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innocents."
"As I recall," Doc said, "Manson believed that all people were part of one vast mystical
whole, so there was really no such thing as death, and murder wasn't really a sin."
Ryan shrugged. "I've run across crazier beliefs than that."
"Maybe," Mildred said. "But one of Manson's articles of faith was that a popular British
musical group were prophets, and if you listened very carefully to their songs,
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particularly one called 'Helter Skelter,' you could hear exactly what was going to happen
in the not too distant future."
"Which was?" Krysty inquired.
"An apocalypse that would start when all black people rose up and killed all white
people, except for Manson and his followers, who would emerge at the end of the battle
to rule the world. As the story goes, after a few years, once the victorious blacks found
they were unable to govern, they'd turn the reins of power over to him. The world he used
to describe as coming to pass is very much like this one."
"Sounds like Helter Skelter had something for everybody," Krysty said with a wry smile.
"Racist fantasies, violence-prone crazies, plunderers, rapists."
"Yes," Doc agreed dolefully. "Truly a dream world for ambulatory sociopaths. Every
type of insanity could be indulged and encouraged in the land of Helter Skelter."
"Helter Skelter," Ryan repeated. "That was the name of Baron Zapp's tower stronghold in
Greenglades, down in Florida."
"And don't forget that coldheart killer, Traven," J.B. reminded him. "Thinking about it,
seems like he borrowed a lot from this Manson." Turning to Mildred, he demanded,
"Why didn't you mention this stuff then?"
"Partly because the connection wasn't as obvious as this one. Besides, a Helter Skelter is
a kind of slide in English amusement parks, and since we were in an amusement park, I
didn't put the pieces together."
"The apocalypse didn't happen exactly the way Manson hoped it would," Doc said,
returning to the subject at hand.
"No," Mildred replied. "So he tried to help it along by killing as many people as he could,
or having his zombie family members do it. Manson would say, 'Helter Skelter is coming
down' or 'now is the time for Helter Skelter.' When he made that proclamation, his family
went out and butchered people. Some were strangled, hanged, disemboweled or shot. Or
all three. They painted the words Helter Skelter on the walls in the victims' own blood."
Ryan shook his head in disgust. "Even if those chillings brought about the war he wanted,
how did Manson figure that he wouldn't be wiped out, too?"
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Before Mildred could answer, a man wearing a sleeveless leather jacket sitting astride a
chopped-down motorcycle roared in a dust-spurting circle around them, his toothless
mouth grinning lasciviously at Krysty. Her hair stirred and snapped tight to her nape, and
her right hand eased down to caress the butt of the .38-caliber Smith & Wesson 640
holstered at her hip.
The biker saw the movement, and he blew her a kiss before turning the motorcycle up the
avenue and away from them. All of them saw the winged skull emblem sewn on the back
of the jacket, and the legend Hell's Angels printed above it.
Mildred pointed to the biker. "Manson encouraged bike gangs to join the family and
supply the military wing. Looks like Hellstrom is playing the same riff."
"Bullshit," J.B. spit. "Those so-called Angels we ran up against in Snakefish a few years
ago were triple stupes. Military wing, my ass."
"Stupes they might be," Ryan said, "but it wouldn't surprise me a bit if some of these
bikers weren't veterans of that fight. If they recognize us, we might have to fight our way
out of Helskel."
"What happened Manson?" Jak asked. "Chilled?" There was a hopeful note in his voice.
"Unfortunately, no," Mildred replied. "The murders weren't the catalyst for the great war
he hoped for. Instead, Manson and a number of his people were arrested and sentenced to
death. A change in the law commuted that sentence to life imprisonment. While he was in
jail, his family of followers grew sick people who were attracted to his vision of a
ruined wasteland of a world."
Mildred paused and waved at the buildings of Helskel. "Looks like some people never
forgot it and used his insanity as a blueprint. All because a depraved mass murderer had a
talent for philosophy and hogwash a hundred years ago. This is the world according to
Chairman Charlie."
Doc ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "If the notion weren't so absurdly ugly,
so ludicrously repellent, I would spend my visit here laughing. Or weeping."
"Whatever Helskel is or isn't, it has a lot going for it," Ryan commented. "Electricity,
guns, gasoline. They're a damn sight better off than most villes and baronies we've seen."
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