For now his business was down in Monterrey and he needed to get there as quickly as possible. Sitting down, back against one of the few remaining trees, he waited for Cynthia to round up the monkeys. This was an unfair and inaccurate description of the Finnerin, but Feargal was certain this would be how they’d be seen. They did have many of the same attributes—if also sentience, language, and complex problem solving skills. Yet, they’d be designated Meta-Simians—no question about it. After several minutes Cynthia came back with the better part of the troop and all were off through what remained of the decaying labyrinth.
In several cases the labyrinthine hedgerows had crumbled to stubby sticks which fell to dust at the touch and Matt just stepped over these, as did the other Metas. The Finnerin, with simian curiosity, stopped to sniff the labyrinth remnants, sneeze, and taste the dust. Spitting the grit out the Metas pulled some grass to wipe their mouths clean. Feargal laughed and the Finnerin, he was convinced, flipped him off in their language. Matt was almost certain of this from the way Cynthia blushed. Not a reserved woman it must have been pretty bad to triggered this. Not needing or wanting to add to the drama the young man let it go and turned back to looking for the gate he came through. It was more anal passage but he’d enough with disturbing tropes for the time being.
The cedar-ish hedge was still there and hadn’t crumbled to dust as the labyrinth had, nor been torn up like the forest. Perhaps this was because it was more of the Archaic world than of Zakara’s construct. Feargal wasn’t certain and doubted he ever would be, but that was better saved for a time when they were no longer at risk. Motioning Cynthia through the gate the woman took a step back and paled. “What?”
“The gate is supposed to kill anyone who goes through it.” She reddened at this—seeming to realise how infantile the superstition must have sounded.
“Wha...” Realising there was no choice he pushed into the shrubbery; then leaned back out. “Ni!” Cynthia jumped and the Finnerin shrieked, looking as they were about to disappear again.
“Don’t panic—I’m still alive.” Again one of the braver Finnerin edged forward, touched Feargal’s cheek softly. Turning their heads to the troop they chattered something then disappeared into the shrubbery, nearly knocking Matt over. As they others charged the cedar he stepped back out and let them pass. Once in, Feargal took Cynthia’s hand, which was trembling and led her through—followed by the others.
***
As Matt poked his head out the hedge he was confronted with the muzzle of a Guard’s weapon—behind this were random shrieks and the occasional discharge. “Put that down.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, but these things came through.” Pointing after the antic keystone cop routine. Stepping out with Cynthia, Matt whistled loudly and the Guard turned.
“Leave off, they’re with us.” The Guard didn’t appear satisfied, but let it go.
The trek back to Captain Koolup, along the way picking those up which could not proceed further, was fraught. Not all of the fauna and flora had succumbed with the collapse of the energy supplied by the construct. At several points the insectoid females put in a disoriented appearance. Some of these Feargal and Guard managed to injure or kill—to great theatrical effect. The cinematic nature of the assaults and the aggressive expulsion of goo protected by their exoskeletons was a matter of great relief—yet the disturbing conflation of Eros and revulsion inspired by the Insectoids would not let any of the men go.
Though some of these had disappeared into the scrub, many others did not. Still, Matt was certain the world would be hearing more from these Grimm Creatures—as he was now thinking of them. It took them what seemed a long while to make it back to the column and Captain Koolup. Matt was no longer thinking in units of time which had been his habit; he was no longer thinking in these because this seemed to have run out and the consequences of this he cared not to think of. But when they did return to the Captain there were more questions than seemed practicable or safe flush up against the remnants of the construct and whatever Feargal expected to come pouring out of this.
Still, the Captain was not about to move anywhere or communicate what Feargal had seen, heard, and experienced until he’d a basic rundown on this himself. Chain of command, Matt supposed. There was some debate about whether to use the chronological or logical method, in the end Matt settled for the chronological which put the labyrinth first; then the Metas; the valley; the Llamas, carriages, Houyhnhnms, shrieking Meta, Grimm Forest; Finnerin; town; R&D; Zakara; back at R&D—though he skipped his encounter with Hannah and Shea; the explosion and blast; escaping Grimms. Koolup had determined that capturing some of these the best course. Matt knew this a bad idea, but kept his opinion to himself.
***
“Had enough of beds.” Feargal was emphatic, but his legs were less certain about that. “And why aren’t we in Kansas City?”
“You were told last night when you came in.” The nurse answered. Normally a beautiful woman would be enough to mollify him, but nothing was going to do that now. If Zakara was back in Monterrey there was no time for this. “This is why we want you to get some rest Mr. Feargal.” This change had been happening subtly but this was the first time he’d taken notice of the honorific.
“Not until I start getting some answers.” As he took an aggressive step forward the woman, not small by any means, understood what was coming and took a step back.
“Kansas City suffered some damage due to the blast which destroyed Clinton Lake and part of the peninsula.”
“There, was that so hard?”
“Please, get back in bed or I will have to call an orderly.” Recognising her mistake too late Matt had her by the throat. The room was semi-private, and he was the only patient. That she was alone with a madman seemed to be just registering as he slammed her against the wall. He done this harder than he’d intended and the woman’s eyes lost an element of self-awareness in a long, unfocused gaze fixed upon nothing. “Please,” a feeble utterance which seemed to fade only to be chased by other, softer words, “you are to be contacted by the government, the UN, and your people.”
“When?” A hard whisper.
“I don’t know—I’m sorry, I don’t. Please, stop hurting me.” Releasing her the woman crumpled to her knees. When Matt had stepped over to the window she climbed up and edged to the door.
“Get them on the phone, now. If I’m not speaking with Nashville, your DoD, and the Security Council in the next hour I’m out of here.” And she was gone. The conference call was put through in about half an hour, but Jonah was not on this. Apparently he was somewhere about Monterrey—where wasn’t exactly known. The call covered most of the details he’d given to Koolup, but with a great more interruption and unconvincing harrumphing. The meeting had nearly been derailed and war declared when Ambassador Hu had suggested sterilising the region—when the nuclear option had been presented as the surest method the Americans, supported by the UK and France offered to return the favour. Ambassador Razin had remained silent, but in this there was perhaps a sly geopolitical grin.
It took Matt to refocus the group from there manoeuvring in a post-Cinn world to focus back on their immediate problem. This was only accomplished when he made it known he was prepared to find his own way to Mexico. For as much as they must hate Feargal for bringing this all down on the world, the Archaics still needed him to stop the transformation and kill Zakara. How much of this they believed wasn’t of any consequence, but it was still purported as the accepted face of the coalition.
Only when Hu had withdrawn the suggestion and the Americans had promised to deal with the Grimm Meta, as Ambassador Pinel had half sarcastically referred to them, could the meeting return to order. Matt doubted this ironic distancing of Pinel’s would last their first meeting with one of the creatures. It was here that Matt had got a text on the new burner that had been couriered from Nashville. Feargal, however, found himself amazed courier services still existed—that economic behaviour remained possible. Yet,
there was the UPS delivery woman—a Meta, but, for all that business, was getting done.
ZB, SF, and HB spotted in Monterrey area. These were the designations they’d been using for quite a while for Zakara, Shea, and Hannah. His silence attracted the attention of the others. “Matteo?” Razin spoke loudly enough to interfere with his panic.
“I’m here—got a text from Salt. He says that Zakara, Shea, and Hannah Burda,” Feargal was uncertain if they were aware of his ex, “have been spotted in the Monterrey area.” The following silence was interrupted by the DoD.
“Is he sure?” The General, whose name Matt hadn’t bothered to remember since so many of these had come and gone lately, prodded with a suspicious, basso voice. Not having a video link, Matt had to imagine what he looked like.
“Salt knows them all by sight. If he says they are there—then they are.”
“But,” Ambassador Lloyd in a worried voice, “he wrote sighted and not seen—did he not?”
“Yes.” Understanding where this was going he answered cautiously.
“That does not sound like Director Salt has seen them.”
“If he texted me they have been sighted he must be convinced of the sighting—Jonah will know precisely how I am going to react to this information.”
“How are you going to react?” Ambassador Razin asked in her best impression of a droll English accent—though failing.
“I will be leaving on the next available transport.”
“That,” here it comes, “may not be a good idea.” Ambassador Skiff floated the idea with a voice which appeared bereft of temerity.
“Good or not, I’m going—even if I need to arrange my own transportation.”
Here’s where he expected to discover how much leeway all concerned were prepared to give. There were hushed voices on the other end and the DoD was on the phone with someone. As they conferred Matt waited, wondering how long it would take him to arrange his own transport, and how long the trip would take. He didn’t like his chances, without help from these people or Nashville, of making it in time. Even with Nashville it would be chancy because he’d have to get their first—and the roads were bad. “Okay.” The DoD General said in a heavy voice.
***
“Gone?” Matt repeated, not quite believing it.
“Last Intel we have of the government they were in southern Veracruz.”
“Where were they headed?”
“Perhaps the Yucatán, but there’s no reliable data.”
“You mean the central government has disappeared?” The Sergeant nodded. Stocky, short, and square of body, Sergeant Budiman was Indonesian by birth, but his parents had come to the States when he’d been barely six. Much of the man’s home country had been wiped from his consciousness—he’d even abandoned their faith. Perhaps this was because, until recently, it hadn’t been useful to be a Muslim in North America. Matt would have called him swarthy, but there seemed something mildly impolitic about the word. Whatever sense of identity crisis that man carried with him was not present in the briefing. “Is there any kind of government down there now?”
“Nothing we would call that.”
“Not even Meta?”
“I don’t believe,” he answered, shaking his head, “their concept of governance and ours share many points of intersection.” Pleasant way, Matt thought, of saying anarchism.
“What caused this?”
“Between the H+, Transhumanists, demographics, Meta munitions, weapons, and devices there seemed little chance of them holding on.”
“What do you estimate the percentage of the population that has been converted?”
“At least 60%—but that’s a guesstimate. Data coming out of the country is iffy.”
“What’s happening north of the border?”
“Troops are massing and the UN is planning a sea landing with ships supplied by a variety of nations.”
“Invasion?” Budiman nodded. “Monterrey is the focus?”
“And restoring the government—if we do not the refugee problem will become acute.” Matt suspected that was putting it mildly.
“Is this pretty much what’s going on down there?” Matt asked the unit on the table.
“Pretty much,” Salt answered, his voice was scratchy as though the connection was in danger, “but the rumour is the government has been located and neutralised.”
“Are you certain that happened?” Budiman was hunched over his tablet, with a Bluetooth keyboard, taking notes.
“I’ve been told they’ve been captured in Minatitlan. That seems fairly certain—after that reports become speculative.”
“Your source?” Budiman asked without looking up from the keyboard.
“Dragoste.”
“Who are they?”
“One of Neruda’s organisations.” Matt offered. “Are you certain you can trust them.”
“In this at least.” Jonah offered in a scratchy, tired voice, “Roberto still wants to stop what’s going on in Monterrey—just as we do.”
“Not just as we do.” Feargal had considered saying I, but that wouldn’t be helpful or fair. For all of Salt’s questioning whether or not it was now possible, let alone feasible, to rescue Leonor, Mat was convinced he would do all he could to save her.
“I understand, and no information about our plans has been shared with anyone down here—there is, unfortunately, no way to know who works for whom.”
“Neruda or Botrous?” Budiman asked, ignoring the earlier conversation. Jonah acknowledged this to be the case.
“How are you doing?” Matt asked.
“I’m okay, it’s getting a little problematic, between Botrous’ and Neruda’s people and the general anarchy moving about is getting entertaining.”
***
Arranging the transport plane was going to take a couple of days, what with the movement of troops from the interior and both coasts south. There’d been some discussion of freeing up troops from the Canadian border but the Blaine Incident, as the DoD referred to it, had left the Americans uncertain about how firm a grip on the West the Canadians had, and if there were another flair up how capable they’d be of suppressing it. As a result the Canadian border, especially the West, where the Meta presence was still strong, remained heavily guarded.
Then there was the issue of Toronto, which was why Matt had been sent north. The generous thinking at this time was that it was a feint to draw attention from the coup underway in Mexico. This, Feargal, assumed had not worked out in the manner which Zakara had hoped since he had managed to destroy the town, construct, and much of Botrous’ technology with it. Yet, with Zakara all seemed a hall of mirrors and an infinite series of receding images. “Sir?” Budiman interrupted. Matt looked up from his cooling green tea, which he’d not been drinking. “There’s a call from the DoD. Can I transfer it to your phone?” Matt nodded. It had been a low level Colonel, he supposed, because Feargal had not spoken with or heard from him before. The invasion of Mexico had begun—from San Diego to the Gulf.
“Thank you, Colonel Dimka.” Matt had placed the phone on the desk in the office they’d given him. Why anyone had thought he would need an office he couldn’t say and no one bothered to offer the information. For the time being Matt was satisfied not knowing; knowing might have only caused more problems and he’d seen and been enough of those.
“We have secured you a place on a transport aircraft tomorrow morning. Sergeant Budiman has the details.”
“Good. And where will we be landing?”
“General Mariano Escobedo International Airport, outside of the city.”
“There will be a car I may use, if Director Salt is unable to meet me?”
“That and a Security Detail.”
“The Detail will draw too much attention—make me more of a target than I already will be. Better I go alone, so make the car old—though this should be in good working order.” There was a beat of silence but the Colonel agreed. Agreed because he’d no choice or because he la
cked the authority to countermand the order Feargal had no idea. It could well be that he’d have a nasty surprise waiting for him there. But once there he was going to have to find Jonah. Whatever was going to happen he’d need his help and maybe some elements of the Sansa if there were any that he could trust. Salt’s Sansa were rapidly being freaked by what was coming and some had snapped and disappeared; others had slipped into mind fuckery.
***
Less than two hours later, Feargal had another call from Salt. “Yes.”
“Talked to your doctor.”
“I’m fine.”
“Not what they say.”
“There’s no time left.”
“There is time for you to recover—a few days.”
“Listen...”
“Matt, it’s only a two hour flight—maybe less if we put you on something fast.” Feargal took a breath.
“What happens if you find them?”
“I’ll call.”
“But you can’t find them.”
“I have found Zakara and Shea.”
“Wha...”
“Listen, if I keep an eye on them they’ll take me to Leonor.”
“Are you certain they’ve not discovered you?” There was a real chance of this, but Jonah had been doing this for longer than Matt had known him and he was very good at it.
“What of Halton?” Jonah breathed heavily but did not answer. “What of William and are there any Thin Men about?”
“There are rumours about William, but I’ve seen no Thin Men. Halton—Halton’s disappeared. No one—I mean no one—knows where he is, or has heard anything from him for a long while.”
“Least that they are saying—I suppose you mean Roberto?”
“Yes, he’s here as are the Dragoste and Ajutor. I’ve contacts in his organisation and he’d no idea about Leonor or Halton either. Apparently this has caused some difficulties within these.”
“Not knowing.”
“There is a lot of sympathy for Edwards and some do not understand why he’s not trying to end the anomaly now.”
End Times, Inc. (A Great & Continuous Malignity) Page 39