They were criminals.
By the time Peter put down the last file, rubbing his bleary eyes, the night was nearly done. Amy had long since fallen asleep, curled on the bed beneath a blanket; Lacey had moved a chair from the kitchen to sit beside her. From time to time, as he’d turned the pages, rising to put one file back in the box and remove the next, piecing the story together as best he could, he’d heard Amy muttering softly in her sleep behind the curtain.
For a while, after Amy had gone to bed, Lacey had sat with him at the table, explaining the things he couldn’t make sense of on his own. The files were thick, full of information that referred to a world he didn’t know, had never seen or lived in. But still, over the hours, with Lacey’s help, the story had emerged in his mind. There were photographs, too: grown men with puffy, lived-in faces, their eyes glazed and unfocused. Some were holding a board of writing to their chests, or wearing it like a necklace. Texas Department of Criminal Justice, one board read. Louisiana State Department of Corrections, said another. Kentucky and Florida and Wyoming and Delaware. Some of the boards had no words on them, only numbers; some of the men had no boards at all. They were black and white and brown, heavy or slight; somehow, in the looks of numb surrender on their faces, they were all the same. He read:
SUBJECT 12. Carter, Anthony L. Born September 12, 1985, Baytown, TX. Sentenced to death for capital murder, Harris County, TX, 2013.
SUBJECT 11. Reinhardt, William J. Born April 9, 1987, Jefferson City, MO. Sentenced to death for three counts of capital murder and aggravated sexual assault, Miami-Dade County, FL, 2012.
SUBJECT 10. Martínez, Julio A. Born May 3, 1991, El Paso, TX. Sentenced to death for the capital murder of a peace officer, Laramie County, WY, 2011.
SUBJECT 9. Lambright, Horace D. Born October 19, 1992, Oglala, SD. Sentenced to death for two counts of capital murder and aggravated sexual assault, Maricopa County, AZ, 2014.
SUBJECT 8. Echols, Martin S. Born June 15, 1984, Everett, WA. Sentenced to death for capital murder and armed robbery, Cameron Parish, LA, 2012.
SUBJECT 7. Sosa, Rupert I. Born August 22, 1989, Tulsa, OK. Sentenced to death for one count of vehicular homicide with depraved indifference, Lake County, IN, 2009.
SUBJECT 6. Winston, David D. Born April 1, 1994, Bloomington, MN. Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder and three counts of aggravated sexual assault, New Castle County, DE, 2014.
SUBJECT 5. Turrell, Thaddeus R. Born December 26, 1990, New Orleans, LA. Sentenced to death for the capital murder of a Homeland Security officer, New Orleans Federal Housing District, 2014.
SUBJECT 4. Baffes, John T. Born February 12, 1992, Orlando, FL. Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder and one count of second-degree murder with depraved indifference, Pasco County, FL, 2010.
SUBJECT 3. Chávez, Victor Y. Born July 5, 1995, Niagara Falls, NY. Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder and two counts of aggravated sexual assault with a minor, Elko County, NV, 2012.
SUBJECT 2. Morrison, Joseph P. Born January 9, 1992, Black Creek, Ky. Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder, Lewis County, Ky, 2013.
And, finally:
SUBJECT 1. Babcock, Giles J. Born October 29, 1994. Desert Wells, NV. Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder, Nye County, NV, 2013.
Babcock, he thought. Desert Wells.
They always go home.
Amy’s file was thinner than the others. “SUBJECT 13, AMY NLN,” the label read, “Convent of the Sisters of Mercy, Memphis, TN.” Height and weight and hair color and a string of numbers that Peter surmised were medical data of the kind Michael had found on the chip in her neck. Affixed to this page was a photograph of a little girl, no more than six years old, just as Michael had predicted. All knees and elbows, sitting on a wooden chair, dark hair falling around her face. Peter had never before seen a photograph of someone he’d actually known, and for a moment his mind struggled to comprehend the notion that this image was the same person who was sleeping in the next room. But there was no question; her eyes were Amy’s eyes. See? her eyes seemed to say. Who did you think I was?
He came to the file for Wolgast, Bradford J. There was no photograph; a rusty stain on the top page showed where one had once been clipped. But even without it, Peter was able to form a picture in his mind of this man who, if what Lacey said was true, had brought each of the Twelve to the compound, and Amy as well. A tall, sturdy man with deep-set eyes and graying hair, with large hands good for work. A mild face but troubled, something moving under the surface, barely contained. According to the file, Wolgast had been married and had had a child; the girl, whose name was Eva, was listed as deceased. Peter wondered if that was the reason he had decided, in the end, to help Amy. His instincts told him it was.
It was the contents of the last file, though, that told him the most. A report by someone named Cole to a Colonel Sykes, U.S. Army Division of Special Weapons, concerning the work of a Dr. Jonas Lear and something called “Project NOAH”; and a second document, dated five years later, ordering the transfer of twelve human test subjects from Telluride, Colorado, to White Sands, New Mexico, for “operational combat testing.” It took Peter a while to put the pieces together, or mostly. But he knew what combat was.
All those years, he thought, waiting for the Army to return, and it was the Army that had done it.
As he put down the final file, he heard Lacey rising. She passed through the curtain and stopped in the doorway.
“So. You have read.”
At the sound of her voice, a sudden exhaustion washed over him. Lacey restoked the fire and sat at the table across from him. He gestured over the piles of paper on the table.
“He really did this? The doctor.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “There were others, but yes.”
“Did he ever say why?”
Behind her, the fresh logs caught with a soft whump, blazing the room with light. “I think because he could. That is the reason for most things people do. He was not a bad man, Peter. It was not entirely his fault, though he believed it was. Many times I asked him, Do you think the world could be unmade by men alone? Of course it could not. But he never quite believed me.” She tipped her head toward the files on the table. “He left these for you, you know.”
“Me? How could he have left them for me?”
“For whoever came back. So they would know what happened here.”
He sat quietly, uncertain what to say. Alicia had been right about one thing: all his life, since the day he had come out of the Sanctuary, he had wondered why the world was what it was. But learning the truth had solved nothing.
Amy’s stuffed rabbit was still on the table; he took it in his hand. “Do you think she remembers it?”
“What they did to her? I do not know. Perhaps she does.”
“No, I meant before. Being a girl.” He searched for the words. “Being human.”
“I think that she has always been human.”
He waited for Lacey to say more, and when she didn’t, he put the rabbit aside.
“What’s it like, living forever?”
She gave a sudden laugh. “I do not think that I will live forever.”
“But he gave you the virus. You’re like her. Like Amy.”
“There is no one like Amy, Peter.” She shrugged. “But if you are asking what it has been like for me all these years, since Jonas died, I will say that it has been very lonely. It surprises me how much.”
“You miss him, don’t you?”
He instantly regretted saying this; a look of sadness swept over her face, like the shadow of a bird crossing a field.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
But she shook her head. “No, it is perfectly all right that you should ask. It is difficult to talk about him like this, after so long. But the answer is yes. I do miss him. I should think it a wonderful thing to be missed, the way that I miss him.”
For a while they sat in silence, b
athed in the glow of the fire. Peter wondered if Alicia was thinking about him, where she was now. He had no idea if he would see her, or any of them, again.
“I don’t know … what I’m doing, Lacey,” he said finally. “I don’t know what to do with any of this.”
“You found your way here. That is something. That is a beginning.”
“What about Amy?”
“What about her, Peter?”
But he wasn’t sure what he was asking. The question was what it was: What of Amy?
“I thought …” He sighed and drew his gaze away, toward the room where Amy slept. “Listen to me. I don’t know what I thought.”
“That you could defeat them? That you would find the answer here?”
“Yes.” He returned his eyes to Lacey. “I didn’t even know I was thinking it, until just now. But yes.”
Lacey appeared to be studying him, though what she was looking for, Peter couldn’t say. He wondered if he was as crazy as he sounded. Probably he was.
“Tell me, Peter. Do you know the story of Noah? Not Project NOAH. Noah the man.”
The name was nothing he knew. “I don’t think so.”
“It is an old story. A true story. I think it will be some help to you.” Lacey rose a little in her chair, her face suddenly animated. “So. A man named Noah was asked by God to build a ship, a great ship. This was long ago. Why would I build a ship, Noah asked. It is a sunny day, I have other things to do. Because this world has grown wicked, God said to him, and it is my intention to send a flood of water to destroy it, and drown every living thing. But you, Noah, are a man righteous in your generation, and I will save you and your family if you do as I command, building this ship to carry yourselves and every species of animal, two of every kind. And do you know what Noah did, Peter?”
“He built the ship?”
Her eyes widened. “Of course he did! But not right away. That, you see, is the interesting part of the story. If Noah had simply done as he was told, the story wouldn’t mean anything at all. No. He was afraid that people would make fun of him. He was afraid he would build the ship and the flood wouldn’t come and he would look like a fool. God was testing him, you see, to find out if there was anyone who made the world worth saving. He wanted to see if Noah was up to the job. And in the end, he was. He built the ship, and the heavens opened, and the world was washed away. For a long time, Noah and his family floated on the waters. It seemed they had been forgotten, that a terrible joke had been played on them. But after many days, God remembered Noah, and sent him a dove to lead them to dry land, and the world was reborn.” She gave her hands a quiet clap of satisfaction. “There. You see?”
He didn’t, not at all. It reminded him of the fables Teacher had read to them in circle, stories of talking animals that always ended in a lesson. Pleasant to listen to, and maybe not wrong, but in the end too easy, something for children.
“You do not believe me? That is all right. One day you will.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Peter managed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that … it’s only a story.”
“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “And perhaps someday someone will say those very words about you, Peter. What do you say to that?”
He didn’t know. It was late, or early; the night was almost gone. Despite all he had learned, he felt more puzzled than when it had begun.
“So, for the sake of argument,” he said, “if I’m supposed to be Noah, then who’s Amy?”
Lacey’s face was incredulous. She seemed about to laugh. “Peter, I am surprised at you. Perhaps I did not tell it right.”
“No, you told it fine,” he assured her. “I just don’t know.”
She leaned forward in her chair and smiled again—one of her strange, sad smiles, full of belief.
“The ship, Peter,” said Lacey. “Amy is the ship.”
Peter was still trying to make sense of this mysterious answer when Lacey seemed to startle. Frowning sharply, she darted her eyes around the room.
“Lacey? What’s wrong?”
But she seemed not to have heard him. She briskly pushed away from the table.
“I have gone on too long, I’m afraid. It will be light soon. Go and wake her now, and gather your things.”
He was taken aback, his mind still drifting in the night’s strange currents. “We’re leaving?”
He rose to discover Amy standing in the doorway to the bedroom, her dark hair wild and askew, the curtain shifting behind her. Whatever had affected Lacey had affected her also; her face was lit with a sudden urgency.
“Lacey—” Amy began.
“I know. He will try to be here before daybreak.” Drawing on her cloak, Lacey gave her insistent gaze to Peter once more. “Hurry now.”
The peace of the night was suddenly banished, replaced by a sense of emergency his mind could not seem to grasp. “Lacey, who are you talking about? Who’s coming?”
But then he looked at Amy, and he knew.
Babcock.
Babcock was coming. “Quickly, Peter.”
“Lacey, you don’t understand.” He felt weightless, benumbed. He had nothing to fight with, not even a blade. “We’re totally unarmed. I’ve seen what he can do.”
“There are weapons more powerful than guns and knives,” the woman replied. Her face held no fear, only a sense of purpose. “It is time for you to see it.”
“See what?”
“What you came to find,” said Lacey. “The passage.”
SIXTY-EIGHT
Peter in darkness: Lacey was leading them away from the house, into the woods. A frigid wind was blowing through the trees, a ghostly moaning. A rind of moon had ascended, bathing the scene in a trembling light, making the shadows lurch and sway around him. They ascended a ridge and descended another. The snow was deep here, blown into drifts with a hard carapace of crust. They were on the south side of the mountain now; Peter heard, below him, the sound of the river.
He felt it before he saw it: a vastness of space opening before him, the mountain falling away. He reached out reflexively to find Amy, but she was gone. The edge could be anywhere; one wrong step and the darkness would swallow him.
“This way,” Lacey called from ahead. “Hurry, hurry.”
He followed the sound of her voice. What he thought was a sheer drop was actually a rocky decline, steep but passable. Amy was already moving down the twisting path. He took a breath of icy air, willing his fear away, and followed.
The path grew narrower, running horizontally to the mountain’s face as it descended, clinging to it like a catwalk. To his left, sheer rock, glinting with moonlit ice; to his right, an abyss of blackness, a plunge into nothing. Even to look at it was to be swept away; he kept his eyes forward. The women were moving quickly, shadowy presences leaping at the far edge of his vision. Where was Lacey taking them? What was the weapon she had spoken of? He could hear the voice of the river again, far below. The stars shone hard and pure above his face, like chips of ice.
He turned a corner and stopped; Lacey and Amy were standing before a wide, pipelike opening in the mountain’s face. The hole was as tall as he was, its depthless interior a maw of blackness.
“This way,” said Lacey.
Two steps, three steps, four; the darkness enveloped him. Lacey was taking them inside the mountain. He remembered the tin of matches in his coat. He stopped and struck one, his insensate fingers fumbling in the cold, but as soon as it sparked, the swirling currents of air puffed the flame away.
Lacey’s voice, from up ahead: “Hurry, Peter.”
He inched his way forward, each step an act of faith. Then he felt a hand on his arm, a firm pressure. Amy.
“Stop.”
He couldn’t see anything at all. Despite the cold he had begun to sweat under his parka. Where was Lacey? He had spun around, searching for the opening to orient himself, when from behind him came a squeal of metal, and the sound of an opening door.
Everything blazed with
light.
They were in a long hallway, carved from the mountain. The walls were lined with pipes and metal conduits. Lacey was standing at a breaker panel on the wall adjacent to the entrance. The room was illuminated by a bank of buzzing fluorescent lights, high above.
“There’s power?”
“Batteries. The doctor showed me how.”
“No batteries could last this long.”
“These are … different.”
Lacey swung the heavy door closed behind them.
“He called it Level Five. I will show you. Please come.”
The hallway led to a wider space, sunk in darkness. Lacey moved along the wall to find the switch. Through the soles of his wet boots he could feel a kind of humming, distinctly mechanical.
The lights buzzed and flickered to life.
The room appeared to be some kind of infirmary. An air of abandonment hung over all—the gurney and the long, tall counter covered with dusty equipment, burners and beakers and chrome basins, tarnished with age; a tray of syringes, still sealed in plastic, and resting on a long, rust-stained shawl of fabric, a line of metal probes and scalpels. At the back of the room, in a nest of conduits, was what appeared to be a battery stack.
If you found her, bring her here.
Here, Peter thought. Not just the mountain, but here. This room.
What was here?
Lacey had stepped to a steel case, like a wardrobe, bolted to the wall. On its face was a handle and, beside this, a keypad. He watched as the woman punched in a long series of numbers, then turned the handle with a thunk.
He thought at first the case was empty. Then he saw, resting on the bottom shelf, a metal box. Lacey removed it and passed it to him.
The box, small enough to fit in one hand, was surprisingly light. It appeared to have no seams at all, but there was a latch, with a tiny button beside it that perfectly fit his thumb. Peter pressed it; at once the box separated into two perfectly formed halves. Inside, cradled in foam, lay two rows of tiny glass vials, containing a shimmering green liquid. He counted eleven; a twelfth compartment was empty.
“It is the last virus,” said Lacey. “The one he gave to Amy. He made it from her blood.”
The Passage Page 91