He had done so much for her, both in life and in death.
Around the room her pictures were still tacked to the walls, their colors still bright; images of birdmen and birdwomen, rainbow warriors and horses with slug legs, monsters and heroes and Alice too, weaving her way amongst them with grace and wit and childlike ease.
A line from Alice came to mind and she spoke it aloud.
"I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then."
It was true.
She went to collect the pictures, then thought better of it. They belonged where they were, where they had been for ten years. She stood at the window for a time, looking out, gathering her strength before the final room.
The Hatter was a dark circle on the floor. She ran her fingers through her father's clothes in the cupboard. It was amazing to think he'd walked from here to Mongolia. It made her miss him more, for all the things she would never know. Perhaps he would have met another woman and she might have had a second mother. Perhaps they would have had another child, a little brother or sister for Anna to look after.
She went back down the stairs. From the wall she selected one picture, of her and her father together, just the two of them. Seeing her mother had been nice, but she could remain here in this eternal mausoleum for now, a past too distant to keep near. She only wanted her father with her for the days and years to come.
The RV was waiting for her outside. Somewhere two thousand miles away, Amo and Cerulean and Ravi and the others would be waiting as well.
She wanted to see them more than anything. Now she believed in Amo's dream with a simple certainty. Others were going to come. The cairns were out there and the rules had shifted. She'd go join Ravi and they'd have children, and their children would marry children from Russia or China or France, and so on and so on until the world was full again, and all these old grave sites would come back into use as cities and parks and homes for distant generations to grow up in.
They were going to be all right.
36. CERULEAN
She came upon the Chinese theater slowly.
Passing through the west had felt like waking from a long dream; two solid slogging days of endless straight roads stretching across the desert. The figure on the UFO in Las Vegas made her smile. She augmented every cairn to date with fresh SEEDs.
Then she was there, in Los Angeles and rolling down the streets most familiar to her. Before hitting Hollywood Boulevard she stopped off at Venice beach. It was silent and still but for the waves lapping on the shore.
The past was a closed chapter. Looking out over the steady ebb and flow of tides, she could almost imagine each gray-white breaker was a single head bobbing above the surface for a moment only, before sinking below.
People were deep and vast, like the ocean. There were depths she would never know. She'd plumbed a few, but never fallen so deep as people like Julio or the madwoman on her trimaran. She'd never lost all hope like Amo and actually tried to die, though she'd come close.
The RV trundled peaceably down Hollywood Boulevard. The stars on the sidewalk glinted like they'd been polished. This was home. In the courtyard she pulled up to join the motor pool in front of the Chinese theater.
She cut the RV's engine and looked around. There was no one in sight, probably they were all at work somewhere; Ravi would be helping build up and maintain their housing infrastructure and security, Amo and Lara would be at school in one of the cinema screens, Jake, Sulman and a few others might be up at UCLA working with the ultra-microtome and electron microscope, Cynthia and a handful of her crew would be out at the Chino Hills State Park farms harvesting potatoes, wheat and corn. Probably Cerulean would be at the satellite phone receiver in the radio room at the Pacific Television Center, working shifts with a few others while they waited for transmissions from her or anyone else around the world to come in.
She climbed out of the RV. The theater looked the same. A few large pennants still hung from its eaves, boasting about the latest IMAX movies coming out ten years ago. They ought to replace those with a new flag, she wondered, probably something better than her stop sign. Amo could think about that, a really catchy brand. It had to be bigger than single nations, big enough to encompass the world, as the first truly global civilization. Perhaps a circle for the Earth with a sun and moon circling? That might look like a credit card symbol… They could fine-tune the details later.
She wondered if anyone had come in yet from Asia. It was possible, if they'd seen her cairn in Japan.
She started toward the entrance.
"Don't move," a loud voice called out, enhanced by a megaphone. "Raise your hands."
That was new. She did as she was told, studying the theater's roofline. There'd once been a plan to make it a secure battlement, and yes, there were two turrets up there now, fresh constructions since she'd left. They looked like World War 2 pillboxes, reinforced with sandbags. Were those machine gun barrels sticking out? Something glinted in the one on the left, giving away a pair of binoculars.
She looked around the rest of the open courtyard but nobody was there.
"Step away from the vehicle slowly," the amplified voice called. "Keep your hands up."
She did just that.
"It's me," she shouted up at the glinting turret. "Anna. I'm back."
"Anna?" the voice said, and in that second she recognized it. A door in the side of the turret opened and out popped the lanky, tousle-headed figure of Jake. A loudspeaker hung slack in his hand, so she barely heard his voice as he went on. "You're back! Oh my God! Sorry, come on in!"
"What's with the security?" she shouted up at him, but he didn't hear; he was talking animatedly into a walkie-talkie. He grinned and gestured for her to enter the building.
She walked on, into the dark of the theater.
"Hello, anybody home?"
There was a rustling sound from nearby, then stamping feet as the door to screen seven thumped open. It was Lara, and she stood there wide-eyed for a second staring at Anna, taking in her sun-dark face and smile.
"Oh my Lord, Anna!" she shouted.
She ran over and hugged her. She held her away and looked at her. "I can't believe you're really here!" She ran her hands through Anna's hair then over her cheeks and shoulders as if checking everything was in the right place. "We've been so worried, and after Mongolia, but you're all right? You look amazing."
Anna laughed and tried to talk but her voice came out choked. "I'm fine, Lara. Really."
She hadn't expect to feel this. She'd always fought Lara but now she was so happy just to see her. She wanted to wrap her up and hold her tight.
"God, we have to tell the others," Lara hooted. She pulled out her walkie-talkie and buzzed it. "All stations, this is Lara, I have amazing news; Anna's home! We're in the theater, everyone get over here now!"
A stream of kids came trundling out of the screen, trailing after Lara. First came Talia, Amo and Lara's daughter, and when she saw Anna her face lit up in the dark of the lobby.
"Auntie Anna," she cried. "Ravi says you're going to teach me how to yacht!" She ran over and hugged her. "But you got so big."
Anna laughed. Lara stroked Talia's soft brown hair. "We have so much to talk about! You and Ravi? I never thought you saw anything in him."
Anna turned red. She looked down at little Talia, that being an easier conversation to handle. "I got so big because I ate up a whole candy factory! Can you imagine that?"
Talia jumped up and down. "How did it taste?"
"Amazing. I can still taste it now. You should try it sometime."
"Mommy, I want to eat a candy factory too!" Talia demanded, and Lara gave Anna the old frown, then the others kids were hustling around them as well; Jenna and Alan and Grace and Hartford, all of them different ages but taking their classes together.
Last of all came Amo. He stood in the dark hall grinning and watching the hallway revelry.
"Get over here," Lara called.
"I'm
just admiring this scene," he said. He looked fit to burst with pride, and his voice was tight. "I'm so glad you're back safe, Anna."
"Get in this hug!" Lara ordered.
He came over and duly joined in the hugging. Moments later the walkie-talkie at Lara's waist fuzzed to life. "She's here? Anna's back?"
It was Ravi's voice. Lara held the receiver out to Anna.
"I'm here, Ravi. It's me."
On the other end Ravi whooped. "I'm coming!"
"Drive safe, OK," Anna said. "No sense you getting hurt coming over here."
"You've been around the world," he shouted back. "I'll drive home how I damn well please!"
They laughed. They talked. Fresh coffee was produced, and snacks, and throughout there was only one thing missing, while Ravi came in and held to her arm and wouldn't let go, while Jake and Sulman came in and told her about the great strides they'd made in understanding the T4.
"This thing was made," Jake told her conspiratorially, as if someone was listening in. "We're spotting signature loops in the DNA, breaking them down as best we can and mapping them to known splices. We may even be able to isolate who did it, and where, and what for. You sure you haven't got a sample of the big red one?"
She laughed and told them no. She patted Ravi's arm and tolerated him gazing at her like a lovesick puppy, and the kids dancing around her feet, because this was what she'd come back for anyway. This was why she was here.
At last though she couldn't wait any longer.
"Where's Cerulean?" she asked Amo.
His face fell at once. The hubbub died down and the mood shifted.
Amo put his hand on her shoulder. It felt like nobody was even breathing, and Anna felt a coldness steal into the pit of her stomach. "Something happened while you were away, Anna."
"What?"
"Cerulean's gone."
She frowned. This was too sudden a change. The image of Cerulean buried in the dirt with only his wheelchair as a grave marker flashed through her mind. "What do you mean, gone? Gone where? Did he follow after me?"
"No," Amo said. "He would have told me, if it was that. We don't know where he is. We don't know what's happened to him. A week back he just disappeared, and we haven't seen him since."
It felt like the bottom falling out of her world.
It had been wonderful to find her father in Mongolia, and her home in Minneapolis. It was wonderful to circle the world and decide what kind of person she wanted to be, but to do all of those things and not have Cerulean to tell about it now? To not have Cerulean to apologize to, after the callous way she'd treated him? To not have Cerulean to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything was going to be all right?
Her eyes filled with cold tears. It all began to seem empty. She hadn't realized it before but now she did; Cerulean was the firm ground her whole life was based on. He'd been like a father to her, but no, that wasn't quite right. He'd been her father.
"I don't understand," she managed to say. "Where would he go? Why?"
Amo took a long moment. He looked at Lara and at the others gathered around, then he spoke in a heavy, final tone.
"I'm sorry, Anna. I don't know why or where. We think he was taken."
THE LOST - ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A dedicated team of advance readers helped me no end in editing, proofing, and improving this book, and to them I am immensely grateful. Rob Nugen offered his customary line by line edit, complete with in-jokes and gentle reminders of grammar points I really should know better about.
Mark Stone picked out a host of essential typos and logical errors that I'd somehow missed, as did Katy Page- thank you both. Ray Ferguson kept me on point with Britishisms, helping the text read smoothly to American eyes. Without his help you'd have been reading about 'trolleys' and 'car parks' rather than 'carts' and 'parking lots'.
Also thanks to my Dad, Tony Grist, who pointed out how close to a simple travelogue the latter half of the book was getting, encouraging me to go back to the original drawing board and incorporate the mad woman in the trimaran. Also thanks to Matt Finn, whose thoughts on plot really helped bring about the same conclusion.
Thanks to all.
In addition, I welcome any feedback you the reader may have. If you'd like to get in touch, please feel free to email me at [email protected]. I absolutely do not bite, being neither a zombie nor a dog.
- Michael
THE LEAST CONTENTS
TAKE-OFF
FLIGHT
LANDING
ROAD TRIP
EAST
Acknowledgements
TAKE-OFF
A. OLD FRIEND
Three weeks before Anna came back from Mongolia, Cerulean sat at the edge of the pier off Muscle Beach in his stripped-back Murderball wheelchair, looking out over the lapping Pacific Ocean as the winter sun set, thinking about his adopted daughter.
She'd been gone for four months, headed off alone in a catamaran to the west, punching a massive hole in his life. For so long he'd done everything for her. She'd been his adopted daughter for ten long, hard and wonderful years as they rebuilt the world together. His every decision had been dictated by her needs and what it would take to keep her safe.
Now she was coming home, and he didn't know what that meant for him, or for her, or for them both.
He picked at a fleck of dried paint on the pier railing with his thumb. The sun was already halfway sunk over the waves, smearing the horizon with pink and orange like a sticky, melting candy. He wondered if she was looking up at this sky too, perhaps waiting for this setting sun to rise over her.
He sighed.
She'd set sail in search of her father, following clues a decade old; an ID chip in her father's belly, swallowed when he ate their pet puppy, linked to a tracking app in his phone. She'd kept that phone ever since, clutching it like a talisman at times, dreaming of the day she would go hunt him down.
Now she'd found him. She'd crossed the Pacific, circled Hawaii and Japan, driven up through China and ultimately found him in Mongolia.
"They were piled up like cairns," she'd said over the long-wave radio connection three weeks ago, the last communication they'd received. Despite the many thousands of miles separating them, the sense of excitement in her shaky voice had been palpable.
"Tens of thousands of floaters in these great pyramids," she'd gone on, her voice coming through scratchy, "and at the heart of every pile there's a giant red one, like a Jabberwock! They're the real killers. The ocean piled up their bodies then turned to stone, locking them in."
Here she'd paused, perhaps because she was crying. They'd tried talking back to her but the signal was too weak and she didn't seem to hear. He'd been crying too, just to hear her voice. He'd hardly left the radio room for months since she'd left, just waiting to hear she was OK.
"The ocean sacrificed themselves to save us," she'd said. "And Cerulean, I found my father! He was alive still, not frozen like the others. He was waiting for me, I think. And he saved me from the Jabberwock. He sacrificed himself all over again."
Cerulean turned a fleck of paint over in his fingers, like a poker chip. Finally she'd found her father, who was a gray-skinned, white-eyed floater, and that brought up a welter of emotions. He was glad that her months-long solo voyage around the world had not been in vain. He rejoiced that she was alive and had finally found some of the closure she so badly needed.
At the same it was a knife in his heart. She was nearly sixteen and every day for the last four years she'd spent pulling away, drawn toward the memory of her 'real' father. It had hurt more with every snub and snide comment, piling up inside, as she answered all his kindnesses with growing cruelty.
He couldn't compete with a memory.
But that was the apocalypse, perhaps. That was people. That was a wound trying to seal itself over, using other people as bandages and stitches and tossing them away when they were done.
He sighed again. Regret was infectious, like self-pity.
"Reminiscing about Krispy Kreme donuts?" came a voice from behind him. "Or maybe a fresh can of Bud Lite?"
Cerulean turned to see Amo standing there. The Last Mayor of America. He looked the same as always; a hipster without a cause, in light brown sandals, baggy khaki cargo shorts and a loose white shirt, despite being thirty-seven now. His long dark hair was pulled back in a loose knot, and his brown eyes were light and free as ever, dancing in the sunset.
"You walk too quietly, Amo," Cerulean said. "I could have shot you."
Amo laughed. "You're not even holding a gun. When's the last time you carried one?"
Cerulean shrugged. The answer was simple enough; the day they shot and killed Julio, but what point was there in bringing that up?
Amo sat on the weathered bench nearby. They were the oldest friends left alive in the world, pre-dating the apocalypse by six months, and Amo could read him like an open book.
"You're moping," Amo said.
Cerulean couldn't stop the smile from inching across his face.
"I know what this is," Amo went on. "The usual survivor's guilt, beating yourself up for outliving the world, feelings of unworthiness, not feeling real, and now you've got that empty nest syndrome too."
Amo could be a real pain sometimes. "I shouldn't have told you any of that stuff."
Amo frowned. "Come on, Robert. It's a real thing, and I'm glad you told me. I'm just thankful I don't have it too."
"Show-off."
Amo shrugged. "You've got a broken back and a broken mind, but you're the best thing that ever happened to that girl. Have I told you that before?"
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