The Pig Barn Plot (Ch24)

Conlin hides out while planning his end game. But a turn of events forces him in another direction.

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“Damn hogs! Go on! Git!” Squealing and snorting.

Patrick Conlin’s eyes snapped open. The end of a dream slithered into the wet cotton predawn of the barn loft. In the dream, he walked, hand in hand with his father (although in this dream he was an adult) toward the front gates of the 1939 World’s Fair in Luna Park. The miles of Brooklyn boardwalk were void of a single soul, the absence of calling voices and carnival music replaced with a northern wind ushering storm clouds. His father released his son’s hand and pointed to the fair’s entrance and a man stepped out from behind the gates. It was Dr. Andersen, and the moment was an exact replay of the seconds before he was gunned down in the Amy City street.

You keep away from that guy, son, his father drawled. He’s like those cheatin’ bastards who play the shell game with the bean you can never find…

Conlin turned his head toward the voices below. He had slept sitting up in the loft of the only pig barn in direct sight of the General Building. Last night, he had hidden the Martin Wasp off the road by the river and covered it up with dead branches and leaves, cursing the fool who painted the car bright yellow.

He moved the hand that rested across his stomach, holding a loaded pistol. He balanced his wrist on his knee, pointing the gun at the area where the top of the ladder poked up.

“Why the hell we here this early? Now you can spill it without the ears of half the barrack hearin’ you.”

“Doc said to be here. Said to take you. That’s all I know.”

I know those boys. He felt the floor with the hand not holding the gun and moved slowly until he was no longer leaning against the wall but sitting upright. Last night, he had walked to the barn and once inside, climbed the loft, settling down by a filthy window facing the General Building. One yellow lightbulb hung in the upper window and Conlin concentrated on it until his eyelids began to fall on their own.

“Gonna burn you. Gonna burn you all the way down,” he muttered. Every cell in his body begged to drive that yellow Martin Wasp back to New York, but an equally powerful force made him stay. Promises to go before I sleep. Robert Frost wrote that. Boy knew what he was talking about.

He figured that the next day he would remain hidden in the loft and watch that building. Dreary moonlight was all he needed to load his pistol before he fell asleep with his finger on the trigger. The gun rose and fell with each of his breaths.

He knew now that trying to find out the true identity of Thrax among the doctors at Fort Riley was only going to get him killed, or thrown into prison, and either way his life was over. Even with his father’s Great War military uniform, he was getting too many stares in public. He wondered if there was something else about him that was drawing suspicion. There were battalions of black soldiers, so it wasn’t as if he were the only one. But he had noticed that the black soldiers traveled in tight groups, and he was always on his own. Pretty soon someone was going to stop him and start asking too many questions.

Yesterday he had broken into a warehouse on the far outskirts of the base where the army kept their fuel supplies. This baby ever blow, it’s on its own. The fleet of Packard trucks, now numbering in the thousands, needed a historically unprecedented amount of fuel, but Conlin needed only a little of it and for two purposes. The first, he would fill the extra gas canisters in the trunk of the Wasp. After he left Kansas, he’d ride like the devil sat shotgun on his way to New York and the quickest way to do that was not to stop for fuel. He and Andersen in the trip out here had done just that. Stopping to fuel drew too much attention.

The second reason was to blow up the General Building.

I’m not a damn murderer. But he was left no other option. He wasn’t a detective. He knew why Dr. Andersen had chosen him for this, but he knew now he was a terrible choice to chase this demon through time. And he was pissed. Andersen had been too weak to tell him all of the information he needed, but there was one thing he told him that helped him make up his mind to burn that building and everyone in it. You don’t fully understand, Patrick, the doctor had said. Thrax is in 1918 to steal a live sample of the flu. The flu that killed millions. What do you think he’ll do with that fresh sample?

There was only one way to ensure Thrax was dead along with whatever the hell those doctors were really doing in that building: blow it all up. All he needed was something very flammable, like gasoline. He had his father’s lighter. And a few heavy chains for the doors so no one made it out.

Now, he had expected the morning pig slop and manure cleaning crew to arrive, but those voices below were well known to him. It’s Pretty Boy Billy. And Rotten Tooth Cyril.

“Private Rankin. Private Singleton.”

The new voice came from the directly under Conlin’s perch followed by a started shuffling of boots from the other two men. Who’s here? Never heard anyone coming in. You were sleeping, an internal voice chastised. I would’ve heard it. Closed that door tighter than Fort Knox. Someone have to yank its hinges off to get in without me hearing it.

The new voice chuckled. “My apologies for startling you. Please excuse the lack of light. I don’t want anyone to see us.”

“It’s not a worry, sir,” Billy answered and a grunt from Cyril in agreement. “We expected Major Whittaker, sir.”

“I’m to instruct you as Major Whittaker instructed me. It’s against protocol for someone without rank to be giving you orders, but trust me when I tell you that there is a reason why the Major and Sargent Peterson aren’t here. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, sir.” In unison.

“This concerns Dr. Evora. You both know who he is, correct?”

More affirmations.

“Dr. Evora is presently a concern,” Harris went on in his emotionless voice. “You may know this, but there was another doctor involved in the Project who struggled with the work, which can be overwhelming. One day he never showed. We never saw him again. Our work is…well…our work can take its toll on certain people. I’m afraid Dr. Evora may be one of those people.”

A small silence filled only by the snores and grunting of the pigs.

“We’re afraid. The past few weeks Dr. Evora has shown signs of losing his grip on reality. He says strange things. Sees things that aren’t there and is forgetting important parts of research. His own research. In normal times, he’d be asked to step away from the Project. Only…” he paused.

“Yes, sir?” Billy said.

“He’s showing signs of extreme anger. Violence. Why, the other day he argued with one of the other doctors and moved to strike him. We learned that he is sending his wife and daughters home today, and…”

“Violet’s going back home?” Billy interrupted. “She never told me that.”

“They’re due for the nine a.m. train. Tickets bought. Only, we want you boys to go to the train station and bring them back. We’re afraid,” he paused. “That if Evora up and leaves that his family could be in danger. If the women remain here, we would be in a better position to protect them from harm, if Evora’s mental situation deteriorates.”

“I can’t believe he would harm those girls, sir,” Billy said almost too low for Conlin to hear. “They seem a nice family.”

“Private Rankin, that’s why we need to ensure their safety and of Evora himself. If we step in now we can prevent problems. Please,” a note of pleading. “I think it’s best for the women to leave the house and go to the train station. That way we can confront Dr. Evora without the embarrassment of his family witnessing. Perhaps it’s best to just tell the women that there is a change of plans as per Dr. Evora and that they’re to come with you immediately. Never mind about the luggage. We’ll send someone for that later. It’ll only slow you down.”

“Yes, sir,” Rankin said. “Where should we bring them?”

“To best place for now would be to the detention barracks.”

“The jail?” Cyril said, surprised.

“It’s not like that at all,” Harris dismissed airily. “It’s the most heavily guarded building here. We just want to make sure that the Evoras are safe where he can’t get to them if something happens. Does that make more sense?”

Affirmative.

“Oh, and one more thing. We’ll set up a stop on the way. The younger Miss Evora will need to come with me.”

“Why, sir?”

“She has a scientific background. And Harold…Dr. Evora…has always spoken so highly of her. We think she may be the best one to talk to him, if the need arrives.”

They’re separating them. Why? Before the thoughts were even through his mind, he knew. Andersen saw Theda Evora in another time.

Harris’s voice broke his thoughts. “You’ve both proven you’re worthy of much, much more than to be shot at on the front,” Harris scoffed. “Don’t think your help will go unrewarded. And who knows, Private Rankin? Perhaps your prize may be the hand of the elder one? This misfortune may turn out to be your greatest fortune.” Conlin could hear the smile.

“Thank you, sir.” Rankin’s smug satisfaction made Conlin tighten his fist.

“Go now before it gets light. And remember. Not a word to anyone. Get there right before nine and get them before they board.”

The barn door issued another creak then shut. Pigs squealed in answer. Conlin turned his head again toward the window. The shadows were just lifting and he saw two uniformed figures make their way across the field.

Harris was still in the barn.

The footsteps below weren’t the boots falling sounds of the young men exiting the barn. They were stealth. Shuffling through the hay. Can’t see! Damn!

He lifted the gun and slowly cocked the hammer. He moved his stiff body as slowly as he could command, onto his stomach and army crawled to the edge of the loft, gun outstretched.

He peered over the ledge, but it was almost impossible to see. The dirt-caked windows on either side of the door were tinged with faint morning light. Conlin glanced to his left. A dusty glass brown bottle was lying empty on its side, conjuring an image of a soldier taking a break and sipping a little hooch.

He reached over and took the bottle between his two fingers and hurled it into the bottom of the barn.

It startled the pigs and provoked a storm of squeals and stomping hooves, kicking up straw. Conlin swung his legs over the ladder and with one hand, gripped it and slid down the rungs. He landed on two feet, slightly imbalanced from holding the gun in one hand. A pig ran past him and he teetered.

There was no one else in the barn. Ten medium-sized pigs trotted around, snorting and sniffing his legs, probably looking for their slop. Patrick Conlin was the only person there.

Where the hell he go? He released the hammer and tucked the gun under his coat. There was no time to think of it now. The General Building would have to wait. He had to get to the train station and find Theda Evora before those boys did. And he was losing the cover of darkness every minute he spent in this barn.

Then another memory came to him, almost stopping him in his tracks. It was Andersen again. Thrax can disappear. He can do things that normal men cannot. Remember that. Remember that while we’re searching for him.

And Conlin wondered if Thrax had just been in the pig barn, right underneath his nose.

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Read the next chapter:

A Storm of Dust (Ch25)