Talin’s fingers came away from his arm, sticky red. Oh, thought Carlisle. Clipped him. Not so fast after all, asshole. Talin was looking at his fingers, face incredulous, then his features contorted into rage. “Now,” he said, spittle flecking his lips, “you will fall.”
The zombies lurched forward, some running, some walking. It looked like a mass, a wave, an avalanche, and Carlisle thought that maybe this time, this fucking time, she’d pushed a little too hard. Too far, because she wasn’t a goddamn werewolf, she was just a person, and zombies didn’t leave people alive. Her free hand fed a fresh magazine into her weapon. Carlisle swallowed, then pointed the Eagle at the horde.
Someone stepped in front of her. John fucking Miles. He spared her a backward glance, hefting his axe. She could have sworn he had that Miles Megawatt Smile out, pointed at her, just for a moment. “I got this,” he said, then turned around and started swinging.
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN
Some of the shit that was getting old, like ancient, ice age old, was the damn blood that kept coming from his nose. And eyes. And ears now, if you’d believe it. Val paused for a breath on the stairs, shaking his flashlight. The beam flickered, maybe the batteries running low, maybe it was just broken. Val had some sympathy there: he felt a little broken, a little low on batteries himself. He’d been climbing these damn stairs for what seemed like forever, hadn’t seen a soul, heard a thing. He hoped everyone else was having as easy a trip to the top as he scrubbed his nose against his sleeve.
A hammer of sound came from above. Carlisle’s gun? Three shots right next to each other sounded a little like Carlisle, a little too much like her. Just a few more floors up, just a few more steps in front of each other. Val took a step, his foot slipping on the stairs, and he fell. The flashlight skittered away from him, bouncing in the gloom, the beam flickering as it tumbled down the stairs, so many floors down below. As he hit the ground, the sharp edge of a step hit him, something wet and soft giving way inside him. He realized it was a rib, and a second after he realized ribs shouldn’t feel soft. And a second after that the pain, sweet baby Jesus the pain. It left him gasping, weak.
Carlisle’s gun fired again. Not three shots, but … all of them, as near as he could work out. In around the shooting was yelling, all of it muffled by distance and doors and whatever else was in the way.
Pack is dying.
“I got that,” said Val, and pushed himself to his feet. His fingers scrabbled over something wet on the stairwell, and he didn’t need a light to know it was his blood. This damn Russian virus was going to do him in before he could finish climbing these damn stairs.
Pack is DYING.
That soft touch, something small and gentle, pulled at his hand. It felt like an old friend, trying to show him the way. In a way, maybe it was. “I know,” he said. “We’ve got to get up these stairs. We’ve got to … do something.”
Without Pack, we are alone.
Val remembered being alone. Through the memories of a hundred, a thousand, or thousands that came before him. He could see it, through the long lines of history, stretching back like a kaleidoscope of loneliness. Almost always just one wolf, looking for another. For a—
Pack.
—place to call home. That small touch on his hand, it was all that was left of the terrible, beautiful thing that had been inside him for five years. “Plach' i ty plachesh' v odinochku,” said Val. “Da?”
We have howled at the darkness alone.
“Yeah,” said Val. He started climbing again. Reaching the top really didn’t take all that long. Since Carlisle had vanished to God knows where — one minute she was there, the next minute she wasn’t — he’d been climbing by himself. He was climbing mostly by feel in the stairwell, some residual influence of the creature letting him pick out small details, shapes. Nothing like the night vision he’d known days ago, but enough that he wasn’t going to slip and kill himself. “We’ll have a talk about loneliness later. Because a key, like a fucking integral part of not being alone, is not killing everything that comes across your path. It’s like you never read The Monstrous Glisson Glop.” Val wiped more blood from his face. “It’s a story about a monster that eats everything. I’m sure you know how it ends.”
No response came from inside him, and it didn’t matter anyway because he was at the top. Or, as high as he was going to go. A door stood in front of him. He touched it, not knowing what—
Pack is HERE.
—would be on the other side. He opened the door, and saw—
“Huh,” said Val.
The room was a mess, no two ways about it. He blinked, not sure what he was seeing at first. He was taking in wreckage, broken walls, smashed appliances and furniture, and scattered among it was bodies. Lots of bodies, more than ten. A silver—
Hated, vile metal.
—cage stood in the middle of the room, Danny inside it. He wanted to run to her, but—
It BURNS.
—he knew he wouldn’t be able to help. Not in his state. Maybe together, but — no. She had slumped to the floor, pale, the curls he loved to touch lying matted against her head. It made him—
Pack mate.
—ache. His eyes kept roving the room. He saw Carlisle’s body on the ground. He moved as fast as he could — more a quick shuffle than a run — to her. She was pale, cut, blood everywhere, probably half of it hers. Her gun was on the ground next to her. Val checked for a pulse, found it, breathed a sigh of relief, then reached for her gun. He ejected the magazine, something inside him knowing the motions, and it fell into his hand. It was red, the bullets inside—
Throw it.
—smelling sharp to him. His hand trembled with the urge to toss it far away, but he pushed the magazine back into the weapon and levered himself to his feet. He shuffled on across the room, finding Rex lying unconscious under three bodies. The old man was bashed up, bleeding from his head, but — also, thank God — alive.
“Hey,” said John. His voice was a whisper. “Over here.” Val looked around, and saw that the blood-covered corpse he’d seen slumped against half a wall was not actually a corpse but John Miles.
Val moved to his friend. “Man, you look like shit.”
“Is that true love I hear?” John coughed and wiped some blood from his face. He had a fire axe across his legs. He was covered in gashes, bruises, the circular indentations of bite marks.
“What, and I mean this in a loving way, the actual fuck happened to you?” Val looked at John, then at the room. “Did you … did you do this?”
“Yeah,” said John, “but I left the big guy for you.” He started to laugh, but it turned into a sob, shoulders shaking. “Val? Val, my Sky is dead. She’s dead, Val.”
Val didn’t know what to say. What do you say, when someone dies because you were an asshole? “I—”
“No,” said John.
“What?”
“No,” said John. “I don’t … listen. I don’t want you to fucking say it’s your fault, do you hear me? What I want you to say is that you will, and by God I hope you came here with a plan, fucking kill that fucking motherfucker. I — I can’t. He’s a little out of my league. But I want to. Val? When I was a kid, I never thought I’d want to kill someone. Sure, get in a fight or two, that’s just guys having fun. But kill a man? I want that now, and I can’t.”
“Right,” said Val. “I figured, Danny—”
“Seen the cage?”
“Saw the cage,” admitted Val. “Doesn’t look good.”
“She passed out a little while ago,” said John. “I guess it’s silver.”
“It’s silver,” said Val. “It’s not the best place for one of us.”
“One of you?” said John. “I thought you’d given it up.”
Val looked around. Saw the empty place at John’s side where Sky should have been. Saw Carlisle, lying unconscious. Saw Rex, an old man with too much heart, lying on the ground. Saw his—
Pack mate.
—D
anny, caged, down under the unbearable weight of all that silver. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t think this is a thing I should be giving up. I think too many people get caught—”
“No,” said John.
“What?”
“You’re doing it again,” said John, something gentle in his voice. “Look, I’m tired. I’m busted up. I am hoping, really hoping, that this is it, because then I can see Sky again. I can be with her. But, here’s the thing. Someone laid a trap for you. A briefcase full of sin. And you fell into it. Maybe you didn’t want to Hulk out on everyone, maybe you got fleas, I really don’t know. You don’t talk about it. But you help people, Val. Help yourself. Stop blaming yourself, for chrissakes, and get angry.”
“Okay,” said Val. “One question.”
“Shoot,” said John, then coughed.
“Who do you need killed?”
“Why,” said a voice, smooth as honey, “I’m sure you know. Me, Valentine. He wants you to kill me.”
Val pushed himself to his feet, unsteady. He held Carlisle’s gun tight. He hadn’t seen the man at first because he’d been standing so still, but there, near the far end of the room, was a man in an expensive jacket, but dirty like he slept at the dump. “You’re Talin?”
“Yes,” said Talin Moray. “And I’ve been waiting so very long for you to get here.”
“Since we’re sharing,” said Val, “how’d you find me?”
“I followed the trail,” said Talin. “The trail of stories. Videos on YouTube. Impossible tales of a single man lifting a truck, or an explosion caught on camera with a single survivor running to the trees. Pieced together, they told of a man wasting his life.”
Val blinked. “Come again?”
“The Night,” said Talin, “is not to be used helping the weak. It is to be used to become mighty.”
“Cool story bro,” said Val. “Second question. How much do you remember?”
“Remember?” said Talin.
“About us,” said Val. He tapped Carlisle’s gun against the side of his head. “Where we came from.”
“A little,” said Talin. His eyes narrowed. “More, when I get the last of it from you. I’ve sundered your Shield. Your Sword is sheathed. Your Good Right Arm is broken. The Guide is without purpose. The very Sky has fallen. You are the Knight, and I will make you yield.”
“Yeah, about that,” said Val. “I know you don’t remember, so I’m going to make it easy. For you to have it all, you’ve got to kill me. Like, yourself. With your hands. You can’t throw me to your wolves. If you do, I’ll return. I’ll be leading the fucking pack.”
“Easy enough,” said Talin. He took a step forward.
“Yeah, about that,” said Val, again. “I think you’re also missing some other important pieces.”
“The Sacrifice?” said Talin. “The Prophet? I am the Prophet, and I have made my Sacrifices.”
“I don’t,” said Val, “think you know what ‘sacrifice’ means. Will you wait here? I’ve got to talk to someone.” He hefted Carlisle’s gun, considering it for a moment. Big play for a half-remembered recollection of something that came a long time ago. Still, you’re out of options. You’ve got one play left to make. Then he put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
His body toppled to the floor to the chime of elevator doors opening.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
The elevator ride was long. Not long like it’s-a-couple-of-minutes long, but long like it’s-stopping-at-every-floor long. And it wasn’t stopping, at all, at any floors. The elevator slid up through the long dark of Trump Tower, smooth, silent. But, like, taking its time.
“This elevator is taking a real long time,” said Just James. “Is it getting paid by the hour?”
“I think,” said Adalia, “that we’ll get to where we need to, when we need to be there.”
“I think,” said Gabriel, “that we’ll be too late.” He was looking at his feet, then casting glances at her through those beautiful lashes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” said Adalia.
“I’m not looking at you,” said Just James.
“Who, me?” said Gabriel.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Adalia.
“Fine,” said Gabriel.
“Okay,” said Just James.
“God,” said Adalia. She sighed. “I was talking to Gabriel.”
“You just said that,” said Just James. “I wish I could see him.”
“I don’t,” said Gabriel.
“Stop changing the subject,” said Adalia. “You’re—”
The elevator stopped, the doors opening with a soft chime. They slipped open with a whisper onto a scene of horror. Adalia’s hand went to her mouth as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. There was Mom, in a silver cage, and down on the floor was Uncle John, and there, over there was Carlisle, so pale, so very pale. She could see Rex, and, and, and—
Oh, no.
—Val. She rushed from the elevator to crouch down at his side. There … wasn’t much left of his face, but she knew it was him. Knew it, because he was gone, just like Sky was gone. She rose slowly and turned to the one person left standing tall in the room. Talin.
“Hello, little one,” he said. He was flexing one of his hands. He turned his attention to her. “You have arrived too late. As you can see.”
Adalia wiped a tear from her cheek. “I arrived just when I was needed most.”
“Adalia?” Her mom’s voice was weak, so very weak. Adalia turned to face her. Her Mom was trying to stand. “No. No. Run!”
Adalia shook her head, hair whispering about her. “No, Mom. I’m done with running.”
Her mom tried to get to her. She tried, Adalia could see it, but she was so weak. Danny grabbed the bars of her cage, screaming as the silver burned her, then fell back, panting.
“Kid,” said Melissa. Adalia turned to face her friend.
“Hello, Melissa.” Adalia gave her a small smile. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”
“Melissa?” Danny’s voice was a whisper, a croak. Desperate. “Melissa? You need to get her out of here. Do you hear me? Get her out.”
“So touching,” said Talin. “So flawed. The Shield is sundered.”
Carlisle was looking about for something, her eyes scanning the floor around her, then roaming the room until they came to rest on her gun, still held by Val. She swallowed. “Kid?”
“I’m sorry this happened to any of you,” said Adalia. Just James was moving towards her, a look of awe, or fear, or just plain ol’ stunned on his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t wake up sooner.”
“Adalia,” said Gabriel. “Adalia, you should go. Talin is, he’s evil.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, he is evil.” She looked at Val, then at her mom, then at Carlisle. “It’s what we fight, isn’t it? The evil in the world.”
“No, no, no,” said Danny. “No, baby. You don’t fight. You run. Far away. Leave the city. God. Why did you come here?”
“Kid,” said Melissa. “Kid, help me up. We can … we can run,” she said, but her voice just kind of ran out at the end, the lie evident for all to see. Melissa wasn’t running anywhere.
Just James was bending over to pick something up. Adalia ignored him, walking to Melissa. She stood just out of arm’s reach. “I can’t run, don’t you see?”
“You’ve got to,” said Melissa. She was so pale, so white, she looked dead already. “You can’t … I can’t help you. I can’t, kid. I’m done.”
“I know,” said Adalia. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Melissa,” said Danny. “Please. Get up. You’ve got to try. She’s my baby, my baby girl, and—”
“I know,” said Melissa. She tried to stand, but didn’t get much further than sitting upright before she fell back. “I—”
“You both need to listen,” said Adalia. “I came here. I brought the living and the dead with me. You have done so much for me. Both of you. For so many, ma
ny years. I see it. I feel it, with my heart. I see what you’ve all done, but the cost, it is too much. The Shield was sundered. The Sword sheathed, the Good Right Arm broken. The Guide lies blind, the Reluctant Wanderer died long ago before his body was taken by a witch, a deceiver. All that remains is the Prophet, and her Sacrifice. Do you see? Now, well, now it’s my turn. To do the saving.” But she knew it was a lie. It wasn’t her that was going to do the saving. She wasn’t the Sacrifice.
“How do you know?” Melissa’s voice was barely a whisper. “How do you know all of this?”
“The Universe speaks to me,” said Adalia. “I know everything. Like Facebook.”
“You know nothing,” said Talin. “And you will pay for it.”
“Chill out, Ahab,” said Just James. He was holding what he’d picked up from the ground — Carlisle’s gun. The metal was stained and sticky with blood.
“He can’t stop Talin with that,” said Gabriel.
“He’s not meant to,” said Adalia, her voice a whisper. She wiped away another tear, then turned her back on Melissa. She went to stand next to Just James. She reached out, held his hand. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Yeah,” he said. He looked at his feet, those Sketchers he’d taken. “Can you tell me — where the dead go, when they die — is it beautiful?”
“You don’t have to do this,” said Adalia. She looked down at their hands, then back at Just James. “I don’t want you to do this.”
“Is it like you?” Just James was looking at her, but she thought he was really trying to look into her heart.
“It is like the dawn,” said Adalia, “and the night, and the feeling you get just before you sleep, and just as you wake. It is warm, and soft, and harsh, and rough, and everything and nothing at the same time. It is terrible, and wonderful. You will stand at the Cliffs of the Damned, Just James, and you will want for nothing, until the stars go out and the sun gutters low, and the end of days is on us. You will forget this world and all that is in it.”
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