To the Vanishing Point

13

Alicia had a towel wrapped around her hair. She handed a dry one to Burnfingers. He smiled at her, took it gratefully, and began drying himself as best he was able. Mouse was helping Steven out of his dripping clothes while Wendy stood waiting her turn, both arms crossed over her chest. Her mother walked over to her.

"Come on, darling. You have to get out of those clothes."

"But, Mom." Wendy looked meaningfully to her left. "Dad is here, and Steven, and…" Her gaze rose.

Burnfingers was wiping mud from his eyes. "Wendy sprite, you are a cute little white girl-almost-a-woman. But I have seen more ladies bare-ass naked than you ever will see similarly of both sexes. If even I was inclined to have a look at you I promise I am too tired right now to look at anything except maybe a hot cup of coffee."

"I’ll make you one as soon as we’re through here," Alicia promised him. Then her face broke out in a wide smile and she started to giggle. "Oh, I guess I can’t. We don’t have any propane."

Wendy slowly lowered her arms. "There’s the microwave, Mom."

"Yes, that’s right. We can make some instant, can’t we?" Thoughts of doing something as domestic as making coffee cheered her visibly. "But nobody gets anything until we’ve all switched to dry clothing." Reluctantly, Wendy began to strip, starting with her shoes.

Burnfingers paused with his shirt halfway up his chest. "By the way, Frank, who the hell is driving up there?"

"I was wondering that myself." Mouse was still helping Steven to change.

A beaming, ruddy face appeared around the side of the driver’s chair, one hand clinging to the wheel. A nose W. C. Fields would have been proud of dominated the surprising visage. It was flanked by shiny red cheeks and topped by a head of kinky reddish-blond hair. The eyes, deep-set beneath brows of equally startling hue, were bright pink. The man had a holiday air about him, as though Santa Claus had been crossed with the Easter Bunny.

"Hallu!" One pink eye winked, then the whole torso vanished behind the bulk of the seat.

Frank slipped into the bathrobe his wife handed him, moved forward as he belted the dry terry cloth.

Their driver was seated atop several cushions. This raised his eyes above the dash. A pair of sticklike prostheses were secured to his boots, short stilts improvised out of twine and poles. These enabled him to control the brake and accelerator. They were necessary because the man was barely three feet tall. A voice spoke at Frank’s side.

"Say good evening to our new friend," Mouse urged him.

Dazed, Frank leaned against the other front seat for support. "Hi."

"Hi yourself." The little man stuck out a hand. Frank took it automatically. "Flucca’s the name. Niccolo Flucca. Haven’t had a chance to drive anything without four legs in five, six years. Mouse tells me it’s brand new. Didn’t think there was anything brand new left in the world."

"Not in this one," Frank told him, looking hard at Mouse as he spoke.

"I told you before this started that I was not good with machines. As I was waiting for your return, the curious began to gather around me. Niccolo was one of them. Years ago he wandered accidentally into this reality from another."

"Thought it was a bad dream," their driver said, "and it was."

"Of all who surrounded me in your absence, only he recognized this machine as a vehicle. He offered to help. I am a good judge of people no matter what their origins and I could tell instantly he was large of heart and spirit. So I accepted. Fortunate for you, I think, that I did."

"Prake’s bad people," said Flucca.

"I wouldn’t want him for a neighbor," Frank admitted.

"Mouse helped me rig up." He indicated the cushions and stilts. "I used to be a pretty good driver. Great to be behind the wheel again. I know all the submerged roads."

"When we heard the first explosions we thought we’d better come looking for you," Mouse explained. "Niccolo assured me we wouldn’t get stuck. I thought it would be the right thing to do."

"You thought right, little singer," said Burnfingers from behind them.

"Speaking of right things to do." Alicia put both arms around her husband and kissed him passionately. Wendy stared while her little brother made a disgusted sound.

"Ah, come on, Mom!" he finally pleaded, unable to stand it any longer. His parents parted. Frank had his hands on his wife’s hips, smiling at her.

"You been holding back on me all these years, sweetheart? I never knew death and destruction excited you."

She pulled away sharply. "Frank, you’re terrible! Can’t you take anything seriously?"

His expression turned somber. "I got plenty serious when we found out you and the kids had been kidnapped." He patted her side and she reached out to gently touch his face with the back of one hand.

The children had retreated to the security and quiet of the back bedroom. Leaving Alicia to deal with the pile of unexpected but unbloodied laundry, he walked back to join them. Both children sat on the king-sized bed. Steven was staring out the rear window, no doubt hunting for pursuing mutants. Frank didn’t think his son would see any. They were beyond the lake waters now, back in the main part of the city. Flucca certainly knew his way around, and Burnfingers had hung on to a few shells for the Casull. They were safe, at least until the next unexpected attack.

Wendy’s sodden hair hung limply from beneath the towel wrapped around her head. Frank sat down next to her. She didn’t look at him.

"How you doin', little girl?"

"I’m fine, Daddy." Now she turned to him, her expression twisted. "And I wish you wouldn’t call me that."

"Sorry." He smiled, uncomfortable. "I keep forgetting."

She sounded bored and tired. "And don’t tell me I’ll always be your little girl, either. I’m an adult now."

"Of course you are."

They sat silently, Frank trying to think of something to say and not wanting to commit another paternal faux pas, his daughter obviously uneasy and tense.

It started with a sniffle, which became a sob, which degenerated into tears. She sat on the edge of the bed crying and hugging herself, and she didn’t object when Frank moved close enough to put an arm around her and pull her gently down against his shoulder.

"I’m scared, Daddy. I want to go home."

"I know, I know." He squeezed her shoulder. "We all want to go home. But we’ve kind of got a tiger by the tail and we can’t let go yet. Actually, it’s a Mouse."

She inhaled and managed to smile at that, and it was easy for him to smile back.

Steven turned from the glass, looking on uncomfortably. "Don’t worry, sis. I’ll take care of you."

One long, last sniffle preceded her reply, which was raspy but full of familiar filial sarcasm. "Oh, that’s great, that’s wonderful! We can all relax now. Steven Mark Sonderberg is on the job!"

The boy shrugged, turned away. "Hey, if you don’t care…"

"No fighting. Not now," Frank warned them. "And you watch your mouth, litt — Wendy. We’re all having a tough time."

"Dad?" Steven continued staring out the back window as he spoke. There was no ten-year-old bravado in his voice now. "We are gonna get home, aren’t we?" He sounded very small and alone.

"Of course we are. We’re just" — he hesitated — "taking a little detour, that’s all."

"Yeah, right. A detour." The boy brightened at the thought. "Dad, you shoulda seen some of the uglies that were holding us prisoner. They were gross. And that big guy, he was the ugliest one of all. He was bigger even than Andre the Giant!" Frank knew who his son was talking about because it behooved him, as the owner of a chain of sporting goods stores, to know a lot about activities he really cared nothing about. "How’d you make that bomb, huh? I bet Mr. Begay made it, didn’t he?"

"We both worked it out," Frank replied, slightly miffed.

It went right by his son. "Burnfingers sure knows a lot of stuff, doesn’t he? I wonder if he’s really from Arizona?"

"I don’t know, either, but unless we find out otherwise we have to take him at his word."

"Sure, I guess so." When Steven turned back to the glass, Frank glanced down at his daughter.

"You gonna be all right now?"

She nodded, forced a smile as she wiped at her eyes. "I think so."

"Okay, then." He rose. "I’ve gotta get back up front and see what’s going on." He started out.

"Hey!" At the shout he paused to look back at her. "Don’t forget you owe me a new stereo."

"Don’t worry." He grinned. "Soon as we’re back in L.A. we’ll go pick out whatever you want."

"I’m not going to let you forget," she warned him.

"That’s good." He didn’t know if she was feeling better when he left the bedroom, but he certainly was.

Flucca was still driving. "I can take over now if you like," he told the little man.

"Actually," the dwarf told him reluctantly, "much as I’m enjoying this, I am getting tired." He shook his left leg. "The cruise control’s no good at these speeds and these straps are starting to bite."

Alicia was seated across from him. "Do you need any help getting down?"

"Not only do I not need any help getting down," he told her with a wink, "I never need any help getting up."

Frank stared through the windshield into the night. "You sure it’s okay to stop here?"

"You bet." Flucca let the motor home coast to a halt. "I know the whole damn city. Nobody comes here. We’re near the old industrial district. Locals think there are still hot spots out this way, but there ain’t. I used to know a real old guy who had, what do you call it?" His face screwed up in concentration. "A dagger counter?"

"Geiger counter?" said Alicia helpfully.

"No. Something similar, though. He told me this part of town’s been cold for years. But superstition keeps the locals away." He removed both makeshift stilts and tossed them aside, then slid down off the pile of cushions.

Frank cleared the driver’s seat and settled behind the wheel. In spite of all the heavy driving he’d done lately it still felt good to be back in control again. He readjusted the position of the chair.

And realized he didn’t have the foggiest notion which way to go. This was Salt Lake City, which he’d never visited, on another reality line, which he’d also very definitely never visited.

"Which way’s your Vanishing Point?" he asked Mouse.

"Off this reality," she told him. "I wouldn’t have come this way at all if your family hadn’t been brought here."

"Then how do we get back on the right line?"

"You know, I was a cook." Flucca ignored the threatening surroundings. "Best damn cook in Las Cruces, New Mexico."

"Really?" said Alicia. "I’m something of an amateur chef myself. Maybe you and I could do some cooking together." She eyed the now fuelless stove and sighed. "When we get home."

"I’d enjoy that a lot." Flucca sounded wistful. "I miss working with real pots and pans."

"I know a few people in the restaurant business. When we get back I’ll help you find an opening. If you’re as good as you say you are, that is."

"Better. All I want to drive again are the controls of a gas range."

"It is good to have goals." Burnfingers Begay’s eyes scanned the darkness. "However, we should concentrate on the immediate ones for now. Let us begin by leaving behind this city of the dead. Any suggestions?"

Standing on tiptoes, Flucca pointed to his left. "If we go past the pit, I don’t think anyone will try to follow us. The highway out that direction’s still pretty intact." Frank glanced at Mouse, who nodded her approval.

"It feels right. Or at least, it does not feel wrong."

They found the impact crater, gave it a wide berth as Frank maneuvered the motor home through the damaged intersection and onto the avenue Flucca indicated. As soon as they were sure they were on the right road, Burnfingers and Mouse took Flucca back to introduce him to the Sonderberg children. That left Frank and Alicia alone up front.

"I wonder if it’s good for Steven to be spending so much time with Burnfingers?"

His wife frowned. "Why? They seem to enjoy each other’s company."

"I know, but Burnfingers keeps showing him how to sharpen knives and handle weapons and things. You know how impressionable Steven is."

"Considering where we are, maybe we could all do with that kind of instruction," she replied surprisingly. "When I was back in that cage wondering if I’d ever see you again, wondering what those awful people were going to do to us, I wished I’d known a little more about fighting myself."

What she said made sense but still left him troubled. He divided his attention between the conversation and the road ahead, which was leading them northward out of the city.

"We’re just your average family. We shouldn’t have to know how to use knives and homemade bombs."

"We shouldn’t be traveling through alternate realities, either, but we are."

"Well, I think you’re coping wonderfully."

"That’s me." She slid down in the seat, put her feet up on the dash. "I’m fine during a crisis. It’s when I’m safely back home soaking in the tub that I’ll crack up and get hysterical and throw things. Can’t afford the time for that right now."

A new voice joined the conversation. Mouse was staring straight ahead.

"We are back on the right path once more. The little man knew the way better than he himself knows."

"Is there any chance this Anarchis will give up and leave us alone?" Alicia asked plaintively.

"No, but we have successfully slipped its grasp again. It may take it some time to gather its forces for another assault. Chaos is not suited to planning. Forethought pains it."

"Good! I hope it suffers a cosmic migraine," Frank muttered.

Beyond the city limits the road stretched straight and relatively unbroken. Weeds pushed through cracks in the concrete, but there were few impact craters or potholes to slow their progress. As they cruised northward they saw no other vehicles, no wandering humans, hardly anything ambulatory.

Once something that might in a healthier time have been a bat glided through their headlight beams, a distorted lump with wings. Frank didn’t try to follow its progress because he might have succeeded, and he didn’t want a better look. Except for the isolated flier, the motor home was all that advanced through the devastated night.

"We’re drawing near." Mouse frowned at the road. "Yet something feels not right."

"What a surprise," Frank murmured sardonically as he slowed and tried to see farther into the darkness. "Tell our fellow travelers," he told his wife, "to get their butts up here. We’re getting close to something."

"Close to what?" Alicia rose from the chair.

"I dunno, but if it concerns Mouse it concerns me. I’ve learned that much."

Alicia returned a moment later with Burnfingers and Flucca in tow. Frank let their speed fall below forty, then thirty. It was fortunate he did so. Otherwise he might not have been able to stop in time.

Ten yards ahead, the road vanished. So did the ground. Off to the right, the silhouettes of high mountains paralleled the road as far as the same point. There they also came to an abrupt end. To the west the northern reaches of the Great Salt Lake ended in a distant roaring. Frank cracked his window a few inches and the noise filled the motor home. It was the sound of water falling without striking bottom.

The sky remained, along with the stars. Too many stars too close.

"I think I know where we are," Frank muttered. He edged a little nearer the brink, set the emergency brake. There was just enough light for everyone to see the lake waters where they tumbled into nothingness, forming a salty waterfall miles in length.

"The edge of the world. I’ve seen it before."

Alicia gave him a funny look. "When did you ever see anything like this before?"

"I was out walking when you and the kids were kidnapped. That’s when I saw it. There was some of it behind the motel." He didn’t add that he’d seen it and understood it in Mouse’s company any more than he went on to explain why he and their guest had been wandering through the woods together early in the morning. For once he was grateful for Alicia’s lack of persistence.

"So what do we do now?" she mused aloud.

Mouse wore a dreamy expression, her eyes half-closed as she concentrated. "This is the right way. The only way. The road is here. Our eyes are deceived."

"Deceived, hell." Frank continued to stare at the bottomless waterfall. "They’re being lied to like crazy. There’s no road out there. Burnfingers?"

Begay shrugged. "I know hidden byways. I do not know what lies beyond the edge of the world. Of course, if the little singer is wrong, all we would do is fall. There would be plenty of time to talk things out before we hit bottom."

Mouse spoke up. "Once you trusted Burnfingers Begay when you could not see a road where a road was. This time you must trust me. The road is there, but we will not see it until we trade this reality for another."

"I dunno …."

"We cannot go back," she said firmly. "The allies of the Anarchis will search ceaselessly until they find us. It will be much easier for them to do so if we remain on this line. Others will come in Prake’s wake, others more terrible than he."

Frank shook his head doubtfully. "I don’t think I can imagine realities worse than Prake."

"That’s because your imagination is limited by what you know."

Still unsure, he turned to Alicia. She smiled encouragingly and added that cute little toss of her head he’d always found so endearing. It gave him courage if not confidence.

"All right. What do you want me to do?"

"That which you have done so well all along. Drive on."

He swallowed hard, released the emergency brake, and drove over the edge.

The smooth transition left him breathless. One moment there was nothing below them, the next they were cruising along a pale ivory pavement that ran through emptiness. It was unblemished and well-maintained. His muscles began to unknot.

"You were right." Alicia gazed admiringly at Mouse. "You’ve been right all along."

"Well, I wasn’t positive," she replied slowly, "but I was reasonably certain."

Frank’s head came around fast. "What do you mean, you weren’t positive?"

Mouse smiled warmly. "Would you have driven over the edge if I’d admitted uncertainty?"

He started to reply, thought it over, and decided to say nothing.

The reality they’d left behind rapidly faded from view. Mountains, great lake, and old highway consumed by distance and darkness. The road they were on twisted and bent madly, but no matter how steeply it banked the motor home hugged the smooth surface tightly. Frank settled the speedometer on forty, though everyone had the feeling they were moving far faster than that.

"Everyone okay?" he inquired. The response was gratifyingly positive.

"Are we going to be all right now, Mom?" Wendy asked.

"I don’t know, dear. We aren’t sure where we’ve been and I guess we’re still not sure where we’re going."

"At least we got away from the monsters, huh, Dad?" Steven was eyeing Burnfingers admiringly. "We really blew that Prake guy away, didn’t we?"

"I did what was necessary." Begay put a hand on Frank’s shoulder. "Your father is a remarkable driver. I begin to wonder at the coincidence that inspired him to stop and give Ballad Eyes a ride."

"No big deal." Frank discovered he was embarrassed by Burnfingers’s praise. "The driving, I mean. I just put a foot to the gas and go. See, when I was getting started in business I used to drive the delivery truck in addition to doing most of the paperwork. Time being money and all that. Besides, anyone who grew up in Los Angeles and learned driving there can drive anyplace. There are intersections in Los Angeles that remind you of the edge of the world and Hell."

Burnfingers looked thoughtful. "It was different for me. As I have told you, driving on the reservation is not the same as driving in the real world. We have our own speed laws and our own police. Many of the roads are no more than suggestions in the dirt. When the principal mode of transportation is an old pickup truck with a stripped transmission, you learn to drive carefully."

Mouse was concentrating on the winding road ahead. "Niccolo’s choice came from the heart. We are going the right way."

"Glad to hear it," Frank confessed, "since alternate routes seem to be in short supply out here."

Alicia had the back of one hand pressed to her forehead. Her eyes were half closed. "This has all been so wearying."

"Wearying? Wearying?" Frank snapped out the words. "What this has been is fucking insane, is what it’s been."

She made a face at him. "Frank — the children."

"Let 'em hear. I’m fed up."

"I’m sorry to have involved your family," Mouse told him. "Time and circumstance offered me no other choice."

"Yeah, yeah. So you’ve been telling us."

"Then if you are intelligent enough to acknowledge the inevitability of what we are doing, why are you angry?"

"I don’t know!" He slammed both hands hard against the wheel. "Can’t I just be mad? Do I have to have a reason? Christ, I don’t wanna save the world. I just want to be able to keep on selling Taiwanese baseball mitts at fifty percent markup. That’s my idea of a reality worth fighting for."

"Want me to drive for a while, Frank?"

As he glanced back at Burnfingers, he subsided. "Naw. Just blowing off steam. Call you if I need a break."

"Okay. You may think of yourself as ordinary and weak, Frank Sonderberg, but I think you are one tough son of a bitch."

"Thanks. You got to be to run a business like mine. That’s the American way."

"We should have taken some pictures," Alicia pointed out. "After all, we’ve had some pretty unique experiences."

"Who’d believe us?" Frank punctuated the rhetorical question with a grunt of disdain. "I can see it now. We could have the Blockers and the McIntyres over for a slide show." He raised his voice theatrically.

"Here we are in Hell — notice the demons at the tables? Observe the stuffed children mounted on the walls. Here we are on the highway to nowhere, and this one now, this is the one that takes you off the edge of the world. This place that looks like Las Vegas? It’s really on another planet. You can tell by the guy with the root growing out of his head and the lady with the purple fur on her face.

"This dump is Salt Lake City, only it’s after they’ve dropped the Big One, which is why the streets haven’t been swept in a while. Yeah, we should’ve taken pictures." He concluded by making a rude noise.

"Well, we could have looked at them," she persisted.

"No, thanks, hon. If we get out of this, the last thing I want is anything to remind me of it. I’ll be real happy to put it behind me. Way behind me."

"But you won’t be able to do that, darling."

"No," he grumbled. "I guess I won’t."

Burnfingers leaned close, nodding. "Looks like light up ahead."

A patch of sunlight grew in the distance, which was intriguing since there was no sun in sight. It illuminated an intersection. Frank slowed up as they approached.

It was a sextupal crossing. Signs littered posts or hung in midair. There was also a single homey red stop sign. The rest were unrecognizable. A few were composed of pure light. Others busily rearranged themselves as they looked on. The variety of the display was impressive.

Beyond the intersection lay a large parcel of land composed of sand and gravel. It occupied a circle several hundred yards in diameter. Void abutted it on all sides. In the middle of this patch of suspended grit stood a simple frame structure painted dark brown with white trim. Its tin roof sparkled under the false, sourceless sunshine. A half dozen fuel islands surrounded the main building. They resembled abstract sculpture more than they did gas pumps.

As the motor home stood idling behind the stop sign, what appeared to be a metallic flying fish folded its wings and settled down across from one of the pumps. There was a pause before a small bolt of lightning leaped from pump to vehicle. A creature that resembled a protozoan with legs hopped out of the fish-car, did something to the pump, and then climbed back inside its machine. The filmy wings unfurled, the head of the fish turned, and the streamlined shape shot down one of the other roads so fast only the shock of its disappearance echoed in their memories.

As near as Frank had been able to tell, it had never once made contact with the ground.

A pair of other vehicles stood parked in the lot to the right of the building. One was a large boulder on treads. The other looked like a cluster of titanium bamboo surmounted by a brass bubble encircled by a single treadless wheel. The bubble was big enough to hold an elephant, the wheel less than a yard thick. Frank tried to see how it remained balanced.

Smoke rose lazily from a brick chimney at the rear of the building. As they crossed the intersection they saw that the sign over the entrance changed characters as fast as individual frames on a videotape. One frame read CAFE before vanishing in favor of blurred alien hieroglyphs.

"Probably says the same thing in hundreds of different languages," Flucca suggested. "But it’s a restaurant. You can smell it."

"Wonder if they can smell us." A check of the gas gauge revealed less than half a tank left. He wondered if he could top off their tanks here. If they sold lightning bolts, maybe he could buy premium unleaded, too.

There was plenty of room to park alongside the giant treadless wheel. He pulled up carefully, set the brake. Fifty yards to the right, sunlight and solid ground gave way to void. It was with considerable relief he gingerly stepped out onto unyielding earth.

Flucca hopped down and hurried past him. "Wonder what kind of place this is and what it’s doing here?"

"If this is a reality line it is surely a short one," was all Burnfingers could say.

"A bit of reality apart from any other." Mouse turned slowly, studying their surroundings. "A drifting fragment, held in place only by this intersection. Astonishing."

"Interesting chunk of real estate, all right." Flucca was leading the way toward the entrance. "Wonder what the food’s like?"

Thoughts of real food set off a small bomb in Frank’s belly. None of them had enjoyed a real meal since leaving behind the Cedar City that was too full of truth to be their reality. He indicated the brass bubble and its neighbor.

"Looks like they have a few customers already."

"Never saw a place yet fond of turning business away." Flucca reached for the handle of the front door.

The cafe’s interior was nothing like what any of them expected because it looked exactly like what they were familiar with. It was no different from any of a hundred similar establishments you would encounter traveling along a rural state highway.

They took a table near a front window with a view of the parking lot and fuel islands. The Formica tabletop was lined on the side with fluted metal strips. Legs solid as railroad iron supported it. There were salt and pepper shakers and a big glass sugar dispenser with a stick of vanilla inside to maintain freshness, paper napkins and cheap metal silverware. A cluster of laminated menus shared a plastic stand with the napkins. Everything looked and felt familiar. Gazing out the window, Frank half expected to see cars whizzing past, mountains and cacti in the distance. But there was only the parking lot, pumps, sourceless sunshine and, off in the distance, the blackness of the abyss.

That’s when the voice startled him out of his reverie. "Now, then, whut kin I git for you folks?"