Book of Souls

He typed in a couple of more names and stared at the screen.

He had some idea of what was going to happen tomorrow.

It was after midnight in New Hampshire, but he had to talk to Nancy, even if it meant waking her up and worrying her to distraction. He had no choice. For all he knew, it would be their last conversation.

There were pay phones by the bathrooms. He got a bunch of quarters from the girl and dialed Zeckendorf’s Alton landline. The watchers probably had a complete log of all the prepaids he’d called and would be tapping them all. They wouldn’t have this number. Yet. As the phone rang, he noticed fresh blood seeping through his new pants.

Nancy answered, surprisingly alert.

“It’s me,” he said.

“Will! How are you? Where are you?”

“I’m in L.A. ”

She sounded concerned. “And?”

“I’ve got the memory stick, but there’ve been some problems.”

“What happened?”

“They got Dane. There was a bit of a dustup.”

“Will, are you hurt?”

“I’m shot. Left thigh. Missed my nuts.”

“Jesus, Will! You’ve got to get to a hospital!”

“Can’t do that. I’m getting on a bus. I’ve got to get to Spence.”

He could tell she was trying to think. He heard the baby stirring. “Let me call the L.A. office,” she said. “The FBI can pick you up.”

“God, don’t! Frazier’ll be all over that. He’ll be monitoring the local chatter. I’m on my own. I’ll make it.”

“You don’t sound good.”

“I’ve got a confession to make.”

“What?”

“I bought a bottle of scotch. Nancy?”

“Yes?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’m always mad at you.”

“I mean really mad.”

“Will, I love you.”

“I’ve been nothing but trouble.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I want to be able to take care of you and Philly in 2027.”

“You will, honey. I know you will.”

IF THE ALTERNATOR on the L.A. to Las Vegas Greyhound bus hadn’t given out, the next day might have ended differently. Such was the nature of predestination and fate. One variable influencing another, influencing another in an infinitely complex daisy chain. Instead of leaving L.A. at ten thirty the night before, the bus didn’t pull out of the terminal until four hours later.

Will suckled at his bottle for comfort for most of the six-hour trip through the desert night, dozing when he got numb enough. He had half the rear to himself. Most of his fellow passengers had bailed out for a later bus. There were only a few diehards who had hung in and waited for the repairs, and people who took the bus to Las Vegas in the middle of the night tended to leave each other alone.

Periodically, he visited the restroom to stuff more gauze into the wound and douse it with iodine. But he was still bleeding and getting weaker by the hour.

He awoke in the tinted glare of the morning, in pain, with a dull headache and a dry mouth. He was shivering, and he clutched his jacket to his neck for warmth. The terrain outside the window was flat, brown, and scrubby. He wished the air-conditioning would fail and the temperature would equilibrate to the desert heat. Infection was probably setting in.

The last hour of the journey was an ordeal. He endured nausea and pain and spasms of teeth-chattering chills, which he fought by stiffening his joints in anger. It was going to take sheer determination to finish the job. If he gave in to the advancing infirmity, Frazier would win. He refused to let that happen. He concentrated on Nancy and his son. An image of Philly breast-feeding while she dreamily looked out their apartment window settled into his mind. Then he found himself laughing when the image was replaced by an image of Spence’s huge RV.

“I want that bus,” he cackled out loud.

Through the green-tinted windows, Las Vegas appeared in the distance, rising out of the flat plain, crystalline, like the Emerald City. He pulled himself up for one more bandage change. The fellow who cleaned the restroom bin was going to think there’d been one heck of a situation on board.

Finally, the bus pulled into the Greyhound terminal near the Golden Nugget Casino just off the Strip. Will was last off, the driver watching him suspiciously as he struggled to make his way down the aisle and down the stairs. “You okay there, fellow?”

“Feeling good,” Will mumbled to him. “Feeling lucky.”

He hobbled straight for a taxi. The hot sun made him feel more comfortable. He slowly pulled himself into the back of a cab. “Take me to Henderson. St Croix Street.”

“Fancy neighborhood,” the driver said, giving him the eyeball.

“I’m sure it is. Get me there fast and there’s an extra fifty for you.”

“Sure you wouldn’t rather go to a hospital?”

“I feel better than I look. Turn off the AC, will you?”