“How do you fight that? How do you resist something that sneaks up on you and gets into your head and changes your perspective?”
Glaeken sighed. “With great difficulty. Because you don’t feel it. You think it’s right and natural. You think it’s you. And in a way, it is. There’s a darkness in all of us that will gladly use the end to justify any means.”
“What you call ‘darkness,’ I call the brain.”
“Ah, science. Stealing the mysteries from life.”
“More like providing an antidote for magic.”
“But ‘darkness’ is so much more picturesque, so much more evocative.”
“You can’t get much darker than the human brain. It’s got no conscience. It wants what it wants when it wants it, but most of all it wants to survive, and will do whatever’s necessary to preserve itself. But then there’s the mind…”
“That which makes us sentient, which sees a bigger picture, a different perspective. You can’t allow the darkness-or your brain-to overrule your mind.” He shook his head. “But it’s not easy. Back in the First Age, a number of us were chosen to lead the battle against the Seven-when Rasalom still counted himself in their number. Some of us succumbed to the influence, willing to sacrifice strings of innocent villages in order to win a single battle, becoming nearly indistinguishable from those we were fighting.”
Jack thought of Glaeken’s love for his wife and his continued devotion to her demented shell.
“You seemed to have succeeded.”
“The best weapon is awareness. Knowing that your perspectives and values are being subverted forces you to question yourself. Preserve the real you early on, and that is the person who will prevail.”
Jack slipped into his jacket. “I still don’t want to subject anyone to my presence tonight.”
Glaeken smiled. “See? You’re winning the battle already.”
“What about tonight’s battle? You still sense him out there?”
Glaeken’s smile faded as he nodded.
Shit.
Jack took the elevator down and trudged out into the storm. The falling snow muffled the sounds of the city. He’d garaged the car before coming to Glaeken’s. The trunk had a special lock and he had the only keys. The Nuckateague evidence would be safe until he disposed of it.
A cab cruised by but he let it go. He lived twenty-some blocks from here. Might as well walk. To Julio’s? Nah. Just home. He always had beer in the fridge.
He hoped the walk would tire him. Fat chance. He had a feeling he wouldn’t sleep much tonight. Probably stay up listening to the radio for word of a survivor in Nuckateague.
Jack couldn’t stand the fact that this wasn’t over. It had to be over.
His phone rang. He checked the display: Gia.
“Hi. Home safe?”
“No. We’ve decided to spend the night at Weezy’s.”
No! He resisted an urge to shout into the phone.
“Bad idea.”
A pause, then, “Why do you say that?”
“The farther you and Vicky are from that kid, the better.”
“He’s just a baby. And Vicky has such a great effect on him, we figured it would make things a whole lot easier for Weezy if we stayed.”
Jack’s turn to pause. Maybe it was okay if they stayed. He didn’t see how anyone in the Order could connect Weezy with the baby. Still, he had a bad feeling about that child, that it was some sort of lightning rod for disaster.
“Stop over,” Gia said.
“Maybe I’ll do that.”
Even though he wouldn’t be good company, he wanted to stay close to Gia and Vicky. So he’d do more than stop by. If they were sleeping over, so would he.
22
After an endless series of heaves and lurches and lunges, the cow had managed to help slide him across her threshold into light and warmth. At least he assumed it was warm. He’d lost all feeling.
“Lord, you’re all but frozen. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to have to cut you out of those wet clothes. There’s not much left to them anyway. Mostly charred rags.”
During the next few minutes he felt himself rolled left and right as he assumed his tattered clothing was being ripped or cut away.
“Don’t you worry about me staring at your bum or your privates. I got what they call wet AMD-macular degeneration. You’re mostly a blur to me.”
He wasn’t worried about that. Survival was his concern.
She left him, then returned. He felt a blanket fall over him.
“You’re gonna have to stay there on the rug for now, I’m afraid. No way we’re gonna get you up on the couch. But this here’s an electric blanket. It’ll warm up shortly and start raising your temperature.”
Good. Warmth. He’d thought he’d never be warm again.
“What happened to you? I heard an explosion and saw something light up out on the water. That you? Your boat blow up?”
Exactly what had happened, but he could not imagine how. He’d been free. The burning house had been a glow fading in his wake when something shot out of the darkness and struck the rear of the boat, hurling him through the air and into the water. He remembered nothing until he washed up on this shore.
“Well, whatever happened, you need a doctor and a hospital, especially for that hand. From what I can see it’s all charred, and I guess that’s good because it’s not bleeding, but that stump’s gonna need specialist care.”
No! He was too weak. He’d be vulnerable in a hospital. Defenseless.
“But no way you’re gonna get to one tonight. The phone’s not working worth a damn, and even if it was, I don’t see anyone coming out in this storm. So we’re gonna have to ride it out together tonight and see what the morning brings. I’ll get the boat out here as soon as it can make the trip.”
He could not allow her to call for help, but how could he stop her? He fought to stay conscious, but it slipped away…
… until he felt himself rolled onto his side.
“Here,” she was saying.
His head was propped on pillows or cushions. He knew only that they were soft. He felt a straw pressed between his swollen lips.
“Drink some of that.”
He drew on the straw. Hot salty liquid filled his mouth. He swallowed and greedily sucked more.
“I heated you up a can of chicken broth. Drink as much as you can. With the electric blanket cooking you on the outside and this working from the inside, we’ll have you warmed up yet.”
This cow… if he survived this, she would be rewarded.
He swallowed more and took a breath. He tried his voice. He had to know.
“Where…?” was all he could manage. His voice sounded like sandpaper on concrete. He must have inhaled smoke, perhaps even a little flame.
“Oh, so you can speak. Well, your voice don’t sound too good. Maybe you better save it. As for where you are-little place called Sadie’s Island, in the middle of Gardiner’s Bay. And me? I’m Sadie. Sadie Swick. I own this little hunk of rock and I’m its sole resident. And how about you? What are you called?”
What name to use? He’d had so many of them. He chose an old one at random.
“Roma,” he croaked.
“Like the quarterback? Any relation?”
So many people had asked him those questions when he’d started using the name. He had no idea what they were talking about at first, but he’d soon learned.
“Rome-AH,” he said.
“Like the city then. Got a first name?”
“Sal.”
“A real Italian, ay? You don’t look Italian, but then I’ve known a bunch of Italians who don’t. Welcome to Sadie’s Island, Sal. Wish it could have been under better circumstances but…”
She talked on but her voice faded with his consciousness.
SUNDAY
1
The scream jolted Weezy from her sleep. A child’s scream-not the baby’s trademarked shriek. A little girl “Vicky!”
&nbs
p; She jumped off the couch and ran for the bedroom. She’d given it to Gia and Vicky. The bedroom light came on almost immediately, and when Weezy arrived she found a terrified Vicky huddled against her shaken mother…
… and the baby standing at the edge of the bed, chewing on the sheet.
Vicky was babbling. “I-I-I opened my eyes and he was right in front of me, staring at me! I was so scared!”
Weezy couldn’t blame the poor kid. She’d left a night light on in case Gia or Vicky had to find their way to the bathroom. She imagined Vicky opening her eyes and seeing that face just inches away.
Gia had her arms around her and gave her an extra squeeze. “It’s okay, hon. He was just looking at you. He likes you.”
“No! He bit me!”
She held up an index finger. Weezy stood near the foot of the bed, but even from there she could see reddened scrapes where his sharp little teeth had broken the skin.
Gia frowned as she examined it. “Well, now we’ve got a problem. Let’s go clean that up.”
“Should I wake Jack?” Weezy said.
He’d wanted to stay close by but Weezy had no room for him here-Gia, Vicky, and the baby maxed out her sleepover capacity-so he’d crashed across the hall on Dawn’s couch.
Gia shook her head as she hustled Vicky toward the bathroom. “We can handle this. Let him sleep.”
Weezy glanced at the bedside clock- 3:32 -and then stared at the baby. How on Earth had he gotten from the crib to the bedroom? As Vicky rounded the corner and disappeared, the baby screeched, then dropped to his hands and knees and began to crawl after her.
An infant… crawling… and biting.
What had she brought into her home?
2
“Breakfast time!” said the now-familiar voice.
He opened his eyes to daylight. The cow was back. She had awakened him periodically during the night to feed him warm broth. He wondered if she had set an alarm to rouse her to the task. No matter. He had gulped whatever she had offered, then returned to sleep.
Though he felt stronger-and certainly warmer-than he had last night, he remained terribly weak.
“Time to get something a little more solid into you.”
He tried to raise himself to his elbows and gasped at the bolt of pain that shot up his left arm. He gaped at the charred stump of his wrist. He’d forgotten about his hand.
Slowly he became aware of pain all over his body.
The cow was talking again. She seemed to love to talk. Not surprising. If she was as isolated as she had said, her only conversations would be with her dog and whoever she phoned.
What had she called herself? Last night was such a blur… Sadie, was it? Yes. Sadie.
She gestured toward her dog. “Rocky seems afraid of you. That’s not like him. He usually adores people.”
Idiot cow. You’ve taken in a pack animal that behaves according to a set of instincts honed by breeding and evolution. It adores nothing.
She pursed her lips and spoke to the dog in an inane tone. “Isn’t that twue, Wocky-wocks. You’re a good dog, aren’t you, Wocky-wocks. Yes, you are.”
Nauseated by this display of affection for a creature that was little more than a bundle of reflexes, he regarded the dog. The big brown mutt sat in the corner and stared at him. Animals tended to fear him, and that was just as well. He did not understand the concept of a pet and had not the slightest desire to own one.
When the Change came and food became scarce, pet owners’ sickening anthropomorphisms would evaporate as they devoured their formerly beloved companions… those that did not devour them first.
But this mutt… had he watched like that all night?
The cow prattled on. “We cooked you some oatmeal, but made it real thin since we don’t know how your digestion is doing. We put it in a cup.”
“‘We’?” His voice was still harsh and faint.
“Sure. Rocky and me. We’re the only ones here. And no, he didn’t help cook the oatmeal. It’s just the way I talk.”
He nodded, hoping that would end her prattle. But no…
“If you can’t drink it yourself, I’ll spoon it into you. But if I were you, I’d try the cup. With my eyes I’ll probably miss your mouth more often than I’ll hit it.”
He took the cup and sipped the gruel. It went down easily.
“Ooh, look at your face,” she said, leaning close to his left cheek. “It’s all burned. Really bad.”
That didn’t surprise him. He was probably burned to varying degrees over most of his body.
She had her face close to the remnant of his wrist, not touching, but examining with her rheumy eyes. He disliked anyone being this close.
“Glasses?” he said.
“I got some-got a dozen pair, at least-but they’re not worth a damn. With this wet AMD, I can’t see a damn thing unless I get real close. And even then…”
His weakness left him no choice but to allow her to continue her inspection.
“I don’t see any sign of infection yet, but it’s coming. Can’t get hurt like that and not get infected. We’re going to have to get you to a doctor soon or-”
“No…”
“No arguing. You’ve got to have a doctor.”
“No… please.”
Words were agony.
“Why the hell not?”
“Later.”
“‘Later’? That mean you’ll explain later? Well, it better be a damn good explanation. But don’t you worry about any of that now. The phone’s still out and the storm’s still going strong. So it’s just you and me and Rocky for a while.”
Good. That was good.
Now she was leaning close to the electric blanket that covered him, touching it here and there.
“Oh, dear. Look here. Some of your body burns have oozed through the blanket and dried. Ooh, it’s going to be stuck to you. That’s not good. I’ll get another blanket and we’ll try to ease that one off you.”
He finished the oatmeal and put the cup down. With his remaining hand, he grasped the edge of the blanket and yanked it free of his skin. He gasped a few hissing breaths through clenched teeth as pain screamed through his body.
“Oh, dear God!” she cried, backing away. “Why would you go and do a thing like that? I could have taken it off you real easy like, without all that pain.”
Didn’t she know? Pain was good. Other people’s pain was better, but even his own pain was better than none. Pain meant he was alive. Pain would stimulate his healing powers.
He handed her the soiled blanket and watched her hurry off to find a replacement. Then he lay back and closed his eyes. Sleep beckoned again. He answered the call.
3
Weezy placed the baby’s sippy cup to his lips, and once more he turned his head away.
Gia had picked up a few of the cups last night on her run to a nearby CVS. He couldn’t chew through the mouthpiece, which was good, but he kept rejecting them. Weezy didn’t think the cup was the problem. More like its contents. Formula wasn’t doing it for him.
At least he wasn’t screeching, but his attachment to Vicky was a bit unsettling. The four of them sat at the kitchenette table, and as long as the little girl was present, he limited himself to baby noises. But God forbid she left his sight. He sat on Weezy’s lap, but seemed largely unaware of her. He had eyes only for Vicky and watched her every move.
“Maybe he can’t stomach formula,” Weezy said.
What was she going to do? Dawn’s child was unique-the closest thing this world had seen to his species in millennia. Well, except for the creature she and Jack had encountered as kids; she was convinced that had been a q’qr.
“Maybe he needs different food.”
Gia sat across from her, sipping coffee. “We can try something solid when Jack gets back. I mean, he’s got teeth.”
Jack had risen, made a brief appearance-they hadn’t told him about the biting incident yet-and gone out on a bagel run.
“Maybe we don’t have
to wait.”
Weezy retrieved the loaf of bread she kept in the refrigerator-she didn’t eat much bread-and tore a length of crust from a slice.
Gia took it and held it before the baby’s mouth. He gave it a cross-eyed look, sniffed it, then chomped-but caught Gia’s fingertip instead.
Gia dropped the crust and sucked on her finger. “Those little teeth are sharp.”
As they watched, he reached out a stubby, black-nailed hand and wrapped it around the crust.
Gia shook her head. “Palm-grabbing already.”
“What’s that?”
“A crude form of grasping. Most babies can’t do that till they’re four months old.”
The end of the crust was sticking out of his fist. He shoved it toward his mouth, missed, tried again, then made it on the third go. He bit off the end and chewed.
Gia’s expression was full of wonder. “Feeding himself…”
But after only a few chews he spit it out, letting the mush drip down his chin.
“So much for bread,” Gia said. She looked at her scraped fingertip. “Seems to like fingers, though.”
“He’s going to starve,” Weezy said.
She felt responsible for Dawn’s baby, for its survival. But this was no ordinary baby. Who did she turn to? She was pretty damn sure Dr. Spock’s book had no sections on the care and feeding of q’qr babies.
Gia didn’t look too concerned. “Usually that’s not a problem with children, even with the fussiest. As a rule, if they get hungry enough, they’ll eat. He’ll-”
The buzzer for the downstairs entrance sounded.
Who could that be? Jack had a key. She carried the baby to the intercom and pressed the talk button.
“Hello?”
“It is I.”
Weezy knew that voice, and the recognition startled her.
“Lady?”
What was she doing here? They’d left her in the Pine Barrens. Even better question: How had she gotten here?
“I wish to visit.”
“Well, um, sure. Of course. Come up.” She buzzed the door open. “Seven-C.”
The Dark at the End rj-15 Page 23