Jack Yeovil: Route 666

"Report it in full, Leona, and we'll be Section-Eighted out of This Man's Cavalry faster than the Prezz can tell a lie. The way I see it, we were attacked by Psychopomps and had a bad time of it, They jolted us full of zonk, and that made poor Kirby Yorke lose what sense he had. But we got away, and so did Elder Seth and his resettlers. They'll be in Salt Lake by now, those that made it through the Des, and they'll be building. Whatever the Elder is, he's got himself a plan, and you and I ain't no part of it. Let's get back to Fort Valens and on with our lives. We'll need to live fast and live full, 'cause I reckon we're about near the end of our times. There's something going down out there that's gonna affect all of us in the end. When the time comes, maybe we'll take up arms again and find out just what Elder Seth is made of. Maybe not. Maybe we'll just be swept away by the fires. This here is the road to Armageddon, and maybe we can just turn round and go back to Valens and hope nothing comes of it, because there sure ain't much else we can do against someone who can do what he's just done to Spanish Fork. Six six six. That's in the Bible, I reckon. Something to do with the Beast of Revelations. The end of the world. Maybe that's what's coming. World's been going to Hell for long enough, maybe we're just about there now. Maybe …freak, there's too many maybes."

Quincannon gunned the motor, and drove south. To the west, the sun was rapidly sinking, turning the sands the colour of blood. Tyree slumped in her seat, trying to forget Elder Seth's eyes, trying to ignore the urge to join him in his mad march.

They'd had to sedate Yorke again. His watery, empty eyes suggested permanent trauma. Tyree thought the kid was as dead as Burnside. Fifty per cent casualties on this patrol. Not good.

The Quince took something down from his rooflocker. A bottle of Shochaiku Double-Blend. He twisted off the top and drank from the neck, then passed it to her.

"I was nearly one of them. Quince."

"I know. The way I figure it, Elder Seth was painting the road with blood, as a marker for something."

She took a swig of the booze, and felt warmth in her stomach. In the back, Yorke shifted, crying out in his sleep. She held the bottle.

"There were invisible things …"

"Don't think, Leona."

Quincannon picked something up off the floor. A piece of paper. It must have fallen from the locker. Tyree craned her neck, trying to get a look, but couldn't. Quincannon rolled his window down a crack, and threw the paper out. It was whipped away in the air, and lost in the desert.

She swallowed whiskey, focusing on the burn in her gullet. She could not not think.

Outside, full night had fallen and the Des was dark. Quincannon gunned the cruiser into the visibility funnel of its headlights.

"Goodbye, Marilyn," he said, almost under his breath.