A sputtered protest spills from his lips. “You…you will destroy everything.”
Blood drips down the hilt of the knife. Then Vlad’s green eyes go blank, like a lamp suddenly being unplugged. For a moment, the council members don’t move, everyone disbelieving the new reality unfolding before them.
The blood feels warm and slick on my hands. I let go of the knife, and Vlad topples over. The hilt clangs off the stone, setting off a flurry of activity. The council members rise, ready to converge and tear me limb from limb.
I focus on Jana, who stares blankly past me. This was not the plan either of us had in mind, but it was the best one available under the circumstances. I back up, wondering if I can make it to the door before the council rip me apart. They stalk forward, forming a tight line between the rows of benches.
“You son of a bitch,” Jana says, with a venom I’m not quite expecting. “I had a plan.”
“And I told you we had to kill him.”
“This wasn’t the plan,” she repeats, like it means something.
“Next time actually have a plan,” I say, scanning my adversaries, their glowing eyes focused on me with a singular purpose.. “One that didn’t involve convincing a group of morons.”
A rumbling growl erupts from one of the black-robed throats. I can’t tell who it is, because, frankly, they all resemble feral dogs in their one-mindedness. My boot catches on a loose stone, and I stumble backwards.
It’s ignominious to scramble and grovel, so I slide along the floor, keeping a cool distance between me and the council. More of a symbolic gesture, since only a few yards separate us. They’re drawing it out on purpose. The member at the head of the line unsheathes his sword.
“Stop,” Jana says. The group tilts their heads, unsure if they should listen. “As your leader, I command you to stop.” To my surprise, they obey, giving me time to stand. Jana finally begins to move, pushing through the throng until she’s eye-to-eye with me, just the two of us standing before the onlookers.
“You gave me no choice,” I say. “Contingencies, right?”
“To hell with your contingencies,” Jana says. I’m not sure whether she’s here to kill me herself, or about to break down crying in my arms. Her body quakes with unbridled emotion.
“He killed your mother.”
“Don’t talk about my mother,” Jana says, her gaze white-hot. “Don’t ever talk about her.”
“All right, all right,” I say, raising my hands in a peace offering. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“No you’re not.”
“You’re right.” I say. “It was him or me.”
“You made your choice. Now I’ll make mine.”
I don’t have a response for that. Rustiness. Reading the situation wrong. I thought she was pissed because she just became an orphan. Rather, she’s pissed because this is the messiest transition of power that could possibly go down.
After a long silence, she nods to the rest of the council. “Tell everyone we ship out tomorrow.”
The council doesn’t move or answer.
Jana brings her foot down against the stone with a thunderous boom. “Tell them they can either come or go. But we leave for the Gray Desert at daybreak.”
There’s a hushed, involuntary gasp as the council members hurry past us. I tense up, still wary. After all, two minutes before they were ready to feast on my limbs. Or whatever the customs are around here. But soon the meeting room is empty, leaving me and Jana alone.
“I’ll help bury him,” I say. Because, really, what do you say in this situation?
“No,” she says. “I’ll bury the bastard alone.”
It’s not open for debate. So I leave the new queen of the Remnants by herself, and exit into the chilly air.
Tomorrow, we head to the Gray Desert.
Tomorrow, the flashbacks might end.
Or tomorrow might bring a whole new host of problems that today I knew nothing about.
12 | Fields of Opportunity
I drive the truck. Jana, always talkative, says nothing in the passenger seat. I check the mirrors, watching the procession trailing behind us on the cracked highway. It can’t be more than a thousand people.
After the call went out over the Remnants’ network, this is who agreed to come. Ten percent. The rest stayed with Mirko. I think that says a lot about what will befall them.
But then, throwing in with Jana doesn’t look much better. Two days after getting my life back, it’s already over. An army of a thousand against Blackstone’s and the NAS’ millions won’t get it done.
I play with the satellite radio, but all I get is empty white noise. The ash hanging in the atmosphere must block the reception. We’ve travelled for about five hours, and the sky has gotten progressively chalkier. Even three years later, the plains haven’t recovered.
And we’ve only reached the border of what used to be Illinois. Or so a battered sign indicates, announcing that the people of Iowa welcome us with fields of opportunities. But the only fields I see are gray.
It makes me snort, thinking that there are opportunities here. But that’s what I’m searching for, right? A silver bullet in an endless cosmic ocean of ash.
I asked Evelyn to examine me before we left—maybe help with these hallucinations—but she brushed me off. No one likes me much these days. They just tolerate me as a necessary sort of evil.
Being a hero is a thankless business.
I jerk the wheel to avoid a ten-foot-deep hole, blaring on the horn to warn those behind us. Jana has insisted that we lead the procession, even if that leaves us open to attack. No one’s attacked us thus far, which might be disappointing her. After all, she’s gotta channel this anger somewhere.
Preferably not at me.
“Was it real?” she says after another hundred miles.
“Was what real?” I say, startled that she’s speaking. If I’m being perfectly honest, the silence was preferable.
“Or were you just trying to—that was my knife,” she says, putting the dots together without my help. She smiles bitterly and runs her hand through her punkish hair. “I’m a fucking moron.”
“Next time, don’t change the plan.”
The silence makes me wonder if I’ve made another enemy. I can’t really afford that, but it seems inevitable. I try to focus on sunnier things, like the failsafe Matt hid out in the Gifted Minds facility. But it’s hard to even imagine. Trying to get inside the mind of a genius is a fool’s errand. Even those close to him, close to HIVE, couldn’t account for all his plans.
I swallow hard when I realize that Blackstone has a solid brain trust on his side—the remnants of the Gifted Minds program. Kid Vegas. Olivia Redmond. Who knows who else. Either I need to get smarter, or I need a better team.
I bite my lip and push down on the accelerator.
“Do I need to drive?”
“No,” I say.
“Then conserve gas,” Jana says. “We might have to push anyway.”
“There something you want to say?”
“I don’t know,” Jana says. “What can I say?”
“You got what you wanted.”
“I wanted my people to be safe.”
“Some of them are,” I say. I catch her pained response in the rearview as she contemplates the Remnants who stayed behind in the Gunpowder Hills with Mirko. Fortifying, trying to dig in. Even members of the waystations rode in. The rift might’ve hurt Jana worse than her father’s death.
All I see is a bunch of fools about to commit suicide, steamrolled by the inevitable march of the NAS’ collective forces.
“We’re making the right play,” I say. Up ahead, I see a big dog in the road. He’s barking. “Shit.” I close my eyes and drive straight through. There’s no thud, because the dog isn’t real. “How far until we hit I-5?”
“1,800 miles,” Jana says. “Should be fun.”
I take a deep breath and gather myself. But deep inside, I’m screaming.
Becaus
e I know I’m not gonna last that long.
We finally stop for the night near the border of South Dakota. The vehicle brigade—about three hundred strong—forms a tight perimeter around a central camp. The Remnants waste little time setting up defenses, digging holes and making fires.
I leave them alone. This is their area of expertise, and I’m liable to slow things down. I managed to drive the entire day—the better part of twelve hours—without devolving into madness. But who knows how long this interlude of sanity will last.
From the way Atlas was talking, things will only get worse.
I take the piece of paper he gave me from my back pocket. It’s stained by Vlad’s blood, but it’s a damn good thing I thought to retrieve it before Jana interred him. It might only be a single sheet, but there’s a lot of good information on here.
“What do you have?” Evelyn says, her voice startling me. I’m off by a spindly tree. It’s the kind of place you don’t expect visitors. “Just like our old spot in Seattle, right?”
“Ev…”
“I know it wasn’t real,” she says. “I’m a big girl.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Even in the dark, with the fires a ways off, she cuts a striking image. Long blond hair cascading down to her well-proportioned hips. Endless brown eyes that you could drown in, if you’re not careful.
“What’s on the paper?”
“Something I got from a friend.”
“Now I know you’re lying,” she says. I smell the faintest hint of lilac carried on the breeze, and it brings me back to all those times in HIVE. And the time outside, in the real world. Her apartment. “You don’t have any friends.”
“So you two hate me too?”
“The church mouse? I don’t think she could hate anyone.” This must be what she calls Carina, which I find slightly amusing. Evelyn steps forward, and now the aroma of lilac is overwhelming. I wonder how she manages to smell good, even out here, where beauty has vanished. “She told me something interesting, though.”
“What’s that?”
“That she loved you.”
I don’t have an answer ready for this type of situation, so I say, “The paper, it’s about—these images. And some other stuff.”
“Flashbacks, kind of.” Evelyn nods, giving me a little knowing grin. But she lets me off the hook about Carina, which I’m thankful for. A small act of mercy, but it seems like a big one, given how things have gone over the past days. “I’ve had a few.”
“Anything bad?”
“You remember Ramses?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve been seeing him more than I’d like.”
“It hasn’t been bad for me, Luke,” Evelyn says. “But Carina, she’s not taking it too well.”
“Maybe she’s lovesick,” I say, immediately regretting the joke. A light wind whistles past, rustling the tree’s dead branches.
“Don’t be an ass.”
“Sometimes that’s hard.”
“I believe that,” Evelyn says. “The flashbacks. Cold sweats. I’ve been taking care of her.”
“Sounds familiar,” I say. “Besides anyone taking care of me.”
“You can take care of yourself,” she says, and reaches over to touch my arm. “Figure out what’s on the paper.”
“You don’t want to know more?”
“I don’t know if I could trust what you tell me anyway.” Her fingers slide away from my skin. “But I think you’re decent enough to do something close to right.”
She walks away. I watch as the breeze rustles her flowing blonde hair and smile. Not quite a ringing endorsement, but out here, it’ll have to do.
I turn my attention back to the paper. It gives me an engineer’s view on how to solve the current problems. Why Atlas believes the conflict started in the first place—belief. What everyone is seeking: salvation.
And how to break free of the cycle.
By giving everyone exactly what they want. It’s as cryptic as it sounds. No explanation about what people want, or how to find out. At the bottom is a warning about HIVE: you can’t just pull the plug. The light of civilization will go out.
I feel a strange power course through my veins when I read the words. I’m the last chance the world has. Not by fate, or talent, but perhaps just by circumstance.
Not really a hero.
Just someone doing what’s close to right.
And that, I think, is in the rarest supply of all in this new world.
13 | Survivors
Two days later, we roll through what used to be South Dakota without any problems. Unlike my last trip through the Lost Plains, this one has been uneventful—although calling it pleasant would be inaccurate. The temperatures at night are sub-zero, and black-ice slows our journey. But our convoy moves on without much trouble. A couple vehicles break down beyond repair, reminding everyone that traveling without backup isn’t where you want to be.
I’ve been out of HIVE for all of a week, and I can’t say that I’ve enjoyed coming back to reality.
I pull into an abandoned waystation—the last one in the Lost Plains, about three-hundred miles from the border of the Gray Desert—and cut the truck’s engine. With the heater off, a bone-chilling frost settles into the cab within minutes. I check my rifle as Jana slowly wakes up.
“Why’s it so damn cold?”
“We’re at the last waystation,” I say.
“Anyone here?” But the words are said without much hope, and don’t require any answer. The convoy stops behind us, spread out in a haphazard fashion. The tight circles and night watches that marked our early journey have yielded to a weary complacency.
I adjust the knife hanging from my belt. Jana gave it to me without explanation. Her pained expression said enough. Maybe carrying it on my person will be some sort of penance. But I don’t feel regret for what I did. Even if I was as selfish as I used to be—an open question, although one I’m not qualified to answer in full—this new world is about survival. And I didn’t kill someone building hospitals for the poor.
I killed a man who ambushed travelers in the Lost Plains, stripped the lucky ones only of their vehicles and belongings. I don’t believe in karma, but it’s hard to conclude anything but the inevitable: Vlad Rose got what was coming. A murderous existence usually ends with the knife pointed the wrong way.
“They’re getting lazy,” Jana says, shielding her eyes from the glow of high-beams as she surveys her people.
“Everyone’s tired.”
“We didn’t survive by doing this shit.” She walks off, leaving me alone. I shrug and turn my attention towards the empty waystation. This one is a strange beast—it’s a fifteen story building surrounded by nothing but empty road and frozen grass.
A nano-builder bot must’ve built this tiny skyscraper. It looks funny, like a giant accidentally dropped it in the landscape. The gate is open, so I walk through. I crane my head to look at the abandoned sniper’s nest.
Two of them, in fact, framing the gate.
Years ago, waltzing through the gate would’ve been impossible. It’s well-fortified enough to hold off attackers for days. But nothing stops me as I walk towards the entrance and wait for the motion sensing mechanism to let me in.
The sliding doors don’t open, and I’m left staring at my reflection. It’s the first time I’ve seen myself since HIVE. I don’t remember if I was better looking in the simulation. Probably. Three years and a load of shit have worn on my features. My black hair is longer, the ragged tips frosted by ashen dust.
“Who are you, Luke?” I say to the man I’ve become. I don’t have an answer. The hardest man to know is yourself.
Then I rear back and send my boot through the reflection, shattering the glass. I brush away the jagged edges and step inside. The carpet smells fresh. Whoever ran this place was a neat freak. Not a bad place to catch a few winks, maybe even take a shower. A week ago, this would’ve been like an oasis. The bone-crushing weariness of those first few days out of H
IVE were almost unbearable. But a man finds that he can bear almost anything, so long as he has enough time to adapt.
I’m still tired—it’s just that I’ve become better at handling it. And I don’t want to stay at this waystation any longer than necessary. I walk over the tan carpet in the lobby, approaching the desk. It’s faux-cherry and granite. From afar, it looks real, but up close you see the truth. I brush my hand over the clean surface. No dust.
It’s only been a few days since the Remnants abandoned the waystations, throwing their lot in with either Jana or Mirko. Not beyond the realm of possibility that this little high-rise hasn’t been reclaimed by nature, yet.
Clattering footsteps draw my attention to a dimly lit corner of the lobby.
“Hello?” I call into the darkness. No response. I reach for the rifle hanging off my back.
“Wouldn’t do that,” a craggy voice replies. A warning shot flies into the ceiling, and I dive behind the desk.
I take my hand off the rifle and peer into the black. “Who’s there?” I can’t see the glow of radioactive eyes, which means that the current proprietor of this establishment isn’t a member of the Remnants.
“No one at all.” I hear movement, then nothing. An elevator chimes, and I wait for an army to rush out. But no one comes.
My heart pounds as I race outside. The cold whips against my face. A light on the top floor comes on, and I hear a hush pass over the Remnants’ makeshift camp a few hundred yards away.
At least this isn’t a hallucination. I reach for my rifle and stare down the scope, trying to get a better look at the top floor. It’s a penthouse, seamless glass—which is a funny perk, given the view—but no one seems to be present.
Jana appears behind me, her own rifle clattering. “You do that?”
“Why would I do that,” I say. “To fuck with you?”
“Could be Circle,” Jana says, still not quite adjusting to the reality of the New Allied States.
“It’s the NAS, now,” I say.
“This is what happens when you get lazy.”
Ruins of the Fall (The Remants Trilogy #2) Page 7