Her eyes were serious, her mouth grave. "I've been thinking about what you said, and I think you're right. It is dangerous here for me and the baby."
"You mean you'll--"
"And for you, too. I think all of us should get out of here."
He stared at her stupidly, thrown off by her unexpected change of mind.
He had been planning to fight an uphill battle in order to get her to leave, and now she not only wanted to get out of Randall , she wanted him to come with her. He was not quite sure how to react.
"I want us to go to Phoenix or Flagstaff until everything blows over."
He shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "I can't do that." His voice was regretful and apologetic, but there was no hesitation in it, no openness to debate.
Marina's mouth tightened. "I'm not going alone."
"I have to stay here. I have to--"
"Help the sheriff? Help Brother Elias? Come on, you don't owe any of these people anything. Your duty is to me and to your daughter." She pressed a hand against her abdomen. "Your family." "It's dangerous here," Gordon said. "You know that. After you drop me off at the sheriff's office, I want you to--"
"I'm not taking orders from you." She glared at him. "Stop talking to me as if you were my father."
He took a deep breath. "Look, I just want you to be safe. And I want to make sure nothing happens to the baby. Please, promise me you'll take the car and go down to Phoenix for the day."
"I'm not leaving here without you. If you stay, I stay."
He shook his head. "Now you're just being stupid."
"Maybe I am," she said. "Maybe I am being stupid. But so are you. I don't know what's happened, but lately you've been a real macho asshole," She threw the covers off angrily and slipped into her jeans, which were lying on the floor next to the bed. She pulled on a T-shirt and ran a hand through her hair. She picked up her keys from the dresser.
"What are you doing now?"
"I'm going to take you down to the damn sheriff's office, then I'm going to get the hell out of here."
He reached across the edge of the bed, and the tips of his fingers touched her back. "I only want you to be safe," he said. "I worry about you. I care about you."
Marina pulled away, facing the wall. She said nothing.
He got out of bed and pulled on his own jeans. He stared at the back of her head. "You are going to Phoenix, aren't you?" She said nothing, and he walked around the bed to where she stood. Hesitantly, he put a hand on her shoulder.
She pulled away. "Fuck you."
"Marina--"
"I'm only doing this for the baby. If it wasn't for her, you'd never get me out of here unless you came with me."
Gordon looked relieved. "You take first shower. I'll make us some coffee. Then you can drop me off and head back around to the highway."
"I'll take a shower after I drop you off. I just want you to get the hell out of here right now."
"Okay," he said. "Okay." He grabbed a shirt from the closet and took a pair of underwear from the dresser. "I'll take a quick shower, and then we'll go." He started out the door, then turned around to look at her unmoving form. "You are going to Phoenix, right?"
She did not look at him. "Just take your goddamn shower."
He went into the bathroom.
Father Andrews awoke to the sound of static from the blank hissing television. He had left the TV on, he remembered. And the lights. He felt, for a second, embarrassed, but that passed immediately. He remembered what they were to do today, and a black cloud settled over him. He did not feel right about this. No, that was not true. He did not feel good about this, though it felt right.
He felt scared. That was it exactly. He was scared. Like Jim and Gordon, he had only a vague outline of Brother Elias' plan. But that outline was enough to terrify him.
He got out of bed and turned off the television. He was half tempted to call the bishop and tell him what they were planning. It was not yet four, and the bishop had probably not yet awakened, but he knew his superior would want to know about this.
And he knew the bishop would disapprove and would forbid him to go along with it.
That was the real reason, wasn't it? That was why he wanted to tell the bishop. Not because he respected the other man's opinion, not because he was worried about the moral and ethical implications of what they were going to do, but because he was scared and wanted to find an easy way out of it. He wanted to remove the responsibility for his actions from his own shoulders and place it on someone else. He wanted to pass the buck. He wanted to fall back on the oldest, safest excuse in the book: "I can't. I'm not allowed to."
Father Andrews bowed his head in embarrassment, though no one was there to see him. He looked up, toward the window .. . and Brother Elias was standing alone in the middle of a grassy meadow. His face was covered with a light stubble, and his dirty hat and clothes were typical of the type worn by many westerners of the mid-nineteenth century. At the meadow's periphery stood a small group of similarly dressed men, one of whom bore an uncanny resemblance to Jim Weldon. As the men looked on, Brother Elias raised his hands and cast his eyes toward the sky. The bushes surrounding the meadow began to rustle ominously, and the preacher reached down to grab a pitchfork.
Father Andrews looked away from the window and closed his eyes, his head reeling from the strength of the vision. He sat down on the bed, waiting for the dizziness to go away. He had never experienced a psychic flash of such length and magnitude before. He had never been the recipient of such a clear and literal vision.
He opened his eyes, and his gaze fell on the four Bibles he had promised the sheriff he would provide. The Bibles were bound in white and were unused, completely new.
Trying to think of nothing, concentrating only on the tasks immediately at hand, Father Andrews dressed in nondescript street clothes and put the Bibles in a bag. Before he left the house, he bent down next to the bed, his hands folded before him on the mattress like a child. He began to pray.
Pete King was sitting in front of the switchboard, waiting for the phone to ring, when Jim walked into the office. He jumped at the sound of the sheriff's boots on the tile and swiveled immediately around.
"Thank God you're here!"
Jim stared at the deputy, shocked by the deep circles under the young man's eyes, by the look of haggard frustration on the normally implacable face. Even Pete's hair, ordinarily combed to perfection, looked unkempt and in disarray. "What's up?" the sheriff asked.
Pete shook his head and picked up a huge pile of scratch paper from the table in front of him. "I don't know where to begin," he said. "The members of the posse out looking for those kids on the Rim never came back. There was some type of huge fight at the Colt, I really don't know how many people were killed or exactly what happened. The whole place is in shambles. The Department of Public Safety's been calling in every hour or so with reports of giant accidents on the highway.
Eight people from three different neighborhoods called in saying they heard screams and gunshots from their neighbors' houses--"
"Okay, Pete. I get the picture."
"I don't think you do. Judson hasn't called in since he went out to the Episcopal church. Tom said Carl was--"
The sheriff stopped him. "I understand. Where's the preacher?"
"He's still in the conference room."
Jim nodded and was about to walk down the hall when he stopped. "You can go home, Pete," he said.
"Who's taking over the shift?"
"No one. We're closing down the office for a while."
Pete shook his head. "That's okay. I'll stay."
"You need some rest. You look like hell. Now get home. That's an order."
"No." Pete met the sheriff's eyes for a moment then glanced away. "We have to have someone here. We can't just close down the office. What if something happened? What if someone was in real trouble? Who would they call?"