Annabelle’s small back faced him now, rifle pointing at the stunned crowd. Her childish voice cut through the downpour and the distance.
“Anybody else? I have five more rounds. Come on, motherfuckers!”
Fergus didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He did neither, but instead began running toward the small form.
“Lester would not approve of that word,” he said when he reached her.
“I know. But he’s not here, so it’s okay. Anybody else?” she yelled. “Bring it, cocksuckers!”
“Annabelle!”
“What? Is that a bad word too? I’m don’t know what either means, but I heard my mommy say them when she hit her thumb with a hammer once.”
“Yes, they’re both very bad words. Promise you’ll never say them again.”
A shrug of the small shoulders. “We’ll see. Sometimes using bad words is effective. Aubrey told me that.”
“Yes, well, she’s no longer relevant.” Fergus glanced down at the dead woman with the perfect dime-shaped hole in the center of her forehead. Unseeing eyes stared at the sullen sky.
“Was this your plan all along?” he said.
“Not exactly. I kind of winged it. All I knew was that I had to let Aubrey think I was with her so that I could help you and Lester if I needed to. I hope he’ll be back soon. I miss him.”
“And he has missed you,” a deep voice said from behind.
Fergus turned to see that the cavalry had arrived. The next moment he was in Amelia’s arms.
He was vaguely aware of guns being fired, but his brain was still fuzzy from his time in The Box and being a hair’s breath away from dying. Amelia didn’t seem to be concerned about the commotion, so he chose not to be as well.
“That was too close, Fergus.”
“Tell me about it. I was preparing my pithy banter with Thoozy on the Other Side.”
His heart swelled when he heard her familiar laugh.
“No offense, love, but you smell like a sewer.” He heard the smile in her voice.
“A modern, well-maintained sewer in an advanced society? Or a medieval sewer in the red-light district of London? All sewers are not created equal.”
“Get a room, you two,” someone said.
He opened his eyes at the sound of the teenager’s voice. Kenny was grinning from ear to ear.
A quick scan of his surroundings revealed carnage that wasn’t as excessive as it might have been. In addition to the Terminators whom Annabelle had shot, five more now lay unmoving on the wet ground. Standing ten yards away were a giant man and a tiny murderess, both holding firearms with the ease of professional killers.
Fergus was grateful to count them as friends. A much older friend approached the next moment.
“Hello, Tung.”
“Hello, Fergus.” Tung held the weapon from Cthor-Vangt boldly in front of him. In this small yet significant way, he was defying his masters. Fergus had always been fond of Tung, but this minor act of rebellion elevated him several degrees.
“Did you have to use that thing?”
“No, thankfully.”
“You’re not very happy with us, are you?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Fergus kissed Amelia on the cheek and released her, studying the people in the subdued crowd. If not for Lester, this coup d’état would not end well. His enormous friend was well-respected within the organization. Now that Aubrey and her sister were gone, leadership would transfer to him, if that’s what he wanted. He watched Lester now with keen interest.
“Aubrey was a genius.” Bass notes resonated with conviction through the drizzle. “She and her sister saved most of us from starvation, injuries, illness, and worse. But every one of us knows – has always known – that she and her sister were also something not so admirable. I won’t be disrespectful of the dead, but I will say this: every good thing they have achieved here will not end today. We will go forward with plans to improve the quality of life for everyone, and in so doing, will dispense with the darker side of being a Terminator. As of today, we will no longer raid. We have always known it is wrong to steal from others, especially so when it means starvation for our victims. Another practice we will eliminate pertains to certain contents of the freezer – you know the ones I mean. Even more than the raiding, we have always known in our hearts that what we were doing was an abomination. I can see by the looks on your faces that I have struck a nerve.”
Lester’s focus seemed to be on everyone at once. For an introvert, he was a compelling speaker. Fergus smiled, mentally adding another talent to the big man’s lengthy repertoire.
“Friends, from now on, we will lay our heads on our pillows at night with a clear conscience when we think of what is not in that freezer. The third modification to the former protocols is about freedom, and we will start with that one immediately. If there is anyone who wishes to leave, you may do so with impunity now or at any time. Our walls and razor wire will remain to keep us safe, but not to keep us prisoner. Finally, all newcomers will be welcome, no matter whether they can offer anything in return. With these changes and others, we will retain our humanity.”
“What about Zoey? Will she be allowed to come back?” the rat-faced pharmacist said from the back of the throng.
Lester tilted his colossal head in thought. “There should be a limit to our beneficence when it requires we open our door to an established threat or danger. So the answer is no. If you have a problem with that, you are free to leave. Any other questions?”
The only response was a rumble of thunder from the oppressive clouds. Fergus tried to gauge the mood of the remaining water-logged Terminators, studying one face after another. His beard twitched.
“I think that’s about all I have to say. My office door will be open to anyone, with no guards standing in front. Let’s bury the dead now, friends.”
Some sporadic applause began at the back and soon spread throughout the gathering. The Terminators – a mixture of both moral and immoral people – were cheering.
Chapter 42 – Jessie
Jessie had not been happy about having to stay hidden with Harold in the trees. She could have defied her mentor and charged out onto the field with the others, but something told her she needed to obey his command this time. She couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was because everything had turned out all right without her help. Nobody that she loved or that Amelia loved had been injured or killed. Had Jessie somehow known that would be the outcome? It was impossible to say. As far as she knew, her psychic talents only included remote viewing and her scythen, which was getting better every day. She didn’t have prophetic dreams like Harold was having about the hurricane, so she couldn’t say for sure that her instinct to mind Tung’s order was because she knew something bad would happen if she didn’t.
“What are you thinking about?” Harold wore his fisherman’s hat, but it and the rest of him were soaked, as was Jessie herself.
Tung had told them to stay hidden in the trees until he came back to retrieve them. He hated leaving them alone and vulnerable, but he would only be gone a few minutes. Even now she could see that the situation behind the Costco building was under control. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but the body language of Amelia and Tung seemed normal and relaxed. She hadn’t spent enough time with the giant man or the teenage boy to know what was normal for them, but she knew she liked them both. Lester was nice, and Kenny was funny. She hoped she would be able to stay long enough to become friends with Lester. It seemed Kenny had passed the quick tests put to him back at the golf club, so she would get to know him on the way back to Cthor-Vangt. Also, she was intrigued by the little girl with the curly blond hair and the gun. She looked to be about Jessie’s own age, but she shot that rifle like the men in the old western movies her daddy watched. Those cowboys never missed when they aimed their guns at the bad guys.
“Nothing,” she said.
“I’m not so sure about that. It appears everything is going to be
okay. Look, Tung is already coming back to get us.”
“Are you still having the hurricane dream?”
Harold frowned. “Yes.”
“Is it going to destroy Amelia’s home?”
Harold’s frown turned into his sad face. She did not like that face one bit. “I’m afraid so. At least, that’s what I’m seeing.”
Tung was getting closer and closer. She had been working out a plan in her head but hadn’t gotten many of the details figured out yet. Until now. Maybe Harold would help.
“You know he isn’t going to talk the Cthor into stopping the hurricane.”
He hesitated a few seconds before answering. “I don’t know that for sure, but I admit, it doesn’t seem likely. In the history records I’ve been studying during my time in Cthor-Vangt, I have seen no evidence of them manipulating weather events except on an earth-cleansing scale. I can’t imagine they would deflect a storm simply to please Amelia.”
“But it wouldn’t be just to please her. She says there may be other Cthor-Vangt candidates on her island.”
“Yes, but I think we both know she might be stretching the truth...for leverage. You know what that word means?”
“Yes, of course.”
Tung was getting closer by the second. Her mind raced. She grabbed Harold’s hand in her own and gazed up at him with beseeching sea-green eyes. She knew the effect it had on people when she did that. She had learned the technique a long time ago.
“If you and I are on that island, the Cthor will stop the hurricane from destroying it.”
“I think I know where this is going.”
“Tung won’t allow it. You know he won’t. So we have to run. Now.”
“What happens if I say no?”
“Then I’ll go without you. I’m very fast. You would never catch me.”
Harold laughed. “Goodness, child, I’m beginning to understand poor Tung’s exasperation. You are a force of nature, aren’t you?”
“Just like Amelia,” she said with a grin.
“Very well. We’d best be on our way, then.”
***
“This is going to be much more difficult than we anticipated.” Harold had to raise his voice to be heard above the heavy downpour and strong wind. The weather was getting worse by the minute.
He and Jessie stood on a slippery, grassy bank next to the river that Jessie knew was called the Intracoastal Waterway. The current seemed to be moving very fast. She had the first stirrings of doubt about her plan, since it would require they cross that fast-moving water to reach Amelia’s island on the other side. When they arrived there, she would use her scythen (with Harold’s help) to send a message to Tung, telling him to have the Cthor stop the hurricane or she and Harold would perish. Tung would be furious with her in that quiet way of his. She hated to upset him, but it couldn’t be helped.
She had sensed the level of desperation Amelia felt. That land on the other side of the river was her home now. Jessie had caught glimpses of it during their recent communications. It was a paradise, and it was where her beloved Amelia wanted to live out the rest of her life, which would only be a few more decades. Compared to the near immortality of the residents of Cthor-Vangt, decades were less than a drop in a bucket...more like a drop in that big ocean on the other side of Amelia’s island.
“We have to do this. It’s the most important thing to Amelia.”
“Not more so than your life.”
Jessie ignored the remark. She knew she was taking advantage of him – his fondness for her and his kindhearted nature – but she had to do this. For Amelia.
“There’s a surfboard!”
“Not a surfboard. That’s a paddle board.” Harold followed the direction of her pointed finger. “Which would be only slightly less dangerous to get both of us across than a surfboard. We should find something a bit more substantial. And we need to hurry. I think the rain is intensifying.”
Her keen eyes scanned the bank in both directions. She spotted a structure nestled among strange, snake-like tree roots. It was some kind of skinny boat. She thought she could see a paddle next to it.
“There. Do you see it?”
“No, dear. My vision is not what it once was, and it certainly isn’t as acute as yours.”
“Follow me!” She took off running.
“It’s a kayak,” Harold said several minutes later, slightly out of breath. “And luckily for you, I know how to operate one of these things. I often took my summer holidays in Mallorca. That’s what we Brits do on holiday...we escape our rainy, cold England and flee to warm, sunny destinations. We’re lucky this is a two-person kayak.”
“I only see one paddle.”
“No worries. Go on. Get in the backseat.”
Jessie scrambled in. Harold pushed the vessel into the shallow water near the shore, then eased into the seat in front of her. She was impressed. For such an old man (sixty-seven seemed ancient to her), he was in good shape and still strong. She knew he had been doing ‘calisthenics’ at Cthor-Vangt during his time there, and it seemed the exercise had paid off. He had told her that after being holed up in his flat in Twickenham for a year, he was ready to get his girlish figure back. Then he laughed. Jessie hadn’t understood what he meant by that, but when Harold laughed, she always laughed too. A flood of gratitude filled her as she watched him maneuver the vessel like an expert. He really must have done a lot of kayaking in his old life because they navigated that treacherous-looking river in under fifteen minutes.
She would never had made the crossing without him.
The bottom of the kayak crunched on the rocky beach of Amelia’s home. The bodies dangling from the crosses were even more sad and disgusting close up. They were mostly bone, but bits of flesh still clung in places and looked slimy from all the rain.
“Not much of a welcome,” Harold said, pulling the kayak all the way up onto the sand.
She studied the perimeter of the beach, noting the wooden shack built into a giant palm tree and the wires that ran along the shoreline.
“Watch out for the wire,” she said, just as Harold was about to step on it.
“Clever. These look like percussion tripwires. See that stick over there? It’s a shotgun shell. When someone invades their island, they’ll be notified by the sound of it exploding. By the way, does your plan include a way to avoid being shot on sight?” he added, as they watched a man running toward them pointing a gun at Harold’s head.
“What’s our cover story?”
Jessie barely managed to get the words out before the man with the gun arrived.
***
“Your story seems farfetched,” the pretty black lady said to Harold.
They were in the lady’s kitchen, drying off with some towels she had given them. Her name was Rosemary, and she was the leader on Amelia’s island. The man with the gun was her boyfriend. He sat on the sofa and scowled at them.
“Indeed it does, but it is nonetheless true.”
Jessie thought Harold’s accent had become even more British-sounding. She wondered if he was doing that to charm the pretty lady.
“Why would you risk crossing the Intracoastal in these conditions?”
“As I mentioned, we were headed toward the Costco building and what we thought might be sanctuary. People we had encountered on the road told of a small, organized colony there, which we hoped to join. Just as we approached the building, we heard gunfire coming from the back. So we ran and ended up on the waterway. We had the idea, as I’m sure many of your citizens here did, that we would be safer on an island than on the mainland. When we found the kayak, it felt significant, almost like a sign pointing toward your island. Right, Jessie?”
She nodded, taking the lady’s hand in hers and gazing up into the intelligent brown eyes. She arranged her own face to appear innocent and compelling, just as she had done with Harold earlier and a thousand other times before with other people.
“Please, Miss Rosemary, may we stay? We don’t eat m
uch, and we can work to pay for it. I’m little, but I’m strong. Harold is old, but he’s strong too and very smart. If you send us away, I don’t know if we’ll make it.”
She saw her speech had worked on the lady. They usually did.
“Yes, you may stay for now. What kind of a person would I be if I turned my back on a little girl and an old man?”
“I’m only sixty-seven.” Harold grinned. “I don’t have a foot in the grave quite yet.”
Rosemary laughed. Jessie could tell she liked them both. Harold was naturally charming and even more so when he tried to be. She could tell Rosemary’s boyfriend did not approve of the decision, though. She knew before he opened his mouth that he was about to object.
“Rose, seriously? We barely have enough food for everyone as it is. Plus, according to Ingrid, we’re about to be blown away by a hurricane. This isn’t the time to accept new people.”
“They’re staying, Lucas. At least for now while I decide what to do about an evacuation.”
The good-looking, unfriendly man shook his head in disgust.
Jessie walked over and sat down on the sofa next to him. The man watched her, like her kitten Gandalf the Grey would watch the birds in the trees. She did not take his hand, but instead sat a few inches away and sent out waves of happy thoughts. He was close enough to receive them. She watched their effect on him as the scowl softened into something that looked mildly disapproving instead of outright hostile.
She had been honing this technique for a while without understanding what it was. She knew it was an extension of her langthal – the ability to heal herself and others – but rather than affecting a person’s body, it affected their mood. She didn’t even need to touch the person with her hands when she did it. She had discovered this talent a few months ago and was cultivating it without Tung’s knowledge. She knew it might come in handy someday on him or others in Cthor-Vangt, so she had decided not to tell anyone, not even Harold. When you did something like that, it was called ‘not tipping your hand,’ which was a poker term her daddy had told her about. She understood the concept even though she had never played poker in her life.
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