Alex Scarrow - October skies

‘You seem to be doing well, though.’

‘It’s still early days. There’s another whole year of campaigning to go. There’s a lot of work to do yet, to convince the American people it ain’t the end of the world if they go and vote a Mormon into office.’

‘A costly business.’

Shepherd sighed. ‘Tell me about it. I believe the predicted spend on political campaigning by the others is likely to top two billion dollars by the time election day rolls around. I’m hoping to rely on the message, instead of slick campaigning.’ Shepherd leaned forward and offered a sly wink. ‘You know what? I think people are beginning to see through all that glossy crap these days.’

‘Do you think you stand a chance?’

‘I’m making a lot of new friends,’ he replied. ‘There’re a lot of backers out there beginning to smell a good bet.’ Shepherd shrugged. ‘In any case, the Democrats and Republicans are both looking dirty, the amount of mud they’ve been slinging at each other. All I need do is convince middle America that voting for me won’t let in the party they despise the most.’

He waved his hand dismissively. ‘But look, if you’ll forgive me, I’m bored witless of discussing campaign tactics. I have a man called Duncan who drives me up the wall with that kind of tedium. No… I’m here because we share a fascination with a certain obscure historical character.’

‘Yes.’ Julian reached for a muffin. He pulled it apart in his hands and picked at the hard-baked crust, not hungry but needing something to fiddle with. ‘So then, I suppose the obvious question from me is: why your interest in this William Preston character?’

Shepherd took a moment to consider the question.

‘I’ll level with you. It’s not so much Preston himself that I’m specifically interested in. As you saw on my web page, I managed to put together some background on the man, but it’s what happened to the group of people that were travelling west with him that I’d like to learn more about.’

‘So, what do you know?’

‘They vanished in the mountains…’ He looked out of the window, through the net curtains at the panorama of peaks towering over the small town. ‘Somewhere out there.’ Shepherd turned to look at Julian. ‘One of them was my great-great-grandfather. ’

Julian’s eyes widened. ‘No! Seriously?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘My great-great-grandfather.’

‘Preston?’

Shepherd hesitated. ‘Lord, no. It was a young man.’

‘Would his name have been Lambert?’

‘Yes,’ replied Shepherd — his turn to look astonished. ‘Yes, it was. How on earth would you know that?’ he asked, his deep voice dropping to a whisper.

Julian wondered how much of the truth he wanted to pay out to this man. He decided there was no harm in giving him a little bit more for free. ‘We discovered what happened to those people. We found where they ended up.’

‘Oh my…’ Shepherd’s deep eyes widened.

Julian smiled. ‘Better still, we found the journal of one Benjamin Lambert. A very detailed account of what happened out there.’

Shepherd gasped. ‘That’s an incredible discovery!’

Julian nodded. ‘Yes, yes it is.’

Shepherd spread his hands. ‘And? Would you tell me what happened to them?’

Julian sipped his tea silently.

How much do I give this guy for free?

‘Well, this is a little awkward, Mr Shepherd-’

‘William.’

‘William… I’m sitting on a historical tale I believe to be worth a lot of money.’ Julian sighed. ‘Look, I’m crap at talking money, but-’

Shepherd smiled. ‘But, you’re a journalist, you’ve worked hard to unearth the details and you’re not that keen on giving it all away for nothing. I can understand that.’

‘Yeah, that’s about it.’ Julian shrugged.

‘Except now there’s something of a topical link into this story, eh?’ Shepherd added, with a wry smile.

‘You could say that.’

Julian remained poker-faced, but his mind was racing to catch up with the situation. More information on this man was coming to him, bits and pieces he’d unintentionally picked up from the background noise of daily news. William Shepherd, the independent Mormon candidate from Utah. The preacher, the businessman, the voice of common sense broadcast twice a week to tens of millions of the faithful, and a voice that broadly appealed to Christians from many other churches, the one and only candidate untainted by corruption and sleaze. And the guy who all of a sudden in recent weeks had started looking like a real contender.

‘I imagine your concern is how your great-great-grandfather conducted himself?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a concern. In this ridiculous business we call politics, public perception is everything.’ He sighed. ‘If my great-great-grandfather went and ate someone in order to survive… well, I think my campaign manager, Duncan, would have a hissy fit.’

Julian appreciated his candour — and his sense of humour.

‘I can imagine.’

‘So I’m sure you can see,’ Shepherd continued, ‘I have a very cynical, vested interest in how my ancestor behaved.’ He reached for the teapot and topped them both up. ‘You could imagine, for instance, how much mileage the Republicans and the Democrats would get out of something that resembled another Donner Party incident, eh?’

‘Yes. I can see how that would bugger things up for you.’

Shepherd looked at him, anxiously raising an eyebrow.

‘And? Did he?’

Julian shook his head. ‘No. There was no cannibalism… at all.’

Shepherd closed his eyes and sighed with relief.

‘I’m sure you understand how important that is? It’s such a taboo word and any kind of association with it…?’

Julian understood.

‘Politics is an awful game, one I genuinely detest. In some ways I’m not looking forward to the prospect that I might just win this election and have to play the political game in office for four years. But I’m doing it because someone has to. Someone has to show our people that there’s another way, that they don’t have to vote for one of two groups of corrupt sons-of-bitches. To be honest, it might be a relief not to make it to the White House.’ Shepherd sighed and laughed gently. ‘But don’t tell my backers that, eh? They’re bankrolling my campaign to win and nothing less will do for them.’

‘I can put your mind to rest,’ said Julian. ‘Your ancestor comes across in the journal as a very good man. But,’ he said, choosing his next words carefully, ‘some very… twisted… things happened up there. Really very dark, unsettling stuff. All of it revolved around Preston. I’ll be honest with you: whilst you personally may benefit from how Benjamin Lambert conducted himself, the Mormon faith may take a hit from Preston’s behaviour. ’

Shepherd pursed his lips, deep in thought. ‘Yes… but I believe from the little I’ve been able to research on the man that he abandoned the Church of the Latter Day Saints to follow his own path. He took his followers into a wilderness, literally and spiritually.’

Julian took his glasses off and wiped them. ‘Yes, very much so,’ he said. ‘Lambert’s description depicts a man tormented by something, by horrendous visions, capable of anything — even murder and mutilation. I’ve had a criminal psychologist examine the journal and without getting into a long-winded profile’ — Julian smiled edgily — ‘there’s something of the Charles Manson about him.’

‘Lord. Really?’

‘The psychologist’s phrase was a messianic narcissistic sociopath. Bit of a mouthful.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps it’s just easier to say that he lost it. Went quite mad out there.’