by Platt, Sean
“Your man in boots.”
The woman nodded.
Sadeem waited, realizing it was apparently his turn to speak.
“Someone’s running amok, telling the planet’s Lightborn to … cause disturbances of some sort,” Sadeem said.
“In the stream,” the woman clarified. “It’s misdirected and unexpected. The only pattern seems to be an intention to cause disturbance. To initiate chaos.”
“So what do you want from me? Why don’t you poke your Horsemen heads into the portal and shut the windows for good? You have ships around the world. You hold the upper hand.”
The woman said nothing.
“You can’t do it, can you? Whoever this man is, he’s beating you, isn’t he?”
Sadeem looked up at the woman. Her fists were clenched. Her face was set. And for the fraction of a second, her eyes flashed as red as her dress.
In a blip, the floor seemed to vanish. Sadeem thought he might fall but then realized he was on something clearer than glass, looking down on an endless expanse of blank white nothingness.
He was seeing the ground, far below his feet. And judging by the horizon’s curvature and the black space beyond, he knew the enormous black ship must be very high up.
A blue glow seemed to bloom from the center of the floor — from the bottom of the ship, far below.
It grew.
And it grew.
“Where are we?” He looked at the stark white landscape below. “What happened to Ember Flats?”
“The Deathbringer is no longer above Ember Flats.”
He looked down. He saw nothing but white snow and ice, shrouded in the darkness of a six-month night.
“Let us see,” the blonde woman said, “who is beating whom.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lila ran down the shallow embankment, heels skidding in the sandy soil. She’d left the car door open behind her. Mara’s tablet was safe from the pounding rain for now, sitting on the opposite seat. But the passenger side of the wreck, where Lila had been sitting and pretending to be staying out of the way, was getting soaked. She’d need to return for the tablet, and take pains to make sure it was stowed dry and sealed.
But for now there was only the panic.
“Dad! Piper!”
They could barely hear her. The rain’s intensity and the sound of its assault had tripled. Her father, Kindred, Piper, and Peers were being pelted with fat streams of water as they waded into the rising Nile, trying and failing to hold onto each other for support. Not long ago — about the time Lila decided the feeds weren’t going to show Clara simply walking past — there’d been hail. The others had simply stood in the open through it. Even Nocturne was helping. He was on the shore, barking at the water.
“Dad!”
Instead of turning, leaving the water, and running to help her, he dove in headfirst.
“DAD!” Lila shrieked, watching him vanish, the fear over her news temporarily lost in a certainty that he wouldn’t surface, that she’d seen the real Meyer Dempsey — former movie studio mogul, father who’d wanted to ditch Raj in New Jersey, and had maybe been right all along — for the final time.
But then the surface broke, and she saw him paddling among the flotsam. He was more treading water sideways than swimming properly; the surface wasn’t as turbulent near the shores as it was in the middle. But then Meyer reached the current and changed to a forward crawl, kicking in what Lila was shocked to see were the same black dress shoes he’d worn for his State of the City what felt like a thousand years ago. They’d bog him down. He’d drown because he hadn’t removed his stupid shoes.
She was in water to her ankles. To her calves. To her knees. She’d waded nearly to the point where Meyer had started swimming when Kindred’s hand wrapped around her upper arm.
And he said, “Don’t.”
She wouldn’t leap into the water. She wasn’t crazy, like her father. And yet she felt Kindred gripping hard to hold her back because her muscles were fighting to go, to follow, to do something, anything.
“It’s okay, Lila. He’s trailing a rope.”
She looked and saw it, following behind him like a river anaconda.
She wanted to say something obvious. Like how a rope wouldn’t help him cross. Like how it would only snag behind and pull him under if (when) it broke, and the that other end would merely allow them to retrieve his body.
But Meyer swam on, arms pumping hard, legs kicking harder.
“There’s a rip current underneath. Feel it?”
Lila looked from Kindred to her own waterlogged legs. She felt it, all right. The river was moving near her knees, while flat-out trying to knock her down at the ankles.
She looked up, watching her father — a champion collegiate swimmer in his day, he’d often boasted — swim a full 45 degrees upstream of the submerged submersible dock. He was staying flat at the top, in the slower-moving water that still didn’t look all that slow, kicking and surging.
The current shoved him back toward his target. A huge sheet of torn wood and plaster, nails exposed, came rushing toward him. Lila gasped as it nearly clipped him, but he dodged, losing water to the current, struggling harder to push on. The giant piece of debris passed behind him, and for long, horrible moments Lila was positive it had missed her father only to snag his rope and drag him down to his watery grave.
But the flotsam passed, and the rain intensified. Evening gloom obscured her vision and blocked the sound until finally Kindred straightened and, apparently feeling Lila had found her senses, loosened his grip on her arm.
“What?” Lila asked, watching him. It came out as a hysterical demand.
“He made it,” Piper said.
“I can’t see him!”
“He’s on the far side, Lila. It’s okay.”
Lila looked from Piper to Kindred, seeing relaxation she didn’t feel. The situation suddenly seemed absurdly unfair: Everyone could read minds except for her. And Peers, of course.
“Okay,” Kindred said. “Where’s the tablet?”
Lila blinked around, heart pounding, panic not nearly abated. But it wasn’t just her father she’d been afraid for when running down here. He hadn’t even gone in yet as she’d been scrabbling down the shore, an announcement on her tongue. But she couldn’t place it. Couldn’t even find her place here and now, as a person, by a river, missing a daughter, afraid for her father. It was all so terrible. But then it slowly returned, along with the fear, and she found herself staring at Kindred, more frustrated by his impatience than moved.
“The tablet, Lila. Where did you put it? I need to flood the tanks so Meyer can work. I need to— ” Kindred stopped, looking up at the stalled car. “Who left the door open? Where’s the tablet?”
“It’s in the car.”
“With the door open? In the rain? Lila, what the hell is wrong with—?”
Then it was all back. The rushing horror. The sense of doom. The feeling that time had already run out, and that every second mattered. She’d just spent a hundred or so, maybe more. And the clock was already at zero. She’d seen it with her own eyes, on the backlit screen, while poking around the feeds to find her daughter.
This is a message from the Fucked Up Earth channel, broadcasting on all frequencies.
Our movie Desperate Search for Clara will return in a moment.
We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you the apocalypse.
“We have to hurry,” Lila said, now gripping Kindred, then Piper as she came up beside him. Her eyes were wide enough to hurt. Hair, drenched by the rain, was plastered to her face. Nocturne barked behind them, as if he alone understood.
Piper was holding her by the upper arms, peering into her eyes. “We’re hurrying, Lila. It’ll be okay.”
“Dammit, Piper!”
Something surged between them — an emotion, cut from its tether. Then Piper understood, too. Maybe not exactly what had happened, but that something horrible had.
&n
bsp; “What is it? What did you see?”
“They did it. It was on the tablet. Like a broadcast. Like they were proud and wanted us to see.”
“What, Lila? What did you see on the tablet?”
“The big ship. The one we saw leaving Ember Flats. It’s melting the ice. It’s flooding the planet. I saw the white disappear and the blue beneath. They showed Greenland and somewhere in Russia or something? Or the Ukraine. Like it was a goddamned news report! Like we’d want to see the waves hit the shores!”
Kindred looked at Piper.
“She’s hysterical.”
“For a good reason.”
“What’s she talking about?”
“We have to be quick, Kindred. This planet is about to get a whole lot wetter.”
Something clicked. “Not the ice caps.”
Lila nodded. Peers, who’d barely heard in the downpour, came over. He was close to Lila, and she fought an urge to throttle and smack him, in that order. She couldn’t touch the Astrals who’d done this, but their buddy Peers was the next best thing.
“We have time. There’s a lot of ice up there. They can’t just melt it all. It’ll refreeze as fast as they do it.”
“See for yourself.” Lila pointed. “Go look at the feed if you don’t believe me. Go and look if you don’t think they can do it!”
“Lila, calm down.”
But she was done with calming down. Through pretending that everything would be fine. In the past days, she’d had her daughter stolen, abandoned all chance of finding her again, learned one of their own was an enemy still beside her, been showered in blood, witnessed the world’s end, and was about to lose her father to drowning. That didn’t even count the death she’d seen less than twenty-four hours ago, the death witnessed on the way here, the cannibal rape gangs who’d paused to gawk but could return at any time, the loss of her mother, brother, husband, friends.
Lila had been calm enough for long enough. It was time to try something different.
“Fuck you, Kindred! Go look! Go and fucking look!”
“Either way, we need to stay calm. Getting hysterical won’t help us get out of—”
He stopped when Lila slapped him, hard. Kindred glared back at her, his eyes dark. His stare wasn’t precisely angry, though there was rage within it. His stare was mostly disapproving — the kind a father gives his unruly daughter when she disappoints him.
She tried to hit him again. This time Kindred caught her arm, pinned it down. And when she tried from the other side, feeling herself losing control but unable to help it, his dodge made her fall. Then Kindred, Piper, and Peers were above her, and she was turning her head to the side, trying not to drown as rain filled her mouth and nose.
“I’ll hold her,” Kindred said. “You help Meyer. Since we can’t see or hear him, you’ll have to flood the ballast then give him time to swim under and hope he can—”
“It’s okay, Kindred. I can hear him now.” She closed her eyes: a yogi in the heart of a storm. “He’s okay. He’s waiting for us.”
Lila was still wrenching out of Kindred’s grip, but now it was protective. She wanted to roll to the side, curl into a comma, cry in the rain, and never move a muscle again. Even if her father didn’t drown freeing the sub, what were they supposed to do? The world would flood — halfway now, the rest of the way when the ship presumably headed south to expose Antarctic soil. It might be storming like this around half the globe as the climate adjusted. The sub would be tossed like a toy. They’d die inside a tin can instead of outside one. Even if they survived, what was the point? Would they live on a sub forever? Or would they find an exposed mountaintop and set up shop in a lonely paradise, lying on a fresh beach until their food ran dry?
Visions of the Greenland feed returned, followed by the Ukraine.
How long would it take for those waves to reach them? Would they get the waves at all, nestled in the gulf and bunkered to the north by land? Or would they claim the land, too, and swallow Gibraltar before burying Egypt?
Kindred let go. He stood, maybe moving by Piper. But Lila couldn’t see. Didn’t want to. It would be so much easier to die now and be done with it all.
Someone else sat by her, water lapping their ankles.
“There, there,” said Peers, patting her side.
Nocturne licked her hand.
The water rose, faster than seemed possible.
Chapter Thirty
“Logan?”
The voice wasn’t really commanding his attention. It was a hesitant word of fear — exacerbated by the video feed that had butted in and displayed itself on every tablet in the Hideout minutes ago, shocking even far-seeing Lightborn minds.
“Logan!”
The tall boy hustled over. As Clara watched him pass, she found herself feeling sorry for him. He’d somehow become the group’s leader, and had stepped into his role. Based on what Clara could see/feel as her mind touched the Hideout Collective, the group held him in high esteem. They found Logan strong, fair, brave, and as wise as a sixteen-year-old could be while trapped in an adolescent’s turbulent body. But what Clara saw on his face belied a secret he kept locked away, same as they all kept their secrets. Logan’s was his fear, scared as the rest of them most of the time, despite his brave mask.
Clara followed the others, believing in Logan.
Her head was swimming with the recent change: this sudden ability to feel not just the Lightborn around her but those that seemed to be far away. As walls between clusters of Lightborn inexplicably became open windows, their worldwide blending was slowly unfolding, like two dogs sniffing before greeting. But there were other voices competing for space in Clara’s head as well. The voice of her mother, whom she seemed to distantly feel but who, she doubted, could feel her, afraid and far more alone than Clara herself. The Astrals, still audible and plotting their worldwide plans. And most of all there was the voice of the man by the fire: the man who saw himself as a pry bar, meant to wedge between gears of a machine and break them apart.
Amid it all were the images seen by them all:
The northern ice cap melting — the planet’s top hat turning from white to overflowing blue.
The shores of Greenland greeting the waves.
The people. All of them drowning, the water washing the world away.
And the big ship leaving. Headed south to do the same thing again.
Logan came to the door, where the boy who’d yelled was standing. But he wasn’t peering through the peephole as Clara had assumed he’d be, warning the others that Reptars had come.
Instead, everyone by the door was looking at the floor. Where a slow, even flow of water was leaking from beneath the sweep.
“It’s happening,” the boy said. He was a big, broad kid, maybe fourteen. He looked terrified. Inside Clara’s mind she could see/feel the blip of consciousness that was slightly more him than the hive mind, and saw little but worry streaming, reaching out for the group’s comfort.
“It’s only rain,” said the red-headed kid, Cheever.
“It’s the floods. Like in the Bible. My mom kept reading the bad parts out loud before they took her. She said it was happening all over again. And now it is.”
“It’s only rain, Josh,” Cheever repeated, rolling his eyes.
“My mom said—”
“Fuck your Bible-beater mom!” Then he seemed to remember himself and said, more reasonably, “But dude, that shit just happened. There aren’t tidal waves. We’re not …” He sighed then put his hands on the handles and said, “Look.”
Logan reached out, grabbing for Cheever and the doors.
“Wait!”
But he was too late. Cheever flung the left-side door wide. Water outside was three inches high and seemed to be rising fast. The flow surged inside, almost knocking Cheever flat. He waded to stay upright as filthy water doused his lower legs, spreading across the Hideout floor in seconds, setting shoes and belongings afloat. Inflowing pressure knocked the catch off the alrea
dy partially open right door, and for a few long seconds there were miniature rapids at the door until the turbulence subsided, water found its level, and the Lightborn were left with soaking feet.
“It’s happening, man!” Josh blubbered.
This time, Cheever could only gape back at him, his mouth open and face disbelieving, as if blaming Josh for getting everything wet.
Nick came up beside Logan. From where Clara was standing, they looked like a reluctant leader and his right-hand man.
Inside her head, she heard Nick ask the collective — Logan mostly: What should we do?
Logan’s response came as if he hadn’t a single doubt, though she knew he had plenty.
We go to the middle of town like everyone else, Logan thought/said, and take our chances.
Chapter Thirty-One
Piper was piloting the sub.
Meyer couldn’t see her through the weather, and the torrent was deafening enough to drown her out entirely, but he knew it was her hand on the tablet. Meyer had shared his bond with Kindred until it had somehow soured, but beyond that he hadn’t been touched by the psychic kiss so many seemed to feel around the large Astral rocks. Piper was different — especially since Cameron had opened the Ark and done … whatever he’d done. Her mental presence wasn’t passive. It was like a force, and Meyer could feel her shoving his mind at her now.
Can you hear me?
He didn’t think he could respond — at least not in words. But the shifts in her thoughts as he worked told him she was getting his flavor. She knew he was alive. She knew he’d ducked below the river, his eyes stinging from the water’s flow and grit, and felt the river shove him back, almost losing his grip. She knew he’d seen the sub, and the dock line snag in the rising water, when the sub’s weight had fought with the submerged dock’s buoyant force.
Are you okay?