A Pagan's Nightmare (6 page)

Lanny remained just as suspicious as DJ Ned. “How ‘bout the other stuff…. You cuss?”

“Not while I’m on the air. Hurts my ratings.”

“Drink?”

“On the golf course.”

Lanny managed a slight smile as he drove. “You chase the white ball?”

“Every chance I get. You?”

“Stopped in and played Augusta National on my way here.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m not kidding, Ned.”

Ned looked at his phone incredulously. “Don’t play me, man. Augusta National has people arrested just for peeking over the
fence.”

“That’s just it…. There was no one guarding the place. The zealots left it open and I drove right up to the clubhouse.”

“Just drove right up and teed off, eh?” Ned laughed at Lanny’s boldly concocted story.

“All by myself. . . Okay, just for one hole. Then the wackos chased me off.”

Ned paused, ran a hand through his hair, tried to blink away his shock. “So you’re saying the zealots have now claimed Augusta
National?”

“Looks that way.”

“What about Pebble Beach?”

“How would I know that, Ned? Pebble is in northern California.”

“True.” Ned thought about the proliferation of religious callers and the odd dearth of secular callers. In fact, he was certain
that
Lanny was the only non-zealot he had spoken with in two days. And yet he was cautious even of him. “Are you sure you cuss?”

“I’m sure, Ned.”

“Gimme some examples.”

“Examples? But I’m not in the mood right now.”

“Then just pretend. I need to know that you’re not a zealot posing as a non-zealot.”

Lanny veered into the slow lane. “You mean just cuss on demand?”

“Just let it fly.”

A long pause. “This is harder than I thought.”

“See, you’re one of them. A poser.”

Lanny stared at his cell phone in disbelief. Then he recalled how he had drilled a small hole in his foot with his power drill
back in 2002 while repairing some seats at Philips Arena. He let fly. “%*%$# and @#$%#$.”

“Okay,” Ned conceded. “Not bad.”

“So, do ya now believe I’m not a zealot?”

“Yeah, I guess. Wanna meet for a burger or something? I gotta talk to somebody normal.”

“And I’ve got to find my girlfriend. But I’ll be passing right by Orlando if you want to meet up and go with me to Cocoa Beach.”

“But there’s a hurricane coming—”

“I’ve got to find Miranda.”

Ned hesitated to reply. He wondered if he’d made a mistake by inviting Lanny to meet. And yet Ned could sense that an odd
new world had enveloped Orlando, a world of which he did not feel a part. He figured it best to grab any normal friend he
could find.

“I’m off the air in an hour.”

Ned gave Lanny directions to a convenience store just off Highway 528 some forty miles east of Orlando, and Lanny agreed to
meet him there.

The sky was deep blue and traffic was headed the opposite way as Lanny sped down the interstate. He turned off his radio,
and for miles remained lost in his thoughts.
What if this DJ Ned is really one
of them? What if I’ve been fooled again? But then, what if DJ Ned can help me locate Miranda? But then again, what if…

He noted mile marker 31, then something much larger than a mile marker. Frontlit by orange rays, this billboard stood tall
on the right side of 1-75.

Lanny hoped beyond hope that if the billboard were factual, Miranda was the second of the last five. He already knew he was
the first.

A
T A QUIK-STOP
off Highway 528, Ned parked his yellow Mercedes and lowered the car’s convertible top. He got out slowly and frowned as he
inhaled the humidity seeping from a nearby marsh.

Lanny sat waiting in his Xterra, five parking spots to the left. Upon spotting the yellow SL, he climbed out and walked across
the oil-stained lot to introduce himself.

Not so fast,
Lanny thought.

At first the two men looked warily at one another. They stopped some ten feet apart, heads cocked to the side. Each then spat
on the ground like a tough guy. Then, after sizing each other up in front of the store’s glass door, they shook hands like
a pair of G.I.’s who’ve found each other behind enemy lines.

“Ned Wallace, host of Fence-Straddler AM. Friends call me DJ Ned.”

Lanny shook back hard. “Lanny Hooch, owner of Hooch Contracting.”

Both men noted the traffic fleeing from the coast, and both peeked inside the store window at an idle cashier boy. “There
has got to be some explanation,” Ned offered, pointing at the slow parade of vehicles. “And I’m not talking about the hurricane.
Maybe the rest of the normal folks are held hostage somewhere.”

“I’ve thought of that, too,” said Lanny. “I can’t reach anybody.”

Ned rubbed his beard and glanced suspiciously at Lanny. He decided to test this new acquaintance. “Ya know, Lanny, in the
Middle Ages the Christians did some really bad things to people.”

Lanny could not mask his confusion. “Was it the Middle Ages or the Dark Ages?”

This return question served to ruin Ned’s test and put him on the defensive. “Don’t ask me hard details like that, man. I
was a communications major.”

“I never went to college,” Lanny confessed. He motioned Ned toward his Xterra. “You ready to roll? I need to get to Cocoa
Beach and look for Miranda.”

Ned shook his head and stepped toward the Quik-Stop’s door. “After we get some refreshments. Let’s think through this clearly
and hope that our loved ones are somewhere safe.”

Lanny followed behind and asked, “Do you even
have
loved ones? I mean you haven’t mentioned—”

Ned cut him off with a single wave of his hand. “I have a best friend in the U.K., plus a few weekend party buddies here in
Orlando—who are now missing. I got divorced twelve years ago. No kids. No siblings. Parents passed away.”

And that was that.

Inside the store, they avoided eye contact with the cashier and moved quickly to the glassed refrigerators. Ned selected the
last six-pack of Coors Light while Lanny grabbed two bags of barbequeflavored Lays and some peanut butter crackers. The men
toted their items to the counter, set them next to the register, and reached for their wallets.

Cashier Boy frowned at their selection. “Um, sir, I’m not supposed to sell you that.” He pointed to the Coors Light. “The
store owner is keeping that six-pack on display as a kind of souvenir.”

DJ Ned put his hands on his hips and glared at the cashier boy. “Souvenir? One little six-pack is a souvenir?”

“Sir, it’s from back before the—” Suddenly the cashier’s eyes grew wide. He glanced behind him at a photocopy tacked to the
wall. Two black-and-white photos adorned the paper. “You’re… you’re the two guys I heard about on the news.”

“News?” asked Lanny, fighting his fears by playing innocent. He and DJ Ned immediately recognized their likenesses in the
black-and-white photos, as if both men had made a Most Wanted list. “What news?”

“Yes,” the clerk said, sizing up his customers. “You’re, um, both in today’s paper, too.” He pointed to a stack of
USA Today.
The headline had nothing to do with war or politics or natural disasters. Today’s headline, just like the traffic report
on the radio, was of a more personal nature:

Reward Offered!

Marvin the Apostle is offering the Big Reward, a seat on his purple
velvet sofa (you’ll sit in eternity next
to Marvin!) to anyone who captures
and converts these two remaining rebels: Georgia native
Lanny Hooch, and Florida native
Ned Wallace, otherwise known
as DJ Ned.
Hurry! Three-day time limit!!

Below those words were pictures of Lanny and Ned, two shots each, frontal and profile. Pale and shaking, Lanny backed slowly
away from the counter. Hot and fuming, Ned flipped the paper over to see what other news could agitate his day. He skimmed
the latest rumors of his and Lanny’s whereabouts, then noted a sidebar below the fold:

Religious Lotto:

Five lucky numbers will win tapes and DVDs
of Marvin the Apostle’s inspiring lecture, “Housing Assignments
in the Everafter.” Grand drawing this Sunday at noon!!

Still behind the cash register, the clerk backed against the wall, as if unsure what he should do. DJ Ned dropped a twenty
on the counter and nudged Lanny toward the door.

“Who is this Marvin schmuck?” Ned muttered to himself. “I’ll punch him in the nose.”

“Get in line,” Lanny said.

They had just pushed open the doors to leave when the cashier shouted, “Sir, your change—”

“Keep it,” Ned muttered. He did not see the cashier pull two pairs of handcuffs from under the counter.

“Well then,” the cashier shouted, “how ‘bout accepting some free literature?” He held the handcuffs behind his back and came
around the newspaper stand.

Ned was already out the door. Without turning around he shook his head no. The clerk followed.

At the car, Lanny glanced back and saw a flash of chrome cuffs. The cashier let the glass door slam shut behind him and strode
toward them.

“Ned!” Lanny shouted. “Look out.”

Ned had just opened his trunk to put the six-pack into his cooler. He reached in and brandished a tire iron, holding it high
overhead.

“Just keep your distance, Zealot Boy.”

The cashier paused near the hood before stepping back to the store’s entrance, dangling the handcuffs in his right hand. “Someone
will catch
you two, ya know. You can’t run far.” He raised his empty left hand and flashed them a blue plastic wristband with WWMD on
it.

“What is that?” Ned asked, still holding the tire iron.

“What Would Marvin Do,” the cashier replied. He attached the handcuffs to his belt buckle and ran back inside the store and
picked up the phone.

Ned insisted on driving, so he and Lanny sped away in the Mercedes, fearing they’d be followed.

“We leave the South
tonight,”
Ned insisted, “maybe even the country.”

Lanny kept watch behind them. “But. . . but I’ve got to find Miranda. She’s the only thing that I really value.”

“You saw that headline. They’ll all be after us now.”

For several miles both men remained silent, minds turning, grasping for answers. Finally certain that they weren’t being followed,
Lanny turned to face the front and said, “How can that Marvin guy know that there’s a purple velvet sofa in the front row
of heaven? I’m not even sure there
is
a heaven.”

Ned chewed on the question for a moment. “Beats me. Maybe it’s one of those prophecy things.”

In forty minutes they’d driven past downtown Cocoa, then over a bridge and a marsh and to the entrance of Pelican’s Harbor
Retirement Homes. At the fifth house on the left—which looked exactly like all the other houses on the left—Lanny spotted
Miranda’s parents’ car, a beige Buick. On the small front porch sat a black leather travel bag.

Lanny jumped out, hurried past the Buick, and ran to the front door. Ned remained standing beside his vehicle, unsure of how
to help.

A note was taped above the doorknob of the house. It was written on a sheet of computer paper, and Lanny immediately recognized
Miranda’s handwriting. He pulled the paper from the door and, before reading the note, tried to turn the knob. Locked.

Monday, 8/17

Mom and Dad,

It’s now 10:15. Didn’t you remember that yon were driving me to the airport at 10:30? When I came back from my jog I was thinking
you’d be here. Also, Lanny
UMS
been trying to call me on my cell, but somehow all I get are the messages, not the actual call. Lanny is suck a joker. He
said that a BP station, in, Atlanta is charging non,-Christians $6.66 per gallon, for gas. Imagine that!

I’ve, tried to call your cdl but all I get is beeps. Same for Lanny’s.

I can, still make my 11
:45
flight if We hurry. In cast you return, here and I’m not around, I’ll be out looking for you down at the marina. That’s the
only place I figure you could be. Surely you didn’t take off again for the Bahamas!

If I dont find you, I’ll probably call a cab. Oh, Lanny left a second message that he would be willing to drive here to get
me. With gas so high, I wish he, would reconsider. But that is so sweet.

I’ll find you two shortly.

Love,

M

When he finished the note, Lanny could barely think. He pounded on the door but got no answer. He peered in the windows but
saw no lights. He opened the black leather travel bag, saw some clothes that looked like Miranda’s, but nothing else. Finally
he wrote on the back of Miranda’s note:

8/18 2:35 p.m.

gone to the marina to look for you.

Lanny

He taped the note back to the door, ran over to Ned’s Mercedes, and climbed in.

“Head to Bluewater Marina,” he said, anxious to get going.

“No sign of her?” Ned asked and backed out of the driveway.

“Just hurry, man.”