End Times, Inc. (A Great & Continuous Malignity)

by David S. Wellhauser

  “I agree.” Matt answered.

  “Which brings us to,” Salt broached cautiously, “the problem of your relationship to Melissa.”

  “There is no relationship—oh, I see what you mean.”

  “You can’t...”

  “I will—the first chance I get. Don’t forget...”

  “No one is forgetting, Matt. Now, nonetheless, is not the time.”

  “It’s been four years of running about with you, your people, Roberto, and his; then there’s Halton’s inability to choose sides.”

  “But he has—it is just a little problematic with Melissa.”

  “Doesn’t matter how you argue for her behaviour any longer; after today...”

  “What after today? You know they still have orders not to kill you—you saw that today when they could have on a number of occasions.”

  “Sooner or later that will end. Besides she was there in Surrey; the woman does not get a pass on that no matter what her orders regarding me; no matter what her relationship to Halton is—no matter anything.”

  “That’s dangerous thinking.” Salt offered with little conviction.

  “Dangerous thinking? It’s been over four years since they took China and Leonor, and perhaps less than a year before they put my daughter on the block.”

  “But this won’t help the situation—in all likelihood it will exacerbate the circumstances surrounding your family and their disposition.”

  “Disposition? Seems,” voice rising, “everyone wants them dead—especially Leonor.”

  “But your actions will only serve to deepen your alienation from Roberto via Edwards.”

  “Surely, Neruda can be no more satisfied with the relationship between those two than we are?”

  Asher was following the argument closely and Matt could see he was as interested in the answer as he was. “I cannot say with certainty, after all we barely speak, but in all likelihood I can’t see that.”

  “Then he should be happy to see an end brought to it.”

  “Not necessarily. He and Halton have been together a long time and even if he would be happy to see the woman dead there is the issue of what this could do to his organisation.”

  “Such as?”

  “Halton has many followers within the larger umbrella of Roberto’s people. If Neruda were to alienate Halton that could well fracture his organisation. At the very least their effectiveness would be dramatically undermined.”

  “Roberto wouldn’t mind seeing me dead.” Feargal groused, morosely.

  “Nor me—but this doesn’t mean we can’t all be useful to one another.”

  “We could, but will we be? What of Halton’s time with Melissa, as well? How do we know she isn’t just using him for information?”

  “Short answer—we don’t. But that doesn’t mean this is what she is up to—at least not exclusively. I’m sure she’s using him and he may be using her. This alone would suggest to me that their relationship is damned. Neither are fools, so they must, at some level, sense this.”

  “Don’t be too certain about that. Love has a tendency to blind you. I’m certain it’s love on Edwards’ part, but I doubt this is the case for Melissa—she’s too angry about her family. I understand her children will have nothing to do with her—even after four-plus years.”

  “Speaking of love.” Salt leaned over the table.

  “Don’t. I know what Candice was after and I’m taking precautions—have been since we left Dilmun.”

  “Such as?”

  “Condoms—then I flush or burn them.” Jonah tutted but said no more about this. Matt knew he should have foregone sex entirely, if only for the sake of China, but now and then he couldn’t help himself.

  Sitting on the stoop, facing the barn, with his back to the door Matt was leaning on his elbows, staring up at Ursa Major. In the years since Dilmun he’d spent a lot of time learning the constellations and their mythic counterparts. There’d been many evenings when he’d nothing to do until Jonah, Roberto, or Halton had returned from some reconnaissance or other. Now he continued the tradition out of habit, and the fact that he’d come to enjoy the activity. The Bear had always been a favourite and this far north, and away from the city, the stars were brighter than they’d been in a long time.

  The screen door, badly in need of plumber’s grease, opened; then slammed closed. The spring was blown too. “Matt we need to decide what to do.”

  “I don’t know Jonah, I’m liking here.” There was a sigh before he continued.

  “We’ll need to get out of Wisconsin—soon. And those people won’t keep fresh down there for long.” Pushing off the steps, Matt brushed off his denims and followed Salt in.

  At the table, Asher was eating a microwave lasagne with a slice of buttered bread and a beer. How he managed to find his appetite was a thing Matt couldn’t figure out—he continued to struggle with intermittent bouts of nausea. “So, where are we heading?” Asher asked.

  “East—large populations to get lost in?” Matt suggested.

  “Too many people—easier to get caught. Then there is cctv, facial recognition software, and a lot more law.”

  “Where then?” Asher again.

  “Get the feeling you two have already decided.”

  “We’ve spoken,” Salt conciliated, “but have not yet decided.”

  “West.” Asher suggested, but the suggestion sounded more fait accompli.

  “Why west?”

  “Fewer people,” Asher continued not looking up from his meal, “and we may hook up with more disaffected members of Neruda’s groups—like me.” Matt felt as though the tradition of manipulating him, as had happened since leaving Dilmun, remained in place—but he needed convincing.

  “Not certain running into any more of you a good idea.” The fork froze halfway to his mouth; then Asher turned.

  “You want to explain that?”

  “Not really.” Salt jumped in here.

  “It would be the fair thing to do—after an insult like that.”

  “Very well, I’m not certain everyone who defected has defected.” There was a sense of placation here, but a shadow of calumny remained.

  “They probably aren’t all defectors, that is true, but they will be valuable nonetheless—after all, we are not enemies.”

  “We are heading that way—you just refuse to see it.”

  “I see it, but we still need each other.”

  “What for?” Feargal’s voice abrupt.

  “Now I really do not follow.” Asher said, and Salt was nodding agreement.

  “What good has Neruda, the Dragoste, or Ajutor been in all these four years?” There was a brutal slap in this and a problematising of the relationship of Matt to all groups working against Botrous and the Cinn. “If they had really wanted to find China and Leonor then why haven’t they?”

  “You know it’s not that simple.” Salt answered flatly. Matt could tell his anxiety over this conversation was rising; especially with Asher in the room.

  “After four years I’m beginning to think it may be—or close to being—that simple.” There was an awkward silence and Matt knew that as much as he might not trust these defectors they would need them; so he attempted to span the chasm he had ripped open.

  “Let’s say we need each other—we probably do—where do we find them, and what will you do with them?” Jonah hesitated, as though sensing what was happening to be little more than a feint.

  “Somewhere,” he hesitated, “west of Rapid City, South Dakota and east of Yellowstone Park, Wyoming.”

  “That’s a large area; what do we do when if we hook up?”

  “Try to persuade them to join us; I’m hoping your presence will convince many.”

  “Not sure about this cult that’s been growing up about me—this sort of thing generally doesn’t happen spontaneously.”

  “It seems to be.” Asher said, finishing his lasagne and bread. “Jonah, however, already has some people and Metas on board, but needs m
ore to be an effective counterpoint to Neruda’s Dragoste and Ajutor. Even has a catchy name for them—Sansa. Means fortune, chance, luck—some such shit as that.”

  “We’ll,” Matt groaned, “need a lot of that.”

  “We are hoping,” Jonah looked anxiously at Matt, “the counterpoint will not be needed.”

  “They will.” Feargal answered. “You both know it.”

  “They may be needed against the Federals—for the time being.” Asher answered. Matt thought a moment, leaning back against the sink.

  “Is that why Milwaukee—get me locked in with your Sansa movement?”

  “No!” The bark almost seemed honest. Matt smiled cagily, but could not be certain.

  “It isn’t,” Asher followed the silence, “but it is what I would’ve done to tie you in. You are, for most I know, too independent, wilful, childish, and selfish. This fight is a lot bigger than your family.”

  “We need each other now—but if you push that sentiment on me again it will not matter.”

  “This is not helping.”

  “I’m not certain what we need you for anyway, kid. You’re the fucker who started all of this. Without you we might stand a better chance of ending it once and for all. If it weren’t for Salt here...” Feargal lunged over the table, but the world exploded into points of bright light; then collapsed.

  ***

  With a groan, an element of consciousness flickered to life and stuttered, uncertainly, forward. There was an abstraction of light from somewhere but the orientation of direction hadn’t yet solidified. Hence, all he could say for certain was that light existed and it was proximate to him. What kind of light and its function remained open and exegetical to the man. In the concern for the concrete he ignored a murmur which now seemed to grow close and a lexical took shape out of suspicious pronunciation. “Matt.” Ah, yes, this seemed to connect. Then hands were on him, and he was being raised.

  “What happened?” Voice groggy, followed by nausea; as quickly as he could, Matt leaned to the side and expelled what little was in his stomach. With the wave passing he heard the two men arguing. “Shut up.” A silence followed as he put a hand to the pain at the back of his head. There was a huge knot there. “What happened?”

  “You attacked me.” This was all he got from Asher.

  “Pistol whip.” Jonah answered a hollow edge of anger in his voice.

  “Best not try that again...” Matt began.

  “Next time, kid, I’ll do the job right.”

  “Enough!” Jonah shouted. “This is not helping, and if you were to try you’d not survive the attempt.” Asher’s hand went to his back. “Don’t.” Slamming him against the wall with a backhanded strike. “This is only helping Botrous.” Asher rubbed the side of his face; then sat at the table.

  “If,” Salt began, turning to Asher, “you do not fear me, and then know he’s the only one immune to his father’s magic and the only one that will be able to approach Leonor during the ceremony. He’s the only chance we have of stopping this and ending Botrous.” As the Meta spoke Asher’s face whitened. “So leave off—agreed?” The man nodded and looked over at Feargal who was wiping bile from his mouth. There’d been a time, back in Dilmun, when he’d been—excepting for William—the craziest, most dangerous thing he knew. At the time he thought it all bravado, but in his heart he had begun to believe it. That was no longer the case. This moment, if not others before it, had opened a new door and he was going to have to find some way to pass through it.

  “We all,” the Meta continued, “have another problem right now.”

  “Just one?” Feargal asked, spitting to clean his mouth. Salt handed him a half empty bottle of beer.

  “An immediate one—feel better?” Matt wasn’t certain to what he was referring—nausea or problem—he nodded to both.

  “Which is?” Asher turning back to the conversation.

  “Thin Man.”

  “The new boogity.”

  “All too real, and very dangerous—the chaos they are introducing between Archaics and Metahumans could kill a great many of both. Would you like to see that?” He wouldn’t.

  “If the transformations become too weird,” Salt continued, “they could drive a wedge between Archaic and Meta, much larger and uglier than now exists, and this will lead to war. Though this is no longer a lock for humans, they still remained odds on favourite to win—between numbers and apocalyptic tech there remains an edge, but that edge is eroding.”

  “Still, the transformations,” Matt declared, “have been going on for four years.”

  “So have the cures and the disappearances.” Asher answered. “The disappeared are either dead or probably wishing they were.”

  “They wouldn’t—the Meta Rights Act?”

  “Words on a page.” Salt growled. “The world has come under threat and countries are moving out of a desire to protect their citizenry.”

  “As long,” Asher answered Feargal’s look of disbelief, “as this conflict broadens and deepens the electorate will continue to demand action from the politicians and they, in fear of their jobs, have been responding accordingly.”

  “When did all this happen?” Matt wasn’t certain what of this to believe.

  “My best Intelligence would suggest over the past four years.” Jonah said, going to the fridge for another beer. “Shortly after the spring kicked back in and we escaped south.”

  “How could I, or everyone else, not see it?” This was troubling Matt because it wasn’t just that China and Leonor were now under threat, but it said that he was utterly blind.

  “Don’t beat yourself up, kid.” Asher grimaced, rubbing a finger over the table as though attempting to tear the formica off. “Most don’t have a clue.”

  “But don’t the Metas...”

  “No, not really.” Jonah again. “Once the transformations began people and Metas were locked into one great demographic shift with no particular direction or purpose—one of the reasons for the shakiness of the global economy.”

  “But if it did become known,” Asher pointed at Feargal, with an anxious look, “that would drive the Metas into Zakara’s arms—if he still has them.”

  “Rumours.” Jonah answered the kid’s puzzled look. “Therefore, we have to stop the Thin Man. He has to be, right now, up there with finding Leonor.”

  “Hope we might be more successful.” There was no slight or irony in Feargal’s retort, but, a bitter determination.

  “So,” Jonah asked, “west?” Matt nodded. “Good, we should be able to pick up quite a few Metas and Humans along the way. From what I hear, more and more are bolting from the fanaticism of Zakara and Neruda in the South. Some have headed for the West Coast, but more have been rumoured to be headed for Canada—at least close on the border. Some of my people suggest there are a large contingent somewhere west of Rapid City.”

  “If,” Asher offered, “we can recruit just a portion of these for Sansa we will have the true beginnings of a force that will be able to compete with the Transhumanists, H+, Dragoste, and Ajutor.” Matt supposed that was more hope than fact.

  ***

  Entfremdung—estrangement. Marx had abducted the word for his materialist agenda and facile understanding of the supposed proletariat and means of production. Still the term here functioned as a referent to the separation of nature and temperament of Matt and Halton. The first substantive crack, in the relationship had emerged before Matt left Dilmun. This came in the form of Halton’s besotted love for Melissa and the excuses he insisted upon. The enforced separation of the lovers, after the abduction, had only managed to widen the gap between Edwards and Feargal in the year and a half they’d travelled together looking for China and Leonor. For the past six months, however, Matt had been on his own in Western Texas.

  When, finally, Feargal had returned as depressed and angry as Halton and Jonah had ever seen him there was worse waiting for the kid. Only 19 he was dealing with his loss as best he could, and had managed to cont
ain much of his rage. Yet, when the group finally came together again in Louisville the meeting had been more than either Feargal or Salt had imagined. The group had met in a local motel, the meeting place chosen by Edwards, and it was here that Halton had declared his love for Melissa and the fact that the pair were now a couple.

  There followed a staggering pause after the declaration. Matt was not certain what he heard was what his ears insisted upon. Salt just sat on the beat-up sofa staring at the floor, as though attempting to make himself invisible. As the men slowly came to terms with Edwards’ announcement there followed a general confusion of voices speaking at cross purposes. Matt wondered what he’d been doing, not just for the past six months but for the last two-plus years. The condemnation had been a stinging rebuke that gathered its own rage in Halton. Jonah had appeared to be expecting this and managed to insert himself into the conversation in time to dial back the words before they could effectively spin the meeting out of control. That Melissa had been involved in the abduction of China and Leonor was known by all—openly acknowledge by the H+ and tacitly admitted to by TransComm.

  That Melissa had also been rumoured, via contacts in the H+, through Jonah Salt, to have been intimately involved in the confinement of Leonor had not eased tensions. Halton strenuously denied this, and had been promised by Melissa this was not the case. Yet, she did admit to being at Surrey when China was abducted, but also she had attempted to stop Carla from not only abducting China but from harming her. This had triggered an outburst from Matt but Salt had managed to restrain him and Halton continued, backing away claiming that Melissa had allowed no harm to come to China and because of her care for China no harm had come to either she, nor Leonor.

  “If,” Matt wondered, “this is to be a rapprochement why is Melissa not here to put her case?”

  “There is a reasonable fear for her safety.”

  “But if she wishes to find a way back from her singular act, then why not have a meeting and, more importantly, why not offer her aid in recovering my family?”