Faller

by Will McIntosh

  Peter hurried, aware that every moment of the real Peter’s life was hell now. Time spent in a chemical vat waiting to die wasn’t time worth having.

  The other Peter was hunched inside the vat, his face twitching in terror, his mouth pulled back in a tight grimace. He was squatting in the cylindrical vat, his head below the top to minimize the chance of getting blood or tissue on the floor. The inside of the vat had been coated in elastic tiles to prevent ricochet. Peter had thought of everything.

  Except that he wasn’t a killer.

  “I don’t think I can do this.” The gun felt like it weighed fifty pounds.

  The other Peter looked up. “Jesus, just get it over with.”

  “I can’t. We need to figure out another way.” His mind raced, seeking a way out. “We’re identical twins, separated at birth—”

  “Don’t make me do this myself,” the Peter in the vat said, his voice near hysterical. “That would be so much worse. I’m giving you my life. Just do this one thing for me. Please.”

  His hand shaking, Peter pointed the pistol at the base of the other Peter’s skull and aimed downward, into the spinal column, as they’d planned. “Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ, Peter, I can’t shoot you in cold blood.”

  “I’m fucking dying anyway. Just—”

  He jerked the trigger. The back of the other Peter’s head exploded and he collapsed into the vat.

  Peter squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. “Oh, God. Oh, God.” He was making a wheezy, keening sound and couldn’t stop.

  He needed to pull himself together, to get this finished. Then he could fall into the cot in the back office and have a complete breakdown. He could cry into a pillow, or scream into a pillow, and mourn himself.

  Peter started the flow of perchloric acid into the tank. While it filled, hissing and steaming as it burned away the real Peter’s body, he got dressed.

  When the tank had drained, he staggered to the cot, took both Xanax tablets he’d left on the night table, washed them down with the paper cup of water.

  He was Peter now, the one and only. No one else could ever know he wasn’t the original. Not even Melissa.

  28

  THE DAYLIGHT had just begun to fade when Emily and Susanna came into Snakebite’s shop, one of them carrying a three-legged chair, the other the fourth leg. While one consulted with Snakebite, the other set the broken leg on a table, then turned to Faller. “It’s me. Storm.”

  Even after she said her name it took Faller a moment to understand. She and Emily (or was it Susanna?) were wearing identical paisley-patterned housedresses. Clearly she’d bonded with her sisters. Faller couldn’t suppress a twinge of jealousy.

  “I can take care of this right now, if you want to wait,” Snakebite said to the other sister, glancing at Faller and Storm as he spoke.

  “Can we step into the kitchen?” Faller gestured toward the door at the back of the store. He followed Storm through.

  Hands on the Formica counter, Storm examined a display of blue and red floral-patterned plates hung on the wall. “I want to thank you for bringing me here. I still resent the way you did it, but I can see now that you saved my life.” When Faller didn’t reply Storm looked at him, and he nodded, not sure what she wanted him to say. “I stayed up half the night talking with Emily and Susanna. I explained where I came from, and they believed me and didn’t pull any of that ‘bad feelings’ crap. I feel at home with them, at peace in a way I never felt on my own world.”

  It took Faller a moment to realize what she was saying. “You want to stay?”

  “Yes.”

  “But we can’t. I have to keep going.” He pressed his hand over the pocket that held the map.

  Storm nodded. “I know you do.”

  “But I thought—” Faller stammered. He’d thought they were destined to be together, that they were soul mates. Those words would sound foolish if he said them aloud. “Don’t you want to know what’s down there? Don’t you feel like…” He searched for words. “Like there’s a big piece of you that’s missing, that slides just out of your grasp every time you reach for it?” He pulled the paratrooper out of his pocket, then the map, the photo, and slapped them all down on the kitchen table. “The answers are down. Before Day One I did everything I could to point myself in that direction. And then I added a picture of you. Could the message be any clearer? We’re supposed to go down there. Together.”

  Storm went to the window, leaned against the frame. “Or you’re supposed to go down there with Emily. Or Susanna.”

  “It’s you in the photo. I know it’s you.”

  Storm closed her eyes. “All I had in my pocket on Day One was a loaded gun. No maps. No parachutes.”

  No picture of Faller. She left that unsaid.

  “Then forget the things in my pocket. The answers are still down. You feel it, don’t you?”

  “Oh, I feel it.”

  “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

  “No,” Storm finally said.

  “How can you not—”

  Storm raised her voice, spoke over him. “Because it’s something horrible.”

  The emotion behind her words took Faller by surprise, but he couldn’t argue with her.

  “If I could fall up, away from it, I would.”

  Her words sparked images from his nightmares, of giant intestines and bleeding skies, and suddenly the darkening sky framed in the kitchen window seemed ominous, unknowable.

  Storm reached out, touched the side of his face. Her fingers felt cool and soft on his cheek. “The only thing that really matters in life are people. If you have people you care about, you have everything you need.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” He reached out, took her hand. “That’s why I want you to come with me.”

  Storm didn’t pull her hand back, only smiled. “I can’t leave Emily and Susanna. I have family. Can you understand how much that means to me?”

  “Then I’ll stay here with you.”

  Storm laughed. “You’d hate yourself if you stayed here. And me as well.” Faller opened his mouth to disagree, to tell her he’d rather be with her and never know. She gave his hand a squeeze, then let it go. “I’m going to see how the chair is coming.”

  The door swung shut. Faller stared out the window, at black rain clouds in the distance.

  When he finally pushed open the kitchen door and paused on the other side, Storm and Emily were talking in low tones by the door, their heads together.

  When Storm saw him, she said, “Snakebite fixed the chair. We’re heading back.”

  “I’ll walk with you.” He swallowed, trying to loosen a lump in his throat as he took the chair from Snakebite and followed them out.

  As they walked, Faller lost track of which was Storm and which Emily, and no matter how carefully he watched them, there was nothing that gave it away. One of them lifted her finger, pressed it to her upper lip; the other canted her head to one side, her arms folded. All were Storm’s mannerisms.

  He wondered if he should say good-bye tonight, and leave first thing in the morning. Whatever waited at the bottom could probably wait a few extra days, but staying longer would only make leaving more painful.

  A deafening bang made Faller jump.

  Storm, or Emily, jolted violently to one side and dropped to the sidewalk, blood blooming just below her ear. The other Storm shrieked as three more quick bangs erupted, so loud they left Faller’s ears ringing.

  “Don’t move. Stay right where you are.” It was a man’s voice.

  Faller spun.

  “I said, don’t move.”

  Two figures came at him, dressed in black, sheer black masks covering everything but their eyes. One, his gun raised, hit Faller in the face, just under his eye. Faller staggered, would have fallen if the other hadn’t grabbed him. He yanked Faller’s arms back.

  Four or five other figures fanned out around them as Storm shrieked. Two of the figures were restraining her.

  A big man
dressed in military garb strode over to Storm, or Emily, pistol raised. “Be quiet, or I’ll shoot you right here.”

  The man turned toward Faller. “Got you.” He sounded jubilant, like a child who’s found a can of chocolate pudding.

  “You got who?” Faller asked. “Who do you think I am? Whoever it is, you’re wrong, because I’m nobody. You just killed someone to grab nobody.”

  The man stepped closer. He had a beefy face, a long nose. “You’re a terrible actor, Peter. If the blackout virus got you, how did you know you could jump from one island to another? Instinct? You’re going to show me where you hid—”

  There was a click, followed closely by an ungodly boom. The bottom of one of the figures’ faces disappeared, replaced by bloody meat and bone. Another boom, and another figure dropped, twisting on the ground, clutching his ruined stomach.

  The remaining figures fanned out, keeping low, guns raised, leaving Faller and Storm (God, he hoped it was Storm) alone in the open. Storm dropped to the pavement, crawled to her twin. Faller followed.

  Faller saw the flash of a muzzle out of the corner of his eye, coming from the broken window of the store directly beside them. One of the figures in the street went down, hit in the thigh.

  “There.” One of the masked men pointed. His comrades sprinted to either side of the store where the gunshot had come from.

  Faller squinted at the window, spotted a large shape that had to be Snakebite, hanging back in the shadows. There was shouting in the distance, people alerted by the shotgun fire, heading their way. Faller hoped they had guns.

  Pistol raised, one of the men in black made a run across the front of the store.

  “Look out,” Faller shouted. He saw Snakebite drop and roll as the gunman fired, and kept firing until he was clear of the store.

  Two others turned and barged into the store, firing into the darkness.

  Two more shotgun blasts. Both men went down.

  Faller looked around, realized their ringleader, the man who’d called him Peter, was gone. A handful of locals were in the streets, heading their way. The shooters still standing fled down the street.

  Snakebite came flying through the door, sawed-off shotgun in hand, just in time to see the three figures duck between two buildings on the edge side of the street. Snakebite scanned the street for others, then lowered the gun as three locals pulled up short, surveying the carnage.

  “My God, what happened?” It was Stuart.

  Labored breathing was the only sound as Snakebite stood, his arms dangling at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them now.

  Storm was kneeling in a puddle of blood, cradling Emily’s head, or maybe it was the other way around. The wound was a raw pit. Faller quashed a cry of despair at the blood leaking down the side of her face.

  Glaring at one of the dead assassins lying nearby, Faller crawled to the lifeless figure, reached under his chin, found the end of the mask and yanked it up.

  The air emptied from Faller’s lungs. They stayed empty until black specks filled his vision, until he could no longer make out the face in front of him. Still, he couldn’t inhale. He thought he was going to pass out, and craved that oblivion.

  Snakebite yanked the mask off another corpse. That one, just like the first, looked like Faller.

  “What’s going on?” a woman cried. She was part of a gathering crowd keeping its distance from the carnage.

  Stuart marched right up, surveyed the corpse, then glared at Faller. “You need to go back where you came from.”

  “Hey, they came after me.”

  “If I ever lay eyes on you again, I swear I’ll hang you from that light pole.” He pointed out the light pole, then looked at Storm or Emily. “Who are you? Who is that?”

  Faller braced himself, afraid to hear.

  The woman sobbed, took the lifeless hand of the other and held it to her face.

  “Please,” Faller said. “Tell me who you are.”

  Head down, her hair masking her face, she answered bitterly, angrily. “I’m Emily.” She kissed the white knuckles, whispered, “I’m Emily.”

  Faller sank to the pavement.

  A white-haired woman broke from the crowd, helped Emily up. “I’ll take you back to Susanna.”

  Arms linked, the woman led Emily away, her bare calf slipping free of the back of her dress with each step.

  Why couldn’t it be Emily who was killed? It was an uncharitable thought, but Faller couldn’t help it. It could just as easily have been Emily. He and Storm had been pulled apart by whatever had happened to fuck up this world, and somehow, somehow, he’d found her again.

  All Emily seemed to have suffered was a scrape on her calf. As her calf appeared again he saw it was a bad scrape—three or four ragged lines running to her ankle, plus a few scuffed red patches.

  Emily paused, as if she’d forgotten something. She said something to the old woman, turned and approached Faller. She held out her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Her eyes were red.

  “Thank you.” Faller took her hand. Her fingers were badly scraped. Especially her fingertips. The skin was flayed at her fingertips, leaving red ovals. The wounds were beginning to scab over. They weren’t the sort you get cleaning a rabbit or picking blackberries, more what you’d get if you were clinging to something, scratching to hang on.

  Faller searched her eyes. He let his lips form the name, Storm.

  She swallowed, nodded, squeezed his hand hard, and he understood.

  Don’t give me away.

  He nodded back. “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye,” she whispered.

  XV

  THE SINGULARITY hung suspended inside the containment chamber, in no particular hurry to give up its secrets. Peter wished he had all the time in the world to peel away the layers of this mystery, but he didn’t. He was like an archaeologist forced to use a backhoe loader to excavate a fragile site.

  Harry was hard at work on the most promising angle Peter had devised to convert the energy they harvested from the singularity into something usable.

  Fifty spotlights were mounted on the factory wall, connected to fuel cells of varying design. It was like a contest, to see which of the brilliant minds in the room could figure out how to light one first.

  Peter’s small team buzzed around the factory floor, huddled in quiet conversations in corners, pecked at handheld computers, argued in front of dry-erase boards. He wondered if any of them had confided in a spouse, a lover, a relative about what was down here. At least the feds hadn’t gotten wind of it yet.

  It was so strange to Peter, so foreign, to have secrets. Before Izabella’s death, what secrets did he have? None of any consequence. There were those Marvel superhero action figures he’d stolen from the local Walmart over the course of a couple of years. He’d never gotten caught. His parents never asked where a dirt-poor kid like him got all those action figures.

  He was surprised how his memory went in a clear, unbroken line back to his childhood. He’d anticipated a clear division between the original Peter and him—duplicate Peter—but it was as if he were the exact same person, as if it were the duplicate Peter who’d died, not the original.

  A buzz rose at the far end of the floor. Peter turned to find Melissa heading toward him. Peter met her halfway.

  “What is going on with Ugo? I’ve left three messages in the past two days. I haven’t heard from him since a few days after the funeral.”

  Peter nodded, not sure what to say.

  “It’s like instead of you two pulling together after Izabella died, it pushed you apart. Evidently I’m on the outside now as well.”

  “I’m not sure what to say. We had an argument—a couple of arguments, really—and the rift just kept growing until we’re not speaking.” He was blinking rapidly, felt horrible telling his wife such an utter lie. “I’m pretty sure he’s still working for the Department of Defense, out at Camp Peary. They must have him working on biological weapons. It’s possible he
hasn’t gotten back to you because he’s busy.”

  “Can’t you try to smooth things over with him?”

  Peter spread his hands. “I brought him four-hundred-dollar chocolates and he used them as golf balls. What more can I do?”

  Melissa sighed. “I know. It just kills me. We’re family. Izabella would be heartbroken.”

  Peter wondered for the hundredth time if there was some way to confess everything to Melissa. The weight of it was suffocating him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to take a deep, full, easy breath.

  “Are you keeping up with the news?” Melissa asked.

  “The TV is on in the lab, but not down here. Why?” He was afraid to ask.

  “The E.U. has fallen.”

  Peter dropped his head. “Shit.” It wasn’t unexpected, but somehow he’d thought they could hold out for a few more months. The thought of Iranian, Pakistani, Russian troops controlling England, France, Germany was terrifying.

  “You really think you can stop it with this?” Melissa gestured toward the containment chamber. “I wonder if it’s gone too far.”

  Peter shook his head. “Kathleen thinks it may not be too late. There’d be some hard negotiations about territory already conquered; the maps aren’t going to be the same as before. But she’s convinced the major players would be open to a cease-fire in exchange for unlimited energy, especially under the threat of being cut out of the deal if they don’t comply.”

  “Peter!” Harry screamed.

  Peter spun in the direction of the cry, found Harry near the wall, pointing up at a spotlight that had snapped on, painting a portion of the floor in stark white light.

  Another popped to bright life, then another.

  Within a minute, looking at the wall was like staring into the sun. If he mounted a million spotlights to the wall, Peter had no doubt the grid could light them all.

  29

  SNAKEBITE OPENED his pantry, set a sack beneath it and swept the entire contents into the sack.