"Jesus, won't those reinforcements ever get here?"
FOUR
It was twenty-three years since Lucas had left. Now he was coming home. He peered out from the window of the car he'd thumbed a ride from, seeing new homes on the outskirts, then a shopping center, and the street here hadn't been paved back then, but he recognized more buildings than he didn't, and he thought that he might recognize some of the people, but he couldn't. Over there, a house that had been blue was now painted white, and up ahead, trees that had been saplings now were tall. He saw front yards he once had played in, but their spaces now seemed smaller, as indeed the houses did, and everywhere he looked he had the sense of things diminished. Well, what else had he expected? Did he think that twenty-three years would leave the town and him unchanged? Or had the town been really this small all along and he too young to put it in perspective? Well, he'd seen how big the world could be. Now Potter's Field was welcome.
The driver looked at him. "If you're hungry, you'll have to wait. I don't plan to stop here. I have half a day to drive yet."
"No, this town is good enough."
"You want me to pull over?"
"In a while. The road goes straight through to the other mountains. When we reach downtown is where I'll leave."
"You know this place?"
"I used to. I was raised here."
"Been away long?"
Lucas nodded, his cheek muscles tense. "Yes. I'm coming back to see my father."
He stared toward the courthouse up ahead and pointed. "There is fine. If you don't mind, I'll get out on that corner."
"No problem. It was good to pass the time with you."
The car veered toward the curb and stopped. Lucas got out. "Thank you."
"I thank you. You know, I don't pick up many hitchhikers. Mostly they look, well, I guess, a bit too rough to handle. But a nice, clean-looking, young man like yourself. It's rare. I've got a lot of driving yet to do, and you helped break the time for me. Thanks again. I know your father will be glad to see you."
"Well, I'm sure he'll be surprised, all right." Lucas reached for his suitcase and shut the door.
"Take care now."
"Yeah. The same to you." He watched the car pull away from the curb. He watched until he couldn't see it anymore. Then he turned to face the courthouse. In the distance, he heard church bells. He saw people in their best clothes standing, talking in small groups along the street. Except for what seemed lots of traffic heading out of town, the scene was just as he remembered it when he and his mother would come into town to go to church. Another peaceful Sunday morning. But the last few years before he left had gradually stopped being peaceful, his father angry, his parents shouting. He had asked the man just now to let him off before there were too many questions. Then he'd understood that stopping here was maybe for the best. He hadn't seen this courthouse since those late October days in 1970, and he could still recall the way his father sat beside the lawyer, staring at him in the witness chair. Lucas shook his head and wondered where the cars and trucks were going. Some big fair out in the valley? Then he picked up his suitcase, crossed toward the building beside the courthouse, walked up past the trees on either side, and climbed the front steps, going in.
The place was cool and shadowy, and the first things that he noticed were the tall plants in their big pots all around the edges of the hall. They hadn't been here back in 1970, and more than any other detail he had seen, they signaled to him how much everything had changed since then. He faced the office to his right and saw the sign on top-police chief, nathan slaughter-and that sign was different too, the old chief wasn't here now. People might not understand what he wanted to tell them. He almost didn't go in, but he was too committed now to change his mind, and he stepped through the doorway.
There were half a dozen people. Phones were ringing. To his right, a policeman he didn't recognize was talking to a microphone. Beyond him, men were answering the phones and writing notes. In a glassed-in office at the back, a tall man in a uniform was talking to a gray, wasted man in a wrinkled suit, and everyone was loud, and none of them looked happy.
"Yes, sir, may I help you?" The man who'd been talking to the radio looked tensely at him.
"I'm not certain. My name's Lucas Wheeler. Someone here might know me."
"Just a second." The policeman spoke into the microphone again. "That's right. A woman and a dog. It's a hell of a mess. The animal control van should be hooked up to our frequency. It's probably waiting for you. Get over there."
A staticky voice that Lucas couldn't understand responded.
"Roger." The policeman glanced up, his expression stark. "I'm sorry. Things are crazy here. You'll have to tell me that again."
"I said my name is Lucas Wheeler, and I need protection from my father."
The policeman's eyes narrowed. "Has he threatened you? He isn't acting strangely, is he?"
"No. I haven't seen him since the fall of nineteen seventy."
"But I don't…Just a second." The policeman spoke to the microphone again. "That's right. For God's sake, don't go near it. Keep it locked in the basement. If it breaks out, use your shotgun."
Lucas squinted around and heard other bizarre conversations. He didn't understand it. What was going on? At first he'd thought that he had looked suspicious to this man. But he had made a point of cutting off his beard and trimming back his hair, of buying clothes as conventional as he could tolerate. Hell, he was even wearing cowboy boots, but the reaction he'd received was due apparently to what was going on, whatever that was, and he waited, and the policeman stared at him again.
"What's all-?"
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to see the chief."
"What's going on?"
"I said, you'll have to see the chief." The policeman gestured toward the glassed-in office.
"Can I leave my suitcase by the door?"
The policeman waved him impatiently away and spoke again to a staticky voice on the radio. "If he's been bitten, get him to the hospital. Keep him in the back seat of the cruiser. Don't go near him."
Lucas set the suitcase by the door and crossed the room, hearing the urgent voices around him, staring at the troubled policemen, then reaching the entrance to the glassed-in section of the office.
"Quarantine won't work now. I don't care what Parsons says. We've got-" The big man stopped and looked at him. "What is it?"
"Well, I guess I picked the wrong time, but the man out there said I should see you. I've been out of town for quite a while. I've come to see my father, but I think he might make trouble for me."
"Trouble?"
"Yes, my name is Lucas Wheeler."
The big man only shook his head, puzzled, as if the name meant nothing to him.
In contrast, the wasted man in the wrinkled suit snapped to attention. "Wheeler? You're the rancher's boy?"
"Thank God. I was afraid no one remembered or would help me."
"Rancher's boy?" the big man asked.
"The murder back in nineteen seventy," the wasted man said. "He's the kid who testified against his father."
"And my father said that if he got the chance he'd kill me," Lucas said. "I need protection."
But the big man only leaned back in his chair and wiped his face. "Look, can't it wait a few days? We've got trouble here."
"My father wasn't kidding," Lucas said.
"But I don't have the men. Just wait a while, and I'll go out with you myself."
"A few days? I don't have enough money to stay in a hotel that long."