by Frank Owen
‘Save it,’ said Danni, and Kurt threw her a grateful glance in the mirror. ‘It doesn’t matter how we get to Chicago. Let’s just get there without killing each other first.’
49
The Capitol Building was quiet for the first time. All the other Southerners were gone to be God’s army, said Adams. Even Pete and Sam had said their goodbyes. There’d been no tears. Now Dyce sat at the window of Vida’s room, free at last of its boards, and looked out at the final cars leaving the ravaged city. Ruth was silent, keeping herself busy, flipping through her medicine book and then getting up to mix some herbs in a chipped mug – just for something to do, Dyce thought. The spoon clattered against the sides because her hands were shaking.
In the bed Vida tried to rest, but she was done with sleep. There was too much space in her head for the meeting with Renard. She looked over to her mother and tried to decide what she’d inherited from her, and what her father had gifted her with. Some things were easy, like her ears. Those were different to Ruth’s: hers clung close to her skull, while Vida’s lobes hung down, unrepentant.
But the other stuff, that was on the inside, and you never knew what you were getting until it was too late.
Vida closed her eyes and attempted to fit the pieces together, trying to forget the images of Renard she’d saved over the years: posters, but also nightmares. She chose faces for the man, tweaking them and swapping parts, until his features melted and ran and she saw his skull for what it was: the incarnation of creeping, tittering death.
At least Dyce would be there. She hadn’t had to ask: she’d felt him, hot-eyed and loyal, at her bedside, like one of those guardian angels. Adams had given special permission for him to choose whatever gun he’d wanted from the armory. Vida knew Dyce had agonized over it. He’d first chosen a handgun – something up close and personal; something to hold against Renard’s temple and the cold rage it contained, that incurable brain a prison just as much as the cell where the patrolman, Hank, paced, or the bed where Vida had lain for days, sweating out her injury and sickness.
But a rifle would be more effective, wouldn’t it? A long-range shot might be all he could hope to get, and then a handgun would be a waste. Dyce held the gun now, turning it over and over in his hands – a rifle with a scope. He untucked a corner of his shirt to clean the lens and peered through the telescope at the cars. He could see a white Toyota with something attached to the grille, but even with his night-lit eyes he couldn’t make out what it was. Maybe a buck’s head, but that seemed unlikely.
‘Dyce,’ Vida called softly.
‘You’re awake.’ He rested the rifle against the wall beside his new mandolin and came over. He sat on the bed and planted a hand on either side of her shoulders, then dropped a deliberate kiss on her forehead. The skin was cool. Ruth raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Vida took hold of his hand and he felt the electric throb of her pulse. ‘I’m not going to get any more sleep. Let’s go now.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘We’ll be early, but I want to work out the geography. Adams chose it because it was secluded. Because it’s away from the city. But what’s there that’s going to help us? Is secluded good or bad?’
‘Okay, but before we go . . .’ He leant over again and kissed her on the lips, the soft give and parting of hers as she kissed him back. Ruth made a small sound, something between a growl and a sigh, and kept stirring her potion.
‘Come with me,’ Dyce said. ‘I want to show you something.’
He took Vida properly by the hands and eased her off the bed.
‘You need those?’ Ruth nodded at the crutches.
‘No, Mama. I’m fine. I really am.’ The two women grinned at one another, the first time in days.
‘Okay. But be careful.’ Wild horses, Ruth thought. That’s my girl. If Everett was here asking me the same, I’d go too – bad leg or not. It might be the last time they enjoy each other, free and clear.
Dyce led Vida slowly down the staircase. ‘I feel like one of them grand ladies making an entrance at the ball,’ she said, but then the words were blown away from her in the cold, fresh air at the cleared entrance. They held each other’s arms and shivered, with delight and with desire. Even in the face of the coming battle – or because of it – they felt it: the itching of life.
The darkened city was laid out before them, speckled with the tiny lights of far-off fires.
He felt her eyes on his face. ‘That smell,’ he murmured. ‘Like old times. But also like anything could happen.’
‘You look like a deer.’
‘Don’t spoil it.’
Vida leant into his side. ‘Your eyes are something that I really like about you. That I love about you. You’re terrible at hiding your feelings. It’s all there in those baby-deer eyes.’
‘Okay, so what am I feeling right now?’
‘You’re feeling like it’s the end of the world – for real, this time. And you’re feeling horny, and you’re wondering if we have time.’
‘I knew there was a reason I let you tag along.’
She wiggled her hand free and stroked his jaw, felt the stubble there, the muscle jumping underneath the skin. ‘But, Dyce, seriously. You know what I want?’
‘What?’
‘To feel normal. Like myself again. To feel good. Just for a bit. Before it all goes to shit. You can help me with that.’
‘Right now? Here?’
‘No one’s left. And when else will we get another chance?’
‘Are you sure? What about your leg? I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You won’t. You lie down first. And for God’s sake, stop talking. It’s not sexy.’
She gestured at the steps, and then breathed once and looked up at the faithful sky with its high clouds racing north, as if all the earth was coming to meet them.
‘Okay, but you’ve got to give me a moment.’
He was smiling, unbuckling his trousers and dragging them off, hopping as he lost his balance, his hair flopping in his face.
‘Should have brought the crutches.’
‘Stop mocking me, woman, and get down here and help.’
And she did, taking off her own clothes and then settling her weight over his body, moving on him until he was hard. She held his dick, the silk and heft of it, until he moaned. Then she relented, sliding him slowly inside her, and he gasped at the squeezing heat.
‘God, Vida. I missed you.’
She moved and saw the pale straining tendons of his throat where the sun had never touched him, his clenching animal teeth, the O of his mouth as he fell into the long bliss and wonder of recognition. She rocked on him; their hip bones clashed at the thrusts. Then Dyce was muttering, and Vida bent her ear to his mouth to catch the warm, panting breath.
‘Never. Never. Never,’ he was saying.
‘Never what, baby?’
‘Never let me go.’
They lay side by side on the cold stone of the steps, their bodies humming in time, and the stars turned above, floating as though in deep water.
‘The sky,’ she said.
‘I know.’
Vida lifted her head from Dyce’s shoulder and he pulled her back.
‘Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done.’
‘I was just thinking.’
‘That’s always bad news.’
‘Shut up. I was thinking that if the world wasn’t this fucked up, we’d never have met. And even if we had, we’d never have got together. We’ve been lucky.’
‘Was it all worth it?’ He was smiling again; he knew the answer.
‘Of course not. I’d trade you away in a heartbeat if things could be normal. You would too.’
‘Ouch.’
‘No offence, but no one’s love is worth what happened to the South.’
‘Renard thought it was. His wife dying? That was like Hitler not getting into art school.’
‘He didn’t love her, Dyce. But she belonged to h
im. A possession, and she was taken away before he was ready to let go. He wanted revenge. That’s what all this is. The South fucked with him, and he couldn’t stand it.’
‘Maybe. But there doesn’t always have to be an explanation. Some people are just born without that feeling gene: it’s not because something went wrong for them. And here we are.’
‘Here we are.’
‘I don’t believe in destiny, Vida.’ He was serious. ‘All there is is what we have here. This thing. The universe didn’t align so that we could be together. But it did align anyway. And we are together. It doesn’t make the love less real.’
In the silence the lonely dogs barked in the city below and the wind buffeted the building, insistent at the boarded windows.
Dyce finished pulling on his boots. ‘So if I asked you to marry me, would you say yes?’ He sounded as if he was talking to himself.
She laughed and kept dressing. ‘Barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen?’
‘Gotta find a kitchen first.’
‘Why not? Now that I got two bare feet to stand on. Plus I got the other thing covered too. You’re getting a twofer.’
He grabbed her hand to his mouth. She felt the hot words against her skin. ‘Do you know that you are everything I ever wanted?’
She felt the blood rising in her, her mouth swollen with his little bites and long kisses. ‘Then show me again.’
But Dyce was standing up. He knelt like a knight on the step below her.
‘Vida Washington, will you marry me?’
‘And be stepmama to Ears McCreedy? I can’t wait.’
‘Be serious.’
‘You want serious? How about: if we live through tomorrow, you’ll be stuck with me till I’m old and gray?’
‘That’s exactly what I was hoping.’
‘Then yes, Mister Jackson. You and me and baby makes three.’
50
‘I’ll go get our things. You’re packed up, right?’
Vida nodded.
‘Adios.’
Dyce left her on the steps. As he walked away, his legs sang with the spent adrenaline; there was more coming, and soon. He hadn’t fully realized it until now. More of everything. The end of Renard was the beginning of family again for him. What would Garrett have thought of that?
Vida was calling after him. ‘Don’t forget your mother-in-law!’
He shook his head. No one with half a brain had ever forgotten Ruth. She wouldn’t let them.
The gasoline was where Adams had said it would be – a red jerry can, maybe half full, sitting bang in the center of the storeroom, a box of Diamond matches balanced on top. Torching the place would be easy enough with all the wood paneling and those velvet curtains: the Senate Chamber and the House of Representatives would go up in seconds. He would be lucky to get out of there himself. If anyone was left behind, they’d be toast.
Not toast. Roasted. Dyce shuddered, thinking of all the critters he’d gutted in his lifetime, their tiny carcasses on a hundred spits, making the juices spring in his mouth. He picked up the canister and went to do a final check.
When he found Ruth, she was packing the last of her things. She must know I’ve just fucked her daughter, Dyce thought. She can see it on my face, or smell it on my fingers. It ought to be more awkward. But she stood and faced him, the recipe book held tight against her chest.
‘This is it, isn’t it? The end.’
Dyce nodded. ‘Vida’s waiting outside.’ He lifted the can. ‘It’s time.’ She just looked steadily at him, calculating his ability to protect the things she held dear.
‘Ruth. Are you ready?’
‘I’ve made something,’ she said. She picked up a sports-drink bottle. A couple of milliliters of liquid sloshed at the bottom. ‘You know, I thought I’d lost the seeds. But they were there in the book, all along, safe in their little envelope. Meant to be, wouldn’t you say?’
‘What is it?’
‘Bushman’s poison.’
‘Whoa.’
‘Get over yourself, white boy. That’s its proper name. I’ve been waiting a long time to put it to its proper use. You ever heard of the Kalahari?’
‘The desert.’
Ruth nodded. ‘In the old days it was used on the end of arrows. It could bring down an eland in under a minute. Every part of the plant is poisonous, except maybe the fruit – but no one’s exactly gagging to give that a try. So this is a risk: the seeds have been sitting for a long time.’
‘For Renard?’
She nodded again. ‘Poetic justice. If the poison doesn’t work fast enough, I’ll tell him it’s already inside him, and that it’ll sear his organs like broken glass until he bleeds from every hole in his body. Give him a heart attack.’
Dyce didn’t know whether she was being serious. But it happened. People died of fright: he nearly had himself, twice over – once in the river when Ester had tried to take him under, and once in the tunnels below the Mouth, when he was running for his life. It was possible.
‘Are you done preparing it? I mean, is it ready?’
‘You better believe it.’ Ruth stowed the bottle and then slowly shouldered her bag, as well as Vida’s. The way she moved made her look old, and Dyce watched her as she went, to make sure she was going the right way. It wasn’t like her to be distracted.
He couldn’t deal with that right now. He unscrewed the cap on the jerry can and gave it a cautious sniff: sweet and strong, with an instant headache, just the way it ought to be. He replaced the cap and picked up his bag, first making sure Ears was safe inside, then his gun and the makeshift instrument.
He looked around the way people used to do before checking out of a hotel room. He trotted down the staircase. ‘Goodbye, chandeliers: I kind of feel sorry about you. Goodbye, portraits: you’re long overdue for the bonfire, you and your shifty motherfucking eyes.’
The thirsty curtains in the Senate Chamber soaked up the gasoline, and the jerry can was soon dry. Dyce began to light the matches and fling them into the fabric, length by length, and there was something holy about that. The flames leapt up the red velvet, racing toward the vaulted ceiling. The room was filled with light for the first time in years. It would all go fast. The whole place, and its fleas – whoosh! He wished Garrett was here to see it.
‘Back to the Stone Age, bro. Back to Eden.’
He looked around the room, its agreeable heat licking his face. Soon he wouldn’t be able to breathe, and wouldn’t that be ridiculous? The arsonist, overcome by his own smoke. He pictured Garrett, doubled over from laughing so hard.
What was that?
Somewhere, a man was laughing.
Wait. Not laughing. Shouting; coughing. Screaming for help.
Oh, fuck. The patrolman. Hank.
No one had thought to release him, had they? He’d be roasted like a chicken in his cell if the smoke inhalation didn’t get him first. Dyce rubbed his sore eyes and hurried through to the rooms at the back. He had no personal affection for the man, but he didn’t deserve to be burnt to death like a medieval witch.
Both cells were closed and bolted and, more ominously, both had fallen quiet.
Dyce slid the bolts back with a careful hand, but didn’t open the unlocked door. If Hank was alive enough to scream, he was alive enough to punch.
He didn’t stay to check. Let Hank fend for himself. Dyce didn’t need another burden. ‘I got plenty of things to carry, man,’ he told the invisible patrolman. ‘Sorry. You’re on your own.’
He hurried for the exit, holding his shirt over his mouth and nose. The curtains were mostly gone, and now the furniture had taken – all that wood! A couch had been pushed up against paneling in one place, and all the braziers had been toppled. Black smoke was engulfing the atrium and the dome, turning the lofty heaven into roaring hell.
Ruth and Vida were already at the bottom of the staircase, thank God, and moving fast. Dyce settled an arm around Vida and helped her along. Ruth brought the bags and they exited the C
apitol Building for the last time. They could hear the fire crackling behind them, and the blast of heat pushing them out like the breath of the devil.
With the three of them together, it was simple enough to follow the path hammered out for them by the troops through the razor wire and out into the moldering city. Even so, it took a few wrong turns before they found their bearings, the heat behind them a constant reminder of how little time they had to get it right.
And there it was: Buddy’s truck, still standing where it had been left for them. Adams had been as good as his word.
‘Ain’t no place like home,’ Vida said. She was trying to be funny but it came out with a hiccup, and she scrubbed at her sweaty face.
‘Hey,’ Dyce said. He turned around and hugged her quickly. They were all orange in the light of the blaze, and he had to shout to make himself heard. ‘You’re fine. We’re all fine, okay? Let’s just get this day done.’ She nodded. ‘You want to wipe your nose on my shirt?’
‘Ugh. No.’
‘Right. We got everyone?’
‘Spoken like a dad,’ called Ruth.
Dyce grimaced. ‘Just keep the windows closed until we’re clear.’
The truck had a full tank. Since they had last been there, it had been cleaned, inside and out. An open map book sat on the driver’s seat, set deliberately to the correct page. Dyce studied it briefly, rubbed his eyes, and then started the engine.
They worked their way through the rubble-strewn streets, Vida’s head lolling on the back of the passenger seat.
‘We did that,’ Dyce said in wonder, looking in the rear-view mirror. ‘Will you look at that!’
The windows of the Capitol Building were lit up, the flames licking inside the frame like a Halloween lantern.
51
Hank woke to the sound of a curtain rail hitting the carpet outside his door. He listened. The place was quiet – none of the usual sounds of voices and footsteps or the constant banging of pots and pans from those cack-handed workers in the canteen.
But there was a sound. He strained to hear it. Some underlying white noise, like the breathing of the great beast at the heart of the maze.