VI. The Road to Hooverville

Fallon and Murray had a 1932 Ford Model B that had, like just about everything on the road, seen better days. Hathorne rode in the back, next to a pair of guitar cases and about twenty pounds of crumpled paperwork. Fallon drove and Murray folded himself into the passenger seat; Hathorne guessed the man was about six foot three, but he couldn't be more than a hundred and forty pounds. He had a coat like Hathorne's, but made of dark brown leather and decidedly civilian in origin.

It was twenty minutes' ride to Hooverville, giving Hathorne time to better examine his new companions. Fallon was animated and talkative, talking and gesturing with his free hand most of the time he was driving. In the diner Hathorne would have put Fallon at about thirty-seven years old, but that didn't sit quite right in the light of day--Fallon certainly didn't look over forty, but something about him felt older to Hathorne.

Jim Murray was a strange creature, no doubt about that. Besides being generally shaped like a flagpole, he had a full beard clipped short and long hair, all of it silver, spilling out from under a brown hat that was too droopy to be a cowboy hat. He had nodded a greeting to Hathorne when they'd met up, but had otherwise stayed silent. Murray could have been a bad forty or a good sixty; Hathorne suspected he was closer to the latter.

"So, Rev, you served in the War, eh?" asked Fallon.

"Yep. Army medical corps."

"Hm. Figured you'd be a chaplain or something."

"No, though I did try to steer those under my care toward Christ whenever I could. I've got a degree in surgery, so when I asked to be in the medical corps. they didn't turn me down, even though I was little older than what they're used to."

"You're a doctor too, eh?"

"Mm-hm. Ordained in 1898, licensed in 1902."

"Pretty impressive, sir. You know, you never did tell me what exactly you're a minister of."

"Presbyterian." Hathorne chuckled briefly. "My story's not all that different from yours. I started out all the way in Baltimore, but I've been heading west ever since. Trying to get a good look at the country I've nearly died for a dozen times."

"Over in Europe, eh?" said Fallon. Hathorne nodded. "Yeah, I went over there, too. Nearly got my head shot off by the damn Krauts too many times to remember. This bastard--" Fallon pointed at Murray. "He was too old to fight in the Great War, and flat-footed besides!"

Murray nodded solemnly.

"How old are you boys?" asked Hathorne.

"Us? Older'n we look. Myself, I'm forty-one. Old Jim here, well--"

"Old." said Murray.

"How old?" said Hathorne. "When you give me an answer like that, it just makes me more curious, you know."

"Jim's a little self conscious about his age. You gotta understand, times like these, people see their babies starvin', they don't look so kindly on folks that make it too long. Just let it rest that Jim here's older'n either of us."

I doubt that very much. thought Hathorne.

V. Musicians

Not too many places are open in a small town after midnight, but Points Corners lived and died by the business off Route 66; as long as cars kept stopping, Points Corners had a place for them to go. Hathorne stepped into the diner around one in the morning, squinting in the harsh florescent light. A string of bells on the door rang as he entered and trudged over to the bar.

Lisa was working that night, chewing gum behind her fat cheeks.

"Evenin', Father." she said. "What'll you be having?"

"Reverend, ma'am. And just a cup of coffee for now."

"Yes, sir."

Hathorne took out a cigarette and lit up.

"Evenin', preacher." said the man to Hathorne's left. He looked to be in his late thirties with a short goatee. A skinny scarecrow of a man set next to him, full gray beard parked behind a smoldering cigarette.

"Evening, friend." said Hathorne.

"What brings a man of the cloth to a place like this so late at night?"

"Just doing God's work. I might ask the same of you."

The man turned in his seat. "I'm afraid I'm setting the wrong tone. The name's Fallon, Ben Fallon." He extended a hand and Hathorne shook it. "My buddy Jim Murray and I were playing a show in town and this was the only place to get a bite to eat at this hour." The scarecrow nodded; Hathorne assumed him to be Jim Murray.

"Reverend John Hathorne, nice to meet you. You're musicians?"

"That we are." said Fallon. "We've been following 66 from Chicago on westward, playing gigs whenever we can."

"What sort of music?"

"The blues." said Murray. He had a voice like a rusty hinge. "Greatest music ever made."

Hathorne shrugged. "I can't imagine too many people want to hear about your woes in times like these."

"Nah, that's not how we do it, anyhow." said Fallon. "Jim plays his guitar blues style, but that's not what I sing about."

"So what do you sing about?"

"Women, mostly." said Fallon, smiling. "One thing that's always put a smile on my face."

Hathorne nodded. "I had myself quite a wife, back in the day."

"Aye, me too." said Fallon, hanging his head. "She's gone now, though. Bless her."

Hathorne nodded again. "I feel your pain, brother."

Lisa put Hathorne's coffee down in front of him. "Anything else, Reverend?"

"The apple pie ain't bad." croaked Jim.

"Sure, ma'am. I'll have a slice of apple pie." said Hathorne.

"Hey, preacher, I got me an idea." said Fallon. "Jim and I, we were planning on heading out to the Hooverville west of town after lunch tomorrow, see if we can raise some spirits and maybe a dollar or two. I'll bet you those'll be the sort of folks who need to hear about the word o' God, am I right?"

Hathorne sipped his coffee. He'd had better. "Likely so." He shook his head. "People with nothing left but faith in God tend to lose even that before long. Sure, I'll come along with you boys."

"Sounds good, preacher. We've got ourselves a car for touring. We'll meet you right out front around one, how's that sound?"

"Sounds good." said Hathorne.

IV. Beneath a Darkened Sky

Four miles to the East of Points Corners, Kansas, Reverend Hathorne sat on a folding chair by the light of a small campfire, his eyes on the overturned truck. He took a drag from his cigarette.

The rig was scheduled to be torched in the morning. In the meantime, a NO TRESPASSING sign and about a mile of yellow police tape had been set up around the wreck. The man from the Associated Press had told the police about previous cases like this--victims of the so-called Traveling Plague--and they had decided to follow the lead of the cops in Tulsa and burn the wreck to keep the stuff in the truck from spreading. Hathorne had seen this personally, and knew that something else would happen before then.

"Any time now." he muttered, tossing his cigarette butt into the fire. He put a fresh cigarette to his lips and opened his Zippo to light it. Just then, he heard the sound of glass breaking. Hathorne put the cigarette away and pulled a pocket watch out of his coat. "Right on time."

Hathorne started towards the truck. He took his cross off from around his neck and wrapped the chain around his left wrist. He pulled the Colt .45 with his right and cleared his throat.

"Come forth, fallen creature, in the name of God!" Hathorne yelled. "I adjure you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!"

The cross hanging inches below Hathorne's hand began to glow, casting silvery light through the overcast night. He could see a figure crawling through the broken windshield of the direlect truck. It stood up and faced him.

"On your knees, foul creature! I speak with the authority of the one called I Am!" Hathorne yelled.

The figure growled, but knelt in the mud. Hathorne closed the distance and gazed upon the earthly remains of Michael "Jonesy" Jones. The skin was yellowed and wrinkled, with black ichor dripped from every orifice. The eyes were sunken and yellow.

Hathorne stood before the creature. "Fear not, friend. I will find the creature that has done this to you, and he will face judgment." he said in a conversational tone. He resumed his chanting tone a moment later. "The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face shine upon you--"

The glow from the cross became stronger and the creature began to grunt as if in pain.

"And be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up His countenance upon you--"

The light from the cross became blinding and the creature cried out in pain.

"And give you always His peace."

Hathorne touched the glowing cross to the creature's forehead. It issued a sudden flare of light and the creature collapsed, lifeless once more.

Hathorne stepped back and holstered his gun.

"Amen."

III. Associated Press Report

Associated Press Report
9/29/37

TRAVELING PLAGUE STRIKES AGAIN

Points Corners, KA
In this small truck stop town roughly 30 miles West of Wichita, police discovered an unusual wreck from Route 66 late Wednesday afternoon. A trailer truck carrying medical supplies from Chicago, Illinois to Spearfish, Arizona was discovered wrecked thirty feet from the road and turned on its side.

The only passenger of the truck was its driver, identified as Michael Jones, was dead when police arrived on the scene.

Officers surveying the scene said that Jones' body was in an advanced state of decay. Officer Michael O'Malley, one of the first officers on the scene, was quoted as saying Mr. Jones' body "Was covered in black liquid...coming from his mouth, eyes, and nose." The medicine the truck had been carrying seemed to have all turned to the same thick, black liquid, baffling local investigators.

The wreck was discovered by Reverend Captain (US Army Medical Corps., retired) John Hathorne, who claimed to have seen similar cases further east. Associated Press archives have turned up four previous cases of the appearance of the strange black fluid, dubbed "The Traveling Plague" by reporter Damien Wallace. The black substance the Traveling Plague is associated with was first reported in March of 1936 when a barge carrying loads of grain found more than half its load had been tainted by the fluid. It appeared in December of that year when a truckload of Californian wine was found in which the contents of every bottle had been replaced by the black fluid when it was stopped for inspection in Cleveland. The third appearance of the fluid was in a shipment of Coca-Cola discovered outside of New Orleans, Lousiana in April. It is worth noting that in this case the driver of the truck was found in a similar state to that of Mr. Jones. The most recent case of the Traveling Plague being reported was in a homeless shelter in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where several can of soup were discovered to contain significant amounts of the black fluid. In this unfortunate case, several occupants and workers at the shelter were found dead within days of the discovery.

The Points Corners Police Department has announced they plan to burn the wreck in light of the New Orleans and Tulsa cases.

Reverend Hathorne has stated he believes each of the Traveling Plague incidents are connected, citing that they move in a steady Westward pattern and are always found in human food sources. Whether there is any connection in these cases remains to be seen.

-Christopher Fisher
Associated Press