me that, Frank. I know you better.”
A tapping on the driver’s window made Frank jump in the seat. The sergeant was standing outside, his voice barely audible through the glass. He made rolling-down motions with one hand. Trying to stay calm, Frank nudged the power window control, lowering the small vent window.
“Something the matter, officer?”
To Frank’s surprise, the inhuman sergeant appeared uncomfortable. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come into the station, sir.”
“Why? What’ve we done wrong?” Once the motor home was up to speed Frank had no intention of slowing down or stopping at any station, no matter how many guns or what kinds of allies the officer produced. But motionless as they were, stuck off on the paved shoulder, they were vulnerable.
“I don’t know that you’ve done anything wrong, traveler. But there’s an irregularity. Nobody’s sure about it, but we ran a computer check and your license and vehicle aren’t in there.”
“Then somebody’s not checking the right place. We rented this outfit in Torrance. I can give you the name of the rental outfit, the salesman who turned it over to us, and any other identification you need. If there’s some problem with the plates that’s the rental company’s concern, not mine.”
“It’s nothing like that.” The thing tipped its cap back on its head. “But I’m still going to have to ask you to follow us in.”
“I’m not sure I want to do that.” He had a hand on the shift lever, ready to throw it into drive on a second’s notice. “We haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve as much as said so yourself.”
“That might be.” The officer sounded genuinely apologetic. If only, Frank thought frantically, his eyes had been normal and his taste for flammable liquids not so pronounced. “I have to insist. Like you say, this probably has nothing to do with you, but it’s not my place to decide blame or responsibility. We just patrol this section of highway. Don’t make things difficult for me. It’s been a tough week.”
Turning, he nodded in the direction of the patrol cruiser. When he saw what the thing was looking at, Frank rose halfway off the seat.
“Wendy!”
His daughter stared back at him from the front seat of the cruiser. Her eyes were wide, but she didn’t seem especially frightened.
“If you’ll come along peacefully, please,” the sergeant said, repeating his demand.
“What’s my daughter doing in your car? You have no right to—!” But the sergeant ignored him as he climbed into the back of the cruiser. Flashing its red lights but no siren, it rolled twenty yards forward before stopping. Only then did the driver run the siren a couple of times. It sounded distinctly like a human scream.
Frank clutched the wheel for support. Alicia had come up beside him, worry in her voice and in her expression.
“What’s going on, Frank? Why is Wendy in that police car?”
“I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know why Wendy’s in that car, but they want us to follow them and with Wendy there we don’t have a lot of choices.” The siren raced again, a terrifying sound. “Get Mouse. Tell her what’s going on and ask her what we—”
“I already tried. She’s asleep in the back. I can’t wake her up. I’ve never seen anyone sleep so soundly.”
“Yeah, singing’s hard work,” he said sarcastically. A rising wail came from the police cruiser, like a pig being butchered alive. “Keep trying.”
Pale, Alicia nodded and rushed to the back of the motor home, ignoring Steven’s queries. With a wrench almost hard enough to break the shift lever, Frank pulled out into the slow lane. Automatically, he checked the rearview. There were two cars coming up fast, but as he pulled out they both changed to the fast lane.
He caught a brief glimpse of the passengers in the second car. A young man and woman. The woman was pounding on the inside of the rolled-up window. Her expression was wild, her hair disheveled. The driver of the car sat motionless behind the wheel, both hands affixed to the plastic circle. They went by so quickly Frank couldn’t be certain, but it looked to him like the driver had no face.
The two cars vanished over the horizon. The police cruiser accelerated, and Frank, feeling utterly helpless, fed gas to the motor and followed.
“What’s happening?”
Frank saw Mouse, still sleepy-eyed, standing behind Alicia’s seat. Somehow she kept her long hair from tangling while she slept.
He explained and when he was through she nodded knowingly. “Another thread has broken. The end has entwined with your line of existence.”
“They’ve got Wendy with them. They ordered me to follow.”
“You’re doing the right thing. If your daughter was here I might be able to help.” She stared at the patrol cruiser keeping ten car lengths in front of them. “Now we can do nothing until we have her again.”
