“You’re signing your own death warrant,” Kirk-land warned.
“Hell of a lot of signatures before you decided to add your Hancock to it,” Ryan answered. He glanced back as the rest of the companions and Albert joined him on the rooftop.
Ryan felt restless energy fill him. Time to shit or get off the pot, and he knew it. Kirkland was going to know it soon, too. The one-eyed warrior watched as Kirkland glanced around at his troops, getting ready to make the call.
Incredibly a high keening noise cut through the air.
“Upon my soul,” Doc exclaimed, “do these old ears deceive me, or is that the sound of calliope I hear playing?”
“That is a calliope,” Mildred agreed.
The music echoed over the ville, sounding cheerful and happy, totally out of sync with the events unfolding in Hazard.
“‘Bring in the Clowns,'” Mildred said.
“Not see clowns,” Jak said. “See wag. Look.”
He pointed out of the ville, down the route the companions had followed.
“‘Bring in the Clowns’ is the name of a song,” Mildred said. “A lot of carnivals used it for their theme music. What the hell is that?” She shaded her eyes.
Ryan took out his field glasses and studied the approaching wag.
In another life it had to have been a recreational vehicle. Ryan recognized it from vids he’d gotten a chance to look at. But now it was weathered, new metal spliced over on top of old, probably replacing rusted areas. Almost thirty feet long, it sailed along over the broken terrain on drastically altered suspension that raised it nearly four feet from the ground. The vehicle was painted a rainbow of colors. Big clown faces in white greasepaint adorned the sides. The eyes were made up of the windows in the rear section. Dozens of balloons were tied to the upper deck of the RV. Crates festooned the vehicle, some held in cargo netting and others strapped to the metal sides.
A sign on the side read Uncle Joe’s Traveling Wild, Weird West Show. Two mutie pig skulls were mounted on top of the engine cowling, and plastic eyeballs on springs dangled from the empty eye sockets.
Ryan scanned three men inside the RV’s cab. One of them was behind the wheel, and the other two sat to the right. All of them were dressed up in outlandish clothing.
“A traveling circus?” Doc asked. “Did I read that aright, my dear Ryan?”
“Appears so,” Ryan replied.
The calliope music continued its happy tunes over the countryside, growing ever louder. It had more noise than rolling thunder.
Inside his bulletproof cage, Kirkland began to yell out orders. The loud circus music kept Ryan from, hearing what was being said, but he watched the sec team fan out to meet the approaching wag.
Dust spanned out behind the RV as it glided into Hazard. But other telltale dust spumes trailed it.
“Big wag’s not alone,” J.B. commented. His face looked gray and haggard.
Ryan knew they all needed some rest. Maybe back at the redoubt it would be possible. But first they had to get out of the ville in one piece. He trained the field glasses over the terrain, spotting at least five other dust trails.
“We’re on triple red,” he told the others, “and who knows what’s about to come leaping out of the bag.”
The circus wag braked to a halt, the gaily playing music louder than ever. Suddenly a voice blared through a PA system mounted in the vehicle.
“Citizens of Hazard, Uncle Joe’s Traveling Wild, Weird West Show is pleased to make your acquaintance!”
The man’s voice sounded vaguely familiar to Ryan, but it went back a lot of years. He picked over his memories, searching for it. But he kept his eye on the dust trails circling the front of the ville, as well.
“We’re here for your amazement and edification,” the announcer continued, “and for the amusement of children of all ages! Come see some of the strangest mutie creatures ever taken into captivity. She-She, the two-headed woman. Drynk, a scabbie so twisted by rad-corrupted genetics that he has no bones in his body and sleeps in a five-gallon pail. And more. For the next little bit, sit right back and let us entertain you. All just for a little jack everybody can spare.”