John Davis - Fear No Evil

Fifteen minutes later the two trucks of The World’s Greatest Show crawled into the all-night truck stop, one towing the other.

It was a big complex, scores of massive vehicles parked shoulder to shoulder. Some of the trucks still had their engines running, exhausts spewing, while their drivers were in the cafeteria, and the cold night air was dense with diesel fumes. David towed Big Charlie’s truck into the farthest corner of the big parking lot. Then they set feverishly to work. Davey wriggled under the engine with the wrench while Big Charlie held the flashlight. He began to unbolt the fuel pump.

‘Where’s another Fargo?’

They found one, and Davey scrambled under the hood and stole its fuel pump.

The two trucks of The World’s Greatest Show hurtled down the eight-lane highway.

The first gray was slowly turning pink above the Appalachians; then came the golden red spreading across the starry sky; and now the trees on the Appalachian ridge were flaming silhouettes. Then the tip of the sun came up, setting the east on fire, beaming down into the Shenandoah Valley, casting long shadows through the trees and the farmlands and across the highway, shining golden into the cabs of the two trucks and into the tired faces of David Jordan and Big Charlie Buffalohorn as they hammered down Highway 81. And for those moments the world beyond this ugly highway was young and beautiful; those purple and gold early morning mountains stretched southward in the sunrise, and Davey knew every river, stream, glade and gulley, and he was glad with all his heart for what he was doing.

For once upon a time, and not so long ago, the great mauve forests stretched right across the mighty land, trees with trunks wider than a coach and four, and firs and spruce, elm and pine and chestnut, towering forest peaks and valleys and great plains rich in waving grass, like an ocean, as far as the eye could see. There were herds of bison, and deer and bears and game; and rushing rivers and tumbling brooks and waterfalls and rapids and canyons, all of the purest water. The air was clean: from the vast blue lakes of Canada in the north, to the Gulf of Mexico in the south, from the mighty Rocky Mountains in the west to the Appalachians here in the east. That was how God made it, and it had taken millions of years to do it; it was beautiful, and it would have gone on forever, for He made it to stand all the ravages of time; but He did not make it to withstand the gluttony of Man.

Davey Jordan drove the truck of animals down the highway in the sunrise, the towns and cloverleafs and signboards flashing by, and those mountains up there were all that was left of the wilderness. The only pioneering that was left for a man was to get to the next gas station, his only survival problem the price of a hamburger.

At seven o’clock they heard it on the radio. Suddenly the jolly wakee-wakee music was cut off. His heart crunched and the disc jockey said excitedly:

We interrupt your favorite program to bring you this amazing newsflash. Now you’ve heard it all, folks. You’ve heard of huge bank robberies, all kinds of hijacks and sky-jacks and kidnaps and stick-em-ups, but this has got to be the zaniest of them all! Now get this: the Bronx Zoo has been robbed!

Yes, you heard me right! The Bronx Zoo has been robbed, but not of its cash box!

Yes, sir, the elephants, lions, gorillas and that bi-i-i-g tiger have been stolen in the night, and right this red-hot moment all those dangerous animals are at large somewhere in the U -nited States! The mind-boggling theft was discovered at six-thirty this morning. Police all over the eastern part of the United States have been alerted—

It was a quarter to eight, and a beautiful Sunday morning.

Every fifteen minutes they heard the excited newsflash again, but there were no new details on any station.

Twenty miles ahead, at Troutville, the Appalachian Mountains curved to the west, and Highway 81 continued south through a wide treeless plain: if a police car chased them in that plain, there was nothing he could do. But a hundred miles farther the mountains curved back again, at Wytheville, and that was where he was going to swing onto Route 21, heading for the Iron Mountains, then drive like mad down toward the Smokies on the backcountry roads. Once they were oil those roads they would be only about a hundred miles from the Smokies; and right now they were only one hundred miles from Wytheville. In one and a half hours they would be off this highway and into the back country— please God just another hour and a half …

Then at eight o’clock came a different newsflash:

It has now been confirmed that two trucks belonging to The World’s Greatest Show, which left New York last night, have failed to arrive in Boston, and that circus equipment which came from these vehicles has been found abandoned in the Bronx Zoo! Police believe that the drivers of these two trucks will be able to assist them in their inquiries and have called for the public’s help in finding them. Here is a description of these two men. …

Davey’s heart was pounding; his foot was flat on the accelerator, and he tried to jam it flatter.

The zoo was in an uproar, policemen everywhere. Outside the locked gates were reporters and television crews. The professional staff had gathered in the conference room adjoining the director’s office.

‘I’ve met him once,’ Dr. Elizabeth Johnson muttered, massaging her brow. Just to sit still, while the director kept interrupting the meeting to accept telephone calls, took a supreme effort. She had not even combed her hair, and her damn panties were on back to front—she had slammed down the telephone, scrambled into the nearest clothes, flung herself into her car and driven furiously down to the zoo. ‘And I found nothing remarkable in him,’ she added. Which wasn’t true—but she was not about to admit anything in the bastard’s favor. A raving lunatic.

‘Remarkable, I assure you,’ the curator of mammals muttered distractedly while the director barked into the telephone next door. ‘Quite fearless. Used to get into the big cats’ cages with them.’

That wasn’t news; it was one of the first things she’d heard when she came to work here. ‘That shows he is crazy.’

‘But, he didn’t seem crazy. Just … I don’t know, I liked him—everybody did. And obviously very intelligent.’

‘And rude.’ Her accent was English.

‘Was he? I’m surprised. Very gentle man, I always thought. No-nonsense and quick, but … never rude. Gentle. And, somehow, absolutely trustworthy. Now? … look what he’s done

The director waved at them to shut up. He was a tall, horsey man of about fifty, eyes large behind his glasses. He was saying, ‘Really, Mr. Worthy … Please, Worthy, it is highly likely that your stolen trucks will be stopped on some highway with the animals safely inside them—but if this man Jordan manages to release them somewhere, I assure you that the recapture operation will be methodically mounted under my personal supervision, with the assistance of the US Wildlife Department and other experts. All other civilians will be excluded … Mr. Worthy, there are numerous tried and proven methods of capturing wild specimens, and as a zoologist I assure you I am familiar …’ He took an impatient breath and shoved his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. ‘Mr. Worthy—you will be consulted when necessary, but I am un aware that circus personnel are experts in the capture of wild animals—now … yes, I will keep you informed, now good day, my other phone is ringing!’

He banged down the telephone and snatched at the next. ‘Professor Ford,’ he snapped.