Scott Mariani - The Doomsday Prophecy

The aroma of coffee was floating up from downstairs, and someone was moving about down below.

Ben ruffled up his hair in the mirror and made his way down the wide wooden staircase.

He found Alex down in the big farm kitchen, standing at an old cylinder-fed gas stove, frying strips of bacon in a battered pan. She turned in surprise as he walked in. ‘I was just about to bring you something to eat.’

‘What other US political figure uses the Bible as a campaign platform?’ he asked.

Alex stared at him for a moment. ‘You mean, apart from a President who said God told him to go to war with Iraq?’

‘Lower down the scale,’ he said. ‘Someone working hard to make it to the top.’

‘There are a thousand evangelical political wannabees out there,’ she answered. ‘Some are bigger than others. But I can’t just pluck one name out of the hat. Why are you asking about this all of a sudden?’

‘It’s nothing. Just thinking. Probably way off the mark.’

‘You shouldn’t be up so soon.’

‘I feel a lot stronger.’

‘You look it. But you can’t just spring up like a jack-in-the-box. You should rest a while longer.’

‘I’m not going back to bed. There’s a truck out there. Looks old, but maybe it’ll get us out of here. I’ll give Riley double what it’s worth, so he can replace it with a better one.’

‘Nice thought,’ she said. ‘But we’re not going anywhere in that, at least not yet. I already tried it. Battery’s all right, but the starter motor seems to be gone.’

‘A doctor and a mechanic,’ Ben said.

‘Make good coffee too. Want some?’

‘Love some.’ He gratefully accepted a mug from her and took a sip.

‘I made French toast, too. And some bacon and beans.’ She laughed at his expression. ‘You don’t have French toast where you come from?’

‘I only know Irish toast,’ he said. ‘That’s regular toast, soaked in Guinness.’

‘Try some. It’s fried bread with sugar.’

He sat down at the table and ate. ‘Where’s her ladyship this morning?’

Alex jerked her thumb upwards. ‘She won’t come out of her room.’

‘Riley?’

‘He’s stubborn, like you,’ she said. ‘He’s limping around out there tending to the animals. Tough old bird. Told me he was a marine once.’

‘Vietnam?’

‘Korea,’ rasped a voice. They turned. The front door creaked open and Riley hobbled into the kitchen, his gnarled hand clutching a stick. ‘Something smells good.’ He lowered himself stiffly into his chair at the head of the table. Alex passed him a piled plate and he muttered a few words of Grace before he dug into it. The three of them ate in silence for a while, then Ben mentioned the old truck in the barn.

‘If you can get it going, it’s yours,’ the old man said. ‘Tell you what, you dig real deep in the back of that old shed, you’ll find another truck there under a tarp. Engine gave out years back, but I reckon the starter on that one’s still in good shape. Might be worth a try.’

‘We’ll check it out.’

Riley reached across and took a bottle from a nearby cupboard. It was filled with clear liquid. ‘I always have a drink after a meal. Care to join me?’ He popped out the cork and sloshed some into three mugs. He took one for himself and slid the other two across the table. ‘Mighty good stuff,’ he said. ‘Distilled it myself.’

Ben sipped it. It tasted about twice the strength of Scotch. ‘Reminds me of poteen. Irish moonshine.’

‘Knowed a guy who ran a ’69 Dodge Charger on it,’ Riley muttered.

Ben watched him appreciatively. He was a tough old man, but with a good heart. ‘I wanted to thank you for letting us stay here. There was no need to give up your bedroom for me. I’d have been happy with the barn.’

Riley scratched the white bristles on his chin and smiled sadly. ‘That’s Maddie’s old room. I don’t go there much. She’d have wanted you and your lady here to use it.’

Ben and Alex exchanged glances and didn’t reply. Then the door creaked open and they all turned to see Zoë standing there uncertainly.

‘Pull up a chair, miss,’ Riley said.

Alex stood and went over to fetch the pan from the stove and a fresh plate. ‘Come and eat something, Zoë.’

Zoë looked subdued as she sat at the table and picked at the food that Alex pushed in front of her. Ben ignored her. Riley finished his food, licked the plate with relish and drained the last of his moonshine. ‘That was darn good.’ He leaned back in his chair and took out a battered pack of Lucky Strikes. Ben accepted one, and they lit up.

Zoë glanced over at the cheap plastic phone that hung on the wall in the corner of the kitchen. ‘Ben,’ she said sheepishly, ‘would it be OK for me to call my parents?’

Ben was about to say no, but before he could speak Riley cut in. ‘Phone don’t work, miss,’ he said. ‘Been gathering dust there for the last two years. Never paid the bill. Maddie, she used to call up her sis once in a while. But I never much liked talking on that thing anyway. I like to look a person in the eye when I talk to them.’ He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. ‘Nearest phone’s at the Herman place,’ bout nine miles west across the ridge there.’

Zoë turned to Alex. ‘What about your cellphone?’

‘You won’t get reception up here,’ Riley said. ‘Hermans don’t get it neither.’

‘Fine. Then I’ll go to the Herman place,’ Zoë said. ‘Is there a horse I can borrow?’

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Ben warned her.

Just then, the sound of hooves in the yard made him turn to look out of the window. Through the dusty pane, a bronzed young guy with glossy black hair and a denim jacket was dismounting a tall grey horse and tying it up to a rail.

‘That’s Ira,’ Riley said. ‘Must have found that steer.’ He rose from the table and hobbled outside to join the young guy.

Zoë was watching keenly out of the window. Ben followed her gaze and knew what she was thinking. Ira looked as though he had a lot of Native American blood. He was handsome and fit-looking, about twenty-three.

‘Remember what I told you,’ Ben said. ‘You stay indoors. People are out there looking for us.’

She didn’t reply.

‘Good,’ Ben said. ‘Now let’s see if we can get this truck started.’

‘You’re going to round off that nut,’ Alex was saying. ‘Then you’ll never get it loose.’

Streaks of sunlight shone through the gaps in the old wooden slats of the big barn, casting bright stripes across the dirt floor and the farm junk that lay around inside, piles of fencing posts and stacked-up tools and drums of oil, sacks of fertiliser. Some hens were scratching and clucking in the hayloft up above.

Ben peered out from under the chassis of the even more ancient pickup they’d uncovered at the back of the barn. His face was sprinkled with red flecks of rust from where he’d been trying to loosen the bolts holding on the starter motor.

‘Use the chain wrench instead.’ She passed it down to him.

He laid down the spanner he’d been using and took the wrench from her. Looking up at her, her attractiveness struck him for a fleeting moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed it. Her auburn hair was tied back, wisps falling out, tousled and sexy. It was hot in the barn and she’d rolled up her shirt sleeves to the shoulder. There was a smear of oil on the shiny, toned muscle of her upper arm. The check shirt was unbuttoned a long way down. She brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes.

‘You learned this mechanic stuff in the CIA?’

She grinned back at him. ‘Try growing up with four older brothers who were all car crazy.’