If he could get China and Leonor, Matt knew that whatever was to come they could weather together; China had that effect on him and, he supposed, he’d that effect on her. Together they were capable of anything—separately they were weak, fragile, and directionless. A sense of drift had been creeping over him for the last year, at least—probably longer, and this went a long way to explaining his now obsessive need to reunite with his family. If the state of drift continued much longer Matt feared being lost to it.
What happened then he’d no idea. But given that it was less than a year, or not much more than this, to the event planned by Zakara, Matt had a sense of a conclusion speeding toward them all. Of course, none of his companions had this sense. Only Salt shared it and even then it lacked the visceral necessity which was bearing down on Feargal. Either he was to save his daughter, or watch her go up like a roman candle—if that. More often than not he had a sense of a puff of smoke and a small delicate spark than a dramatic, existential explosion. With a shiver, he tried to hide the nausea from Shasta as they cruised down 196th Street looking for the local Denny’s, behind which should be tucked the motel.
“There it is.” Shasta pointed across the street. Looking back at the map the Meta indicated the lane beside Denny’s. “Should be down that.” Lien followed them down the tiny lane to a right hook and into the Days Inn parking lot. It was a pastel beige affair with a flat face and the archaic Days Inn logo of a rising sun in a cobalt blue semi-circular blue field. If there was a comfort for Feargal it was two-fold. Firstly, it was but for the night. Secondly, if the end came these generalist monstrosities would go the way of Morning Television. One of the first to vanish from the line-up as the networks lost their grip on the realities flourishing beyond the sound stages and newsrooms. Other, and more practical, formulas emerged, but with everyone still attempting to sort out the bio-discourses, these momentary flashes of articulation were bound to be, at best, temporary.
Waiting for the others to pull in Matt stretched. Lien parked down at the far end of the lot and out of sight of almost everyone—the injured side of the SUV wouldn’t go down with the Front Desk. With Shasta, Bart, Niran, Lien, and Stephen they registered, taking several rooms on the second floor. The cool, earth tones were putting Feargal on edge; especially in his room. The others were settling in—getting ready for an early dinner; then an early night. Although there was no guarantee of this the general belief was that an early start might help them skip over massive columns of DPs or a traffic jam. History had not proven useful here, but none could think of a better approach.
The modelling of expectation was something which remained necessary just to keep the mind busy, if not to offer surety of outcome. Matt was constantly running scenarios that were little more than baroque speculations—with as much value as any of Wall Street’s algorithms which sought out tops and bottoms. He wasn’t alone. Lien and Stephen, since pairing had been running speculative riffs by him constantly. Even Bart had been attempting to put the particulars into a frame that made a measure of sense. At the moment all Matt wanted was to pick up some drive thru, watch a movie, and get to sleep before nine. Then there was a knock on his door. From the end of the bed, where he sat staring at the blank screen of the television, he called.
“It’s open.” The door swung in and Shasta wandered in with a large smile—fresh from a shower.
“What are you doing?” Glancing at the blank screen and back at him. “You okay?”
“Just thinking about what to get. Does Denny’s or Jack in the Box deliver?” She shook her head.
“Denny’s has take-out and the Box has drive-thru.”
“Think I’ll go with the Box and make an early night of it.”
“Little early for that.” The smile was sly, but he wasn’t biting.
“I’ve just killed two people—think I’ll make it an early night.” Either the casual brutality of the observation or the suggestion of PTSD made an eyebrow go up. He understood the arch, but wasn’t interested.
“What of you?”
“Box sounds good.” Concern in the tone.
“The others?”
“I don’t know.” The voice going low, soft, and the concern deepening. “You sure you’re okay?”
“You’re not my mother—hell, even Shea wasn’t much of a mother.”
“Would you like to talk about her?” It was a cheap attempt at engagement.
“I don’t know you—any of you—well enough for that conversation. And after Kathy I don’t know that I’d be prepared to trust anyone from Cody again.” The last hit the woman hard, but Feargal sailed past this. “Still, I’ve no choice—you’ll all be needed in Lynden.”
“Don’t tell the others what you think—they’re still having trouble putting Kathy together with Zakara.”
“No, I’m only telling you because you’re moving in a direction which is going to get you killed.” Shasta took a cautious step back at this.
“I don’t understand.” Matt looked up at her; standing he crossed the distance between the two of them faster than she appeared to have anticipated. Colour rapidly drained from the woman’s face as he took her jaw in his right hand. The Meta winced. “Let me go.” She squirmed, attempting to break his grip. In response he tightened this, and the woman mewled. As she ceased to struggle he threw her back and she landed hard on her side.
“Nothing is going to happen between us.” She looked up—hurt and confused. “For all I know Zakara sent you her to grabbed a cup of DNA.”
“I’m not...”
“Save it—I’ve no idea who any of you are, and don’t give a fuck. We need each other that’s all that matters.”
“But...”
“Get out. We leave at or before dawn. Anyone who wants to come can meet me in the lobby then—if anyone’s not there, then they’re not coming.” Crawling to her feet, Shasta backed from the room.
After dinner he watched television a little while, but drifted off. He woke some time later and turned this off; rolling over he went back to sleep. Where in the night it began Matt remained uncertain, but the first of the dreams came through—clear, hard, and filled with a panic he’d sensed in China back in Dilmun. She was bound in a dark room and weeping. The woman’s face was bruised and abraded; from a gagged mouth he could still make out her pleas. But as he answered the woman the dream ended, leaving only a sense that she was somewhere north of Seattle. At least it was a direction—if not a location.
***
With the dream shredded and the memory of its particulars, Matt sank into delta wave sleep and everything vanished. Still, the sleep was troubled. Incessantly his mind struggled against the soporific of what seemed, in his deep unconscious state, an artificial occlusion; a barrier to partial awareness which was being forced on him. There had been echoes of this impression before, but with her it was palpable; weighted with a determination which was unmistakeable. Thought remained beyond his grasp at this time; here there was only the force and counterforce of a blind, determined will. Eventually the elementary, Sisyphean Will—if primarily OCD—collapsed into a truancy of compulsion and restive sleep gave way to a profound senselessness.
Time evaporated into the stillness which followed and from the lucid non-being there was a rest—or reprieve—of sorts. From somewhere in this supposed eternity there emerged a treacly liquorice of sentience. The brush with this—at first—was inconstant and imprecise; following it collapsed into a comprehensive stillness. Slowly the process of disruption and silence repeated itself, until a tear in Hypnos allowed a crack of self-awareness to filter in. At first it were as though he were dreaming, again; then the suspicion that something external was occurring emerged, but he could not quite rouse himself. With a final effort the soporific was broken and Hypnos released their grip. In this freedom there was a rumble in the night air and the window vibrated.
Rising Feargal stumbled to a knee, his left leg having gone to sleep. Pushing up he shook the leg and hobbled to the small win
dow looking south. There was nothing there. Clumsily putting his jeans on he staggered to the washroom threw some water on his face and grabbed a tee-shirt. The lobby was empty; the Night Clerk was nowhere to be seen. Matt exited through the small back door and came out on the North side of the building. There was no sound for a moment; then there was an explosion near on the horizon. The bright flash was followed by a rumble. As he looked around he saw the motel night staff, and to his right was Lien and Stephen. Soon enough they were joined by Bart and Niran. “What’s that?” Shasta asked from the window at the end of the second floor.
“Battle—I think.” Matt answered, without looking up. There were no awkward glances in his direction, so he supposed what had happened in his room the woman had yet to share. Good news that, since he’d need help if he was going to raid Lynden.
“That’s too close for Blaine.” Niran looked anxiously to Bart for confirmation.
“A lot closer.” Bart answered.
“Not more than the outskirts of town.” The Night Clerk answered; a woman of middling years and blue-black hair. The lines on her face were a deep, networked affair of spidery webbings.
“What-the-fuck!” Lien hissed and leaned into Stephen on the next blast.
“Okay,” Matt began, “I’m grabbing a shower. Anyone who’s coming meet me in the lobby in a half hour or I’ll be going without you.” Turning he left the group and returned to his room. By the time he reached the second floor Shasta had disappeared from the hall.
He’d been surprised by the fact that he still had hot water, but was grateful for the mercy. After spending about 15 minutes under this Feargal dressed quickly and was downstairs with 10 minutes to spare. Stephen was already there, warning that Lien may take a bit more than the 30. Nodding, Matt paid the bill. As he did so Bart and Niran appeared. “You two,” Feargal pointed to the men, “are with me today.” Shasta was on the stairs as he spoke. The words stuttered her in mid-stride; then she continued down. Lien was just behind her. The two men glanced at Matt; then Shasta, but said nothing.
“What of the battle?” Shasta asked coming around to the Front Desk.
“Let’s move north until we begin to run into resistance, or patrols for whomever is involved; then we’ll skirt about these and come at Lynden from the side—probably country roads.”
“We should,” Bart encouraged, “give up on the I5—that would be expected.”
“There should be plenty of lesser roads.” Lien was again on her Google Maps app. “The wifi’s gone, but I still have a data connection.”
“I’m surprised,” Stephen began looking over her shoulder, “we even have data.”
“Suppose there are plenty of redundancies built into the system, but I can’t be certain how many of these are left.” Shasta answered Stephen, edging over to see what alternative routes she could find.
“We should see about getting something to eat first.” Matt cautioned. Bart nodded.
“Any place around here that would be open now?” Bart asked the Night Clerk.
“Shari’s Restaurant, it’s on Pacific Highway just west of here.”
With a general plan of non-engagement the group had a route mapped out near, but around, the I5; with little spirit and a great deal more reservation they headed back toward Shari’s and it was still only about 3:45. In the truck, Bart and Niran looked as though they had several questions they wanted to ask, but managed to keep these to themselves. Matt didn’t need or want more drama. If, though, he did speak up about what had happened with Shasta there was the real chance that he would splinter the team—at the very least this would have been rendered considerably less effective than it might otherwise be. Were these good reasons for silence? In the short-term, perhaps; in the long-term the strategy would fail. But Matt was only looking as far ahead as Lynden.
***
Exiting Shari’s restroom, Matt stopped with an expression on his face somewhere between embarrassment and shock. “We’re going to need to tank up and get some extra gas cans before we leave town.” Bart and Niran nodded.
“There are several stations north of here.” Lien said. “Some even sell gas containers.”
“We’ll need as many as we can fit in the trucks.” Matt continued. “If things are as bad as they seem to be we may not find much beyond Seattle—doubt there’ll be much left in Seattle by the end of the day.”
“DPs?” Niran asked. Matt nodded.
“And I’m not sure what we’re going to have by way of egress. Everyone’s going to head here, so if we come back this way there could be trouble. How about highway 20 through the National Park?”
“Risky.” Lien looked up from her phone. “The rumours say the National Parks have been compromised by Thin Man and whatever they’re getting up to in there.”
“Any evidence?” Matt asked, irritated.
“You want to put China at risk—there is only one road through by the way.” Stephen answered. Matt grimaced.
He’d not thought through the exit, and was now going to pay for that.
“What would you recommend?”
“Jonah,” Bart answered, “wants to meet up in Seattle or Portland—why not find out what their ideas may be?” Matt shook his head.
“He’s out of touch—that’s what the email was about.”
“Let us,” Shasta began with considerable reluctance, “come back to Seattle. If this proves impossible we can always continue on to Portland by skirting the city.” It was true that Matt trusted Jonah and wanted to see him again, but coming back south with China could be filled with risks. She was now full Meta, whatever that meant, and if the battle for Blaine was either won or lost it would be questionable whether Metas would be warmly welcomed by Archaics. Even in Seattle, at this time, the Metas in their group had been looked on with anxiety. What would it be like once the dead began to arrive in town?
Did he think it wise to bring this up—no. But he did anyway. They were now in the parking lot by this time and the conversation became thorny; Feargal could tell sentiments were being held back. Still, there did not seem to be any choice because the mountains and parks were blocking an eastern escape route. What lay within each was highly problematic and potentially deadly. No one was particularly keen on coming south again, if they managed to pick China up in Lynden and escape—two big ifs—still there seemed little choice. If need be they could, with luck, skitter about the edges of Seattle and make a run for Portland—but this was all very chancy.
In the end they agreed to the strategy and headed north looking for gas. The first station they found, also alerted them to what was waiting. The price of gas had been redacted; over this had been spray painted a new one: $15.00 a gallon. It had been a tense negotiation but, in the end, the ARs had gotten them the original price. There’d been a moment when the attendant had produced a shotgun but hadn’t quiet reached the point where he could use it. Matt had let a tight group to the man’s left convince him of his willingness and it was all good. After this they were grateful for having pushed the issue because all other stations were either sold out or heavily armed.
Then the DPs began to appear. All were on foot; following these, the team began to see the abandoned cars—many had US plates, but some had Canadian. These refugees were quickly coalescing into the columns that they’d seen before—partly for protection, but mostly for raw animal companionship. Again, Matt stopped to question some of the DPs. Those which were willing to speak presented the same story as before. The details, of course, had changed but the broad brush strokes were the same. The H+ and Transhumanist forces had struck south from White Rock, by way of Vancouver and run straight into the militia groups and some Federals which were waiting for them in and around Blaine. Rumour was that Blaine had pretty much been reduced to rubble by the conflict, but the Meta forces were then broken by a surprise attack on their flank by the Canadian military no one was expecting. Meta command had thought, according to prisoners, they were no further west than Kamloops.
&nb
sp; The miscalculation had sealed the fate of the Transhumanists—they broke east and then swung north across the border around Campbell Valley Park. It had not, exactly, been a rout—they’d withdrawn in order—but their forces had been devastated. The DPs had no idea how many prisoners had been taken, but the rumour was hundreds, perhaps thousands. There were still pockets of resistance on the US side, but the incursion had been halted. Also, further Canadian forces were said to be massing around Calgary for a sweeping operation west to Vancouver and then north—to break the Metas against the Alaskan Militias.
As they finished with the column the team turned back to their truck and the horizon was lit up by a brilliant, multi-coloured explosion, but there was no sound and no displacement wave followed. The light lasted several seconds and then disappeared as though someone had drawn a blind. The column picked up speed with the provocation and the group looked at one another. “Meta-weapon?” Matt asked no one in particular.
“Would have to be.” Bart answered. “Looks to be on the border—not Blaine, too far east for that—I believe.”
“Campbell Valley or Langley?” Matt suggested. Stephen nodded, but Feargal wasn’t certain any of them knew much of the region or what lay north of 49. Still, they could have studied the maps. There was much of these people he did not know and wished he did; much he needed to know if they were to survive not only Lynden—if it were still there—but the trip south again.
***
The column had been short and it only took seconds to move beyond this; then there were little more than pockets of desultory flesh moving through the growing drizzle of the early morning. With the Northwest being what it is, this could have become a downpour at any moment. Driving north, over the next few minutes, more and more vehicles began to appear—mostly family cars and trucks, but also a few motorcycles and larger vehicles. At one point they passed a Hummer. That people were still driving these was a bit of a surprise, but for some being on the wrong side of history and the cultural debates was the whole point.
End Times, Inc. (A Great & Continuous Malignity) Page 12