Anchors Aweigh
A smoky autumnal dusk settled over Centralia as Will and Laura trudged through the deserted streets, searching for something, anything that would signal they had found "the burn."
"Hey, Laura," Will said abruptly, "I feel like Mulder and Scully." He launched into singing the lyrics to the X-Files theme music that he and Fern Findlay had made up: "The X-Files is a show, where mysteries do grow. . ."
Laura joined in: "Scully's roots they never show, but Mulder knows they're therrre." Will and Fern were forever making up lyrics to orchestral entertainment themes.
Will chuckled. "This is going to be so easy! One day out on the road, and we've landed in the lap of something big! That money is as good as ours."
"Uh, dear, we haven't found anything yet."
"But we will. I'm sure we will. This is just too perfect."
Laura eyed the desolate surroundings suspiciously. "I don't like it here. This town has been evacuated for a reason. Maybe it's unsafe. There could be noxious fumes--"
"Of course it's unsafe. What better place could there be to hide a cool $500 million?"
"Or a clue which might maybe, possibly lead to $500 million. Let's not get our hopes up too high. You know, the car is sitting back there unlocked."
"You're right. And I'll bet the teeming millions of angry Centralians have already hijacked it and sped out of town."
Sudden horror flooded Laura's face. "Oh, my God. You don't think the tires will melt to the road, do you?"
"Relax, dearie," Will said. "The ground is warm, not hot."
"I would just feel better if I knew what we were looking for."
"We're looking for fire. Or a forbidding door. What did the book say? 'Sixty-one steps to my father's forbidden study'? Maybe we should find number 61 Main Street. Or walk sixty-one paces from the center of town, or--"
"Or go back to the car and look at the book again."
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I just don't see--" Laura stopped dead in her tracks and pointed. "Will, look! A native!"
About 50 feet away, in front of one of the spooky single row houses, a matronly woman in a red nylon windbreaker was unloading groceries from the hatchback of a gold Chevette.
"Well, my goodness," Will gasped, "let's ask the hearty creature if she has any pithy advice for our hero and heroine. Excuse me!" he shouted and dashed towards her.
The woman, with her arms full of groceries, turned and regarded them warily, her unblinking eyes staring out from behind smudgy inch-thick glasses.
"Hi," Laura said brightly, putting on her best prairie charm, "Ma'am, my friend and I--"
"Name's Gertie," the woman said stoutly.
"Oh, nice to meet you, Gertie," continued Laura. "We just arrived here, and--"
"But you can call me Mrs. Huffmann."
"Oh, all right, Mrs. Huffmann. Well. . .this is going to sound sort of silly. Are there. . .any. . .ummm. We're looking for--"
"Perhaps you recognize us," Will interrupted. "We're the most controversial couple in publishing history."
"Is that so?" asked Mrs. Huffmann, squinting at them suspiciously.
"Yes," Will was on a roll now. " You actually may have seen us on the news earlier this week. We're trying to solve Sooner than Never."
Gertie/Mrs. Huffmann stared at them wordlessly. At rest, her chalky tongue dangled limply from her slack mouth.
"You see," Laura interjected, "we have reason to believe that Centralia may be a key location in--"
"There ain't nothin for you to see here. This is a dead town. It's dead, and it's the government of the U.S. of A. that killed it."
"Well," Will said delicately. "We're looking for--"
Sudden rage contorted Gertie/Mrs. Huffmann's slack face, "I've told you there ain't nothin to see! 'Fore you even ask, I don't know no family named Peregrine, there ain't no billboards here with maps on them, and I don't take too kindly to some uppity, know it all New Yorker comparin' my home to H-E double twosticks!" She stopped and gasped for breath. "I'm sick and tired of all you people buzzin' into town with your damn questions! If that man's got money to give away, why can't he put out the damn fire that's under my house?!" She shrieked slightly and began to cry. She slammed down her hatchback, spun on her heel, and ran up the rickety steps to her house, slamming the door behind her. Will and Laura stood speechless for a moment.
"Laura. Sweetie. Did you hear what she said?"
"Uh-huh. Other people have already been here looking for clues."
*****
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE THEY ARE?" Vesper clutched her slim telephone with white knuckles.
David Nimoy answered quietly, "I waited and waited. They never came out of the tunnel. Are you sure they took the Lincoln?"
"Don't question me! I knew, I knew that hiring you was a poor choice! All afternoon, I've known instinctively that something was amiss! They were in midtown, for pity's sakes! Where are you?"
"Uh. . .Montclair, New Jersey."
"New Jersey?! La!" A small fiend with a hatpin began poking into Vesper's brain. "I'm getting a headache, and it's all your fault."
"I think--"
"Do you realize, you poopyhead, that I've got E! and Entertainment Tonight and Hard Copy breathing down my neck for copy on those two? And you've blown it on the first day! The very first!" Vesper was fairly shrieking now.
"I was going--"
"I'll tell you what you're going to do, darling. You find them by tomorrow midnight," Vesper hissed, "or you can just bend over and kiss your tight little bottom goodbye!" She slammed down the phone, stared out at the city briefly, and picked it up again.
"Darling," she said into the receiver, "Amateur hour is just about over. Nimoy's being a bad girl. It's almost time to move on to Plan B."
*****
Dejected, Will and Laura walked back towards where they hoped the car was.
"Will," said Laura, "it's really no surprise. The entire country is reading that book, and half of them are looking for Waterbury's treasure. And there are plenty of underemployed MA's out there who can piece together these clues--"
"I thought we were doing so well," he pouted. "Maybe this isn't going to be easy."
"Well," Laura said comfortingly, "just because other people have been looking doesn't mean they've found anything. "
"Then why aren't they still here? I mean, if they--OH MY GOD!!" Will dashed away from Laura to the darkness at the side of the road.
"What is it? Will, you almost scared me to death."
"Happy days are here again! We're back in business!"
Laura peered into the darkness. As if on cue, the moon broke through the clouds, and there, in the smoky gloom, stood Will.
Beneath a battered sign for Pennsylvania Route 61.
Wordlessly, Will and Laura broke into a quick jog, plunging through the darkness that lay further up the road.
"Will, the sulfur smell is getting stronger!" Laura breathed.
In a mock sob, he answered, "I must reach the center! It is the center that I must reach!"
Suddenly, looming up across the road before them was a foreboding series of highway department roadblocks.
"The most forbidding of all doors," Will yelped, squeezing in between two of them.
"Will, slow down. It could be dangerous."
A faint breeze which had sprung up bore the strong smell of smoke to them. Ahead, the road sloped up a small knoll. At the top of the knoll, an orangish glow lit up the sky.
"Laura, it's the burn." They clambered up the hill.
At the top, they were greeted by a grim visage. Route 61 was crumpled, buckled, and broken into a series of jagged fissures. Smoke poured out of the cracks, and low, foul-smelling flames licked the night sky.
"It's Hell escaping into Middle Earth," Laura choked.
"The center is ours," Will mumbled.
A looming form in the nearby underbrush suddenly caught Laura's eye. "Will, look!"
"It's a big W!" Will gasped. "We've found the treasure!!!"
"It's not a big W, you goose. It's an anchor."
As if it had been hurled overboard off a giant's yacht, a huge, fifteen foot tall anchor stood, half-embedded in the earth.
Gingerly, Will and Laura stepped over the steaming, crumbling asphalt to it.
"Ok, Laura, you win. Now I've got the creeps," Will said.
"There's a plaque at the bottom," Laura said as they reached the anchor. She crouched down to read it.
A sudden hiss came from the fissure in the road. They both jumped.
"It says," said Laura nervously, "it says:
"There's an inscription, too," Laura said, peering closely at the bottom of the plaque. "It says, 'Cheyenne, 8/14/28.' We've got to write this down, Will. We--"
Down the hill at the roadblocks, a car with blinding high beams screeched to a halt. A shadowy form jumped out, slammed the door, and began screaming unintelligibly. Then, the figure started to run up the hill towards them.
And it was waving a rifle over its head.
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