Storm of Lightning (17 page)

Tucson, Arizona

W
e were on the move again. We left Tucson at six thirty, stopped a little after eight in Phoenix for breakfast, then continued on. Gervaso pushed the speed limit most of the way. He was eager to get us to the ranch. But, with the exception of Nichelle, who wanted to stop in Vegas to shop for some new clothes, we were all eager to get to the ranch too. We wanted to see our families and the rest of the Electroclan.

It seemed that the closer we got to the ranch, the more of a hurry Gervaso was in. A little past Kingman a highway patrol turned on its lights to pull us over, and Gervaso said to Taylor, “Can you take care of that?”

Taylor looked at the approaching police car nervously. “I'll try,” she said. “I hope I don't make him crash.”

“I can do it,” Nichelle said. She looked back and extended her hand. Suddenly the flashing lights on the car's roof died, as did the
whole car. We lost sight of the patrol car as it coasted over to the side of the road.

It was about a four-and-a-half-hour drive from Phoenix to Vegas. The drive from Las Vegas to southern Utah on I-15 led through the Moapa Valley in the upper northwest corner of Nevada, briefly recrossing into Arizona. Just before crossing into southern Utah, we drove through a chiseled rock canyon that towered high above the pass. Ostin spotted mountain goats perched on the side of the mountainous crag.

“Look at those things,” Ostin said.

“That's incredible,” McKenna replied. “I wouldn't climb that mountain with a rope and climbing gear. Those things are walking on it with hooves.”

“I wonder how many mountain goats fall,” I said.

Everyone automatically turned to Ostin.

He shrugged. “Why would I know that?”

*  *  *

We drove through the borderline casino town of Mesquite before crossing over the Utah border. Then we continued on I-15 up to St. George, went about ten miles north, and turned off the highway, then headed east to the towns of Hurricane and Springdale, before entering Zion National Park. Our destination was just on the other side of the park, and the road through Zion was the shortest route. Peculiarly, something about the place seemed familiar. Like I'd been there before.

The place was crowded with tourists, and even though it was only twelve miles from the west gate to the east gate, it still took us about forty-five minutes to get across. Near the east end of the park our drive took us through a long, two-lane tunnel more than a mile long, carved through the mountain. The only lights in the tunnel were those from the headlamps of the cars in the opposite lane, so the whole way our van was brightly lit by our glows.

We passed through the east gate of the park and had continued on for about five miles when Gervaso slowed the van to turn north onto a dirt road. “This is the place,” he said.

Not surprisingly, the entrance to Christmas Ranch was not obvious nor well marked, and if it weren't for a wood-post stop sign, you'd probably drive right past it. Just after turning off the freeway, Gervaso stopped the van and took a radio from beneath his seat. “This is Bauble Six, returning to tree.”

“Roger, Bauble Six. Your ETA?”

“Ten minutes. We just pulled onto the road.”

“We'll alert sentries. Welcome home.”

Gervaso put the van in gear and started off again.

“Look at those,” Ostin said, pointing out the window.

Outside there were two drones, one on each side of the van, hovering about fifty feet in the air, escorting us.

The road to the ranch was rutted dirt lined with cedar trees, twisted juniper, and small clumps of cacti and prickly pear. A deep, dry ravine ran along the road for much of the way, indicating that there had, at least once, been a lot of water in these parts.

As we made our way toward the compound, we passed several herds of cows and sheep. To our surprise we also saw several llamas. I hadn't seen a llama since Peru, and I felt an odd attachment to them.

“Lots of cows out here,” McKenna said.

“Did you know that more people are killed each year by cows than sharks?” Ostin said.

“The Discovery Channel should change Shark Week to Cow Week,” I said.

“Yeah, look at them out there,” Jack said, grinning. “Plotting their next kill. Wild pack of killer cows.”

“It's not a pack,” Ostin said. “It's a herd.”

“A what?”

“A
herd
of cows.”

“Of course I've heard of cows,” Jack said.

“No, a
herd
. A group of hoofed mammals that congregate together for—”

“Ostin,” I said, stopping him. “He's just messing with you.”

Ostin looked at Jack and stopped. “Oh.”

“Killer cows,” Jack said, shaking his head. “At least cows won't eat you. They don't even have sharp teeth.”

“Neither do hippos,” Ostin said. “But that doesn't stop them from killing more people than lions and crocodiles combined.”

“Don't get him started on hippos,” Taylor said. “I've heard this.”

“Did you know hippos' mother's milk is pink?” Ostin said.

“I warned you,” Taylor said, shaking her head.

“I really didn't want to know that,” Jack said.

“What's with the llamas?” McKenna asked. “What are they doing here?”

“They're guard llamas,” Ostin said. “Farmers use them to protect small sheep and chickens from coyotes and foxes. Llamas are aggressive animals and very territorial. Once they bond with a herd of animals, they get very upset when something comes near them.”

“What do they do, spit on them?” Taylor asked.

“Exactly,” Ostin said. “And scream at them.”

“Llamas scream?” she asked.

“Yeah. It sounds like an amplified rusty hinge,” Ostin said. “Or feedback on a microphone.”

“That's just weird,” Taylor said.

“Not as weird as pink milk,” Nichelle said.

“I'd run from that,” McKenna said.

“The llama scream or the pink hippo milk?” Taylor asked.

“Both.”

“They're also good at kicking,” Ostin continued. “They'll chase a coyote away from the herd and kick it. Some of them will even try to herd the animals together in a group to protect them.”

“I didn't realize llamas were so smart,” McKenna said.

“They are.”

“Maybe Ostin's dad is part llama,” Jack said.

Ostin frowned.

“That was a compliment,” Jack said.

Ostin still didn't smile.

After several winding bends, Gervaso slowed to a stop in front of a large timber archway, then turned off the dirt road down into a
decline shrouded on both sides by towering cottonwood trees. The road was lined with a low barbwire fence held up by cedar posts. There was pasture on both sides of the road, with cows grazing beneath the shade of the cottonwoods.

“This is pretty,” Taylor said.

“Welcome to Christmas Ranch,” Gervaso said.

“It doesn't look as threatening as the last place.”

“It doesn't need to be,” Gervaso said. “We're in the U.S. But don't let it fool you. There are sentries and machine gun bunkers along the road, and missile launchers in silos. You just can't see them.”

We drove past an orchard of apple trees next to a field of lavender. “It's nice. I could live here,” Taylor said.

“For a long time,” Gervaso said. “Just like our compound in Mexico, Christmas Ranch is completely self-sufficient and off the grid. We grow our own food, pump our own water, raise our own beef, and generate our own electricity. We even have beehives.”

“I love fresh honeycomb,” Taylor said. “With cheese. Especially with cheese.”

“We make our own cheese as well,” Gervaso added. “From goats and sheep. We keep busy.”

“Do you have more llamas?” McKenna asked.

Gervaso smiled. “No. But we have around-the-clock snipers, so we don't worry about coyotes.”

We stopped at a wooden gate that was reinforced with riveted steel plating. A man suddenly appeared. I have no idea where he came from. He wore a cowboy hat and boots. “Welcome back,” he said. “You got them all?”

“Every last one of them,” Gervaso said.

The man pushed a button, and the gate opened. “Go on ahead; everyone's waiting.”

Gervaso drove ahead until the road curved left and turned to gravel, which crunched and spit out beneath our tires, pinging against the van's undercarriage. We climbed an incline for about a hundred yards past a large open aluminum-topped carport that was filled to the top with bundles of hay.

Then the road split into three different directions: left, straight ahead, and right. We took the right fork up a road lined by white vinyl horse fencing and columnar poplar trees nearly sixty feet tall.

The road opened up into a clearing with a large house and about a half dozen parked vehicles, mostly Jeeps and Hummers. To the left of us was a horse stable and corral, and to the right was a large tarp over a tractor. On the hill below that was an amphitheater with a large outdoor movie screen.

“I think I could live here,” Taylor said again.

“It's beautiful,” Gervaso said. “But it's not so great in the winter. We get a lot of snow. Enough to snow us in.”

“I can do snow days,” Taylor said, looking at me. “As long as I have someone to keep me warm.”

Jack smiled at me and gave me a thumbs-up.

As we pulled up to the house, a group of people emerged from the front door onto the deck. Most of the people we'd seen before, but all I really cared about was seeing my mother and Ostin's parents. We didn't have to wait long.

Ostin's mother looked beside herself with joy. My own mother was, as usual, looking calm and happy. She was standing next to Joel.

Gervaso stopped the van. “Welcome home, Electroclan.”

“Home sweet home,” Taylor said. “Wherever that is these days.”

“Home is where they don't want to kill you,” Jack said.

We all climbed out. Not surprisingly, Ostin's mother was the first to greet us. She threw her arms around Ostin and began kissing him. Ostin was so glad to see her, he didn't even look embarrassed. She was followed by Mr. Liss, my mother, and Chairman Simon.

My mother wrapped her arms around me. She had tears in her eyes. “I'm so glad you're safe.” After a moment she stepped back, examining my arms and neck. “What happened? What are those marks?”

I was going to get all technical and say something about Lichtenberg figures, but instead I just said, “I got too electric. It scarred me. It's on my chest and back, too.”

She looked concerned as she ran a finger over the scars. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

She threw her arms around me again. “I'm glad you're safe. I've been so worried about you.”

I stepped back. “You were worried about me? I thought you were dead.”

“I know. I'm sorry. Things were crazy for a while. We got an advance warning that the Elgen were going to attack, and we had to evacuate in the middle of the night.” She hugged me again. “I'm just glad you're safe.”

After we parted, she looked over at Taylor. “Hello, Taylor.”

“Hello, Mrs. Vey. We've been so worried about you all.”

My mother hugged her as well. “Thank you for watching over Michael.”

“I did my best.”

“I knew you would.”

My mother then went around and hugged everyone else, stopping at Nichelle, who was standing by herself near the back of the van. She had never seen any of these people before and I guessed felt like an outsider. “You must be Nichelle,” my mom said.

Nichelle looked a little shy. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Nichelle saved our bacon,” I said.

My mother smiled. “Thanks for saving my son's bacon.”

Nichelle grinned. “I was glad to save his bacon.”

The chairman then stepped up and put out his hand to Nichelle. “Nichelle, I'm Chairman Simon. We've been following you for so long, I feel like I already know you. I'm so pleased to finally meet you.”

“That's kind of creepy, but it's nice to meet you, too,” she said awkwardly. “Are you the one who sent them to get me in California?”

“It was a decision made by the council, but it was my idea.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

“Thank you for making me right.”

“It's about time you guys got here,” someone shouted.

I turned to see Zeus walking up from around the side of the house. He was followed by Ian, Tanner, Grace, and Tessa. “What took you guys so long?”

We man hugged. “You guys ditch us and then complain we're late?” I said.

“Ditched you? Man, it was intense. I thought we were under attack.”

“Yeah,” Ian said. “Zeus almost took out one of our own vans before I stopped him.”

“Fortunately no one was hurt,” Gervaso said.