He was almost shouting, and the silence that followed when he stopped was alarming. Lara couldn't help but watch him. He was magnetic. The heat and cold rising off him in waves drew her in. She didn't understand why she'd seen him as a demon before, but the power of his presence now was undeniable.
He laughed once, sharply. "You were there, all of you. You went into that bunker, just as I went into the bunker when I arrived on these shores, after a month traveling the Atlantic. I sifted through the rags you left behind, I followed in your footsteps, and I found your Amo's plaque to the great Lars Mecklarin in the lowest levels, scrawled on the wall where I can only think none of you saw it, or didn't realize what it meant. Do you not know your own history, New LA? Didn't Amo leave a plaque at the site of his butchery of thousands of your Ocean in New York? Didn't he leave a plaque in Times Square to commemorate the murders there, and isn't this very comic, the one mounded up before you, a testament to all those butcheries, as well as many more? Did you truly believe him when he swore Lars Mecklarin was already dead, killed by his own hand? Did you truly believe that the greatest psychologist and philosopher of our age killed himself in the midst of his greatest experiment?"
Drake was masterful in his presentation. He strung the people on and they followed, some slack-jawed. Lara stared and was half-convinced herself.
"I knew Lars Mecklarin!" Drake thundered. "I knew the man himself, before the world ended. We were colleagues. I respected him, I loved him even, and I know he would never kill himself. Believe me, he would never do such a thing! And I know what your Amo told you, after his conversation with Salle Coram on that frozen Maine mountainside. I read his boasts of it in his comic, of the guilt she felt for what she had done. But did you truly all believe that? Wasn't it convenient that moments after they spoke, she was murdered by one of those closest to Amo, a man seeking revenge for his poor treatment at the hands of a true psychopath, Julio, who in turn was empowered by the very same Amo you profess to adore? Now I'm here to show you that all that was a lie. Lars Mecklarin was alive throughout! Salle Coram was sent on a peaceful mission, asking for Amo's forbearance, to stop his murderous advance. And what did he do?"
He looked out over them. More were looking up now. The defiance in Feargal's eyes was tempered with confusion.
"What did your Amo do?" Drake raged. "He murdered her, so her message of peace would never be heard. Then he went below ground and killed them all with the infection that he started. Three thousand people! And you hold anger at me, for the deaths of five brought on by Amo's lies? What of the three thousand? Three thousand who one day would join you, three thousand of your fellow Americans who would lend their strength to your number. But three thousand who would also challenge Amo's primacy, who would present a threat to his uninterrupted rule as dictator-mayor of 'his' people. You! So instead he killed them all. Three thousand people. And he left a plaque behind to ring out his deeds, as he'd done so many times before, and you're angry at me for the deaths of five?"
Lara's own jaw hung open, her mind racing with his words and his waves washing over her. Of course Amo hadn't killed three thousand people. Of course, and she knew that for certain, but...
But.
Anna's unwillingness to let her help him in the Maine bunker came rushing back to her. "I should go down there," Anna had insisted. "Only I can help."
"I'm his wife," Lara had protested, but still Anna had pressed on.
"You had to be down there," she said. "You can't understand unless you were down there."
She saw him again in the bunker, watching horrific videos of Julio torturing his victims for hours on end, with files of the dead spread around him. She saw him in his office back in New LA, staring at those same files for hours on end. She saw him wandering the city, going to their homes, collecting trinkets from each as if he was some kind of…
She didn't believe it, not for a second, but still the words came…
As if he was some kind of serial killer.
She almost gagged. She wasn't thinking clearly. In the bunker he'd been broken, hadn't he? Not reveling in the suffering, but repulsed. Carrying all those boxes of the dead with him had been guilt, not wallowing in the suffering he'd caused, taking some sick pleasure from their pain.
But then he'd killed Don. Nobody knew the truth of that, not even Lara. He'd claimed Sophia was dead when he met her, but what if that wasn't true? What if his whole cairn trail was a trap, leading people in to a Jim Jones-like nest, a cult fortified by propaganda he'd spent a decade refining, that she'd spent a decade helping him build.
Hot bile rushed in her throat. Drake was still speaking but she didn't need to hear any more. It was her husband and it wasn't true, but in that moment buffeted by those waves of hot and cold, it felt possible. It was undeniable that Amo had killed thousands of the Ocean then written it into his comic, not like any normal human. Any normal human would try their best every day to forget, but he'd made sure everyone knew what he'd done, like a boast. He'd killed Masako and never tried to deny it, and who was to say now if he'd made the right decision, because were the demons even really real?
She'd seen them, she was certain. One had grasped her round the chest. But then they'd always been in motion, running away, and she'd never seen one clearly. There'd been explosions, and the pain in the chest, and she'd believed for so long it was a demon, but was it? Amo had filled up Julio's pit with cement, claiming the demon body of Cerulean was buried within, but how could she know? She'd never seen it. How could she really know?
Uncertainty rose in her like vertigo. She'd scorned Alan and Witzgenstein at every stage, had stood by Anna and Amo when others expressed their doubts, and together they'd raised him back up to be a figurehead. But what if…
"…and this flag?" Drake yelled. Lara jerked and turned. He was holding the New World flag Amo had made above his head, the pale blue with white stars. "What kind of person makes their own flag? What was wrong with the Stars and Stripes? You're Americans, from the US of A, why would he cast out that great, proud flag? I know I would never try to replace the Union Jack, the flag of the United Kingdom. That's my country still. I'm a guest here, but I don't think our countries are so different in that regard. We're proud of our heritage, but Amo had you worshipping at the feet of this false idol."
He pumped his fist with the flag in it.
"What kind of people are you, to allow this to go on? Worse still, I know there've been others! I've already met them, Witzgenstein and those others in the Willamette Valley, Oregon. Amo banished her and her people for ever daring to question his rule, for trying to show you the truth about his character, and perhaps they were lucky to be banished and not executed. But already she's agreed to join us! Your Janine Witzgenstein sees the wisdom in the First Law. She understands that a few dead was a small price to pay for the chance to free you from Amo's authoritarian, murderous rule. Her people are coming here to join us, and together we will retake this world, and leave Amo behind, rotting in a cell with only his memories of glory, murder and gore to give him solace!"
Someone in the crowd of kneeling people shouted a response. At first Lara thought it was a heckle denouncing Drake, but when the next one came she realized the truth.
"Kill him!"
Her eyes were swimming with pain and confusion, so she couldn't see who it was, but it sounded like Greg. Greg who was quiet and decent. Greg who'd always helped her wash up whenever he came in to the John Harrison. Greg who used to watch her kids.
Greg. And Drake was turning him.
"Witzgenstein tried to tell you the truth but you wouldn't listen!" Drake went on. "So now I'm here, to make you listen. To make you see, before it's too late. You've all been brainwashed, sucked into a cult of personality run by an incredibly powerful manipulator, serving only to soothe his raging ego. God knows what endgame he had in mind for you all, when you finally uncovered the truth, but considering his fascination with suicide I wouldn't rule out a mass Kool-Aid ceremony that left y
ou all twitching and dead. Is it any wonder he invented fictional demons to keep you all in line? Is it any wonder Julio broke ranks, so broken as he was by Amo's meaningless rule?"
Lara almost gasped. He was heaping everything on Amo, far more than Witzgenstein had ever dared. And it was working, or beginning to. Even Lara was no longer so certain about some things, not about his role in Maine or with Masako, perhaps not even Julio. She'd never seen the pit with her own eyes, so how could she know? So much of it she'd taken on faith, and the waves of heat and cold muddled everything, made her mind slow and unclear, while the assault of his voice hammered the message in relentlessly.
Then abruptly, like the eye of a storm passing over, he grew quiet. He lowered the flag in his fist.
"Witzgenstein believes in the First Law. She's a decent Biblical woman, and she believes. I'm no religious man, but I believe in its truth too, just as my people do. And do you know why? Whether you think God exists or not, whether you think demons are real or not, you can't deny that those ancient peoples understood the world perfectly; far better than any of us today. It wasn't an arms race or a technology race back then, when the world was empty. It was a population race. If you couldn't outnumber the other; it didn't matter if he was your enemy or not, weapons and technology didn't matter; you would die. Not today perhaps, not even tomorrow, but generationally. Your people would be pushed under the tide of bodies and smothered underfoot."
He gazed. He waited. "Do you really think it's different now? Do you really think the people in those other bunkers, where your Anna is now, another mass murderer right there, do you believe they're going to join together with you in peaceful harmony if they ever rise up from below ground? After what you've done to them? After the way you held a gun to their head for your 'treaty', after you slaughtered their people in Maine? Do you think they're going to distinguish between you and Amo, when you've followed his lead for all this time? Do you really think one fake flag touting unity can undo twelve years of death and misery, for all of which they're going to lay the blame squarely on you?"
He held the flag up again.
"Face the truth, New Los Angeles! We hate the other at the best of times, those who are different to us. You know it. I know it. Right now I'm the other to you, and you're biased to hate me. You're biased to blame me for those deaths, even though it's truly Amo's fault, because where are the demons? Where are they? He lied to you in everything! Whenever he was threatened, he claimed an emergency and made you run. He kept you afraid! He never showed you the whole truth, never let you see behind the curtain, and so you were controlled like sheep. It's that lie, that deep programming that keeps you blind to the truth of the First Law, blind to the righteous way my people live, before you've even had a chance to see them in action. You don't know us but you judge us! We were attacked by Amo! He came to my family with seven guns pointed at my children, and you're surprised I defended myself? Defended my children? You need to open your eyes!"
He sucked in a breath. "Your precious zombies are gone. Your demons never existed, and your leader Amo was never what he claimed to be. You are alone in the world now, just as much as I am, as my people are, and I'm telling you this truth now, which you don't want to hear but you must. Thanks to Amo's original sin, thanks to the infection he began and the war he started in Maine, none of us will stand a chance if the bunkers ever get out. If your Anna finds a cure, I swear they will wipe us off the map like manifest destiny, just because they can, and because of what we've done, and because we're different. We're the other to them, you must see that, and when you see that, you'll see that the First Law is the only thing that'll save us. We're trapped in a population race for who inherits the Earth, and I'll give you a clue, it's not the goddamn meek. It's the guy who fucked everything in sight!"
Lara jolted at his language like a blow. For the last few minutes it felt like she'd been in some kind of fugue, channeling Drake's words as if they were her own thoughts. Before she'd looked out and seen scared people, but now she also saw angry people. She saw confusion and shock.
And she felt it herself. Who was Amo? Who was to say what the truth was anymore? Where was he to fight back? His absence rang like an admission of guilt.
"So I have to do this to you," said Drake, as if he was saddened by a prospect that lay ahead. "I have to do this for your own good. You understand the Law, now. You know why you're locked in your RVs, until you can finally shake off your shackles and see the truth; that I am doing this for your very survival. For our survival. You know now that I will never hurt you again. I will never rape you. I will never lie to you. I will protect you to my dying breath, and in return I ask only one thing. I ask that you open your eyes. See your essential role in this new world. See that I need your help so we can all survive. See all that, then do your duty as Americans and fellow survivors."
He held up the blue and white flag, for all to see. "For that we need a new beginning. We need to cleanse the slate, start afresh with each other, end the corruption and wash away the propaganda. And it starts here."
He produced a lighter and sparked it. He held it to the flag, which lit at once in a flash. Drake held it as it burned, and walked down off the stage and slowly down to the heap before the people. In that heap was everything they'd spent so long making; a culture, a system of beliefs, a way of being.
Drake didn't cry out in pain as the flag blazed. He looked strong, and who was Lara to say what was right or wrong? How could she know, when the heat and cold rushing off him was so strong, so persuasive, so powerful.
He reached the heap and stood there a moment longer, standing with his arm aloft like the Statue of Liberty welcoming in the ragged and poor. He was a master of this performance, she saw that, even as the effect of his performance worked on her. He looked strong. He looked clean and righteous. And he pointed into the audience.
"You."
Greg's eyes flared wide and white. He was instantly terrified. His mouth opened then closed, and Lara saw. The final stroke.
"I heard you," Drake said. "I see strength in you. You do it."
Greg licked his lips. He shuffled, and those nearest to him swayed away. This was the moment. Flames licked up the flag, reaching Drake's hand, but he didn't flinch.
"I know you're afraid," Drake said, soothing but loud enough for everyone to hear. "You're all afraid, you're confused, but I need you to trust me. Trust me this one time, and everything will get better. There'll be no more lies. No more cruelty. We'll all live in peace together. You can do it."
Greg took a step. The children in the front row edged away. Greg took another, then another more firmly, and Drake held the burning flag to him, now a sheet of flame. Greg stood there, staring at it, then snatched it from Drake and hurled it.
It flew. It hit the gasoline-soaked heap, and the heap went up like the blast of that RV. In the sudden light it cast Drake looked like a man worth following to the end. Greg dropped to his knees and sobbed.
Drake put a hand on his shoulder as the fire bloomed and grew. He stood by the fire despite the sharp blaze of heat, and he looked into every person's eyes there, one by one.
"I need you," he said, over the crackling of the flames as their comics and movies and old hope died. "I need you all."
Tears broke down Lara's cheeks. She didn't know, anymore. She just didn't know.
11. SACRAMENTO
After a time he rolled her away.
Behind her the people of New LA remained, staring into the flames in the heat of another California day. She wanted to stay, to see the last of her life bake down to ashes, but Drake controlled the chair and Drake decided.
Together they rolled in silence over the courtyard, toward the Theater's glass doors.
"You're crying," he said, as a child held the doors open for them. The smoke faded inside, replaced by the familiar old popcorn smell of the Theater. Red carpets embroidered with swirling gold dragons stretched ahead, to meet cream walls with reflective golden vines that crept up
toward ceilings with beautiful, wheel-like light shades. She'd been coming here every day for years, but today it felt like a new world.
The chair stopped as the door closed behind them. Drake came around and knelt before her, his big bearded face filling her vision.
"I wanted you to see that."
She looked away. He didn't move.
"Wait. You didn't believe me, did you?" There was something like wonder in his tone.
She blinked more tears, squeezing her eyes shut tight.
"Oh, Lara," Drake said, with a kind of gentle pity. "Oh, I didn't expect that. That would be too cruel. You are sick, aren't you? Yes, the comics burned. Yes, Witzgenstein is coming, and I know that's hard to take, but did Amo really kill those people in Maine?"
His voice wormed through the fog. She looked back to where his face was waiting.
"No. Lara. The Amo I've met could never have done it. I just said that for the masses." He gestured back through the glass. "To make it easier for them. People don't like to be traitors, especially to a good man. But to a bad one? It puts them on the right side of history. That's what it was for, not to do this to you. I'm not trying to hurt you."
Lara couldn't think anymore. The waves rising off him were too much. The layers to all the things he said made it feel like she couldn't breathe. "You mean…"
"That he didn't kill them. Of course not. Your husband is not a serial killer. I said I wouldn't lie to you, Lara, and I meant it."
He smiled. Her head spun. She had the horrible feeling he was going to reach out and rub the tears from her cheeks. She knew she wouldn't have the strength to stop him. She knew, perhaps at some terrified, panicking level, that she might even welcome it.
"I've been honest with you," he said. "Now I want honesty in return." Then he reached out over her lap. She watched his large hand stretch toward her body like it was happening to someone else. Then it touched, his palm against her stomach, and the freezing, burning shock was instant. It crackled up and down her spine, but only for a moment, as he drew his hand away. The sensation faded, leaving her gasping.
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