The Music of the Machine (The Book of Terwilliger 2)

by Michael Stiles

  “So you can what? Protect me? You’re not my father, Ed.”

  “I’m not trying to be your father.”

  “Then leave me alone. This is the first job I’ve ever had, and I’m going to get it right.”

  Ed flicked at a blade of grass. “Who is this Lester Myles, anyway? Have you even met your boss yet?”

  “Why are you always asking about Lester Myles? No, I haven’t met him in person. He’s always out of town.”

  “Seems a little questionable, don’t you think? You’ve been working for this guy three weeks and you’ve never seen him. Does he even exist?”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he exists.”

  “How do you know he’s not some kind of psycho murderer or something?”

  “Not everybody in this world is a psycho murderer. It just seems that way to you.”

  Ed knew she was right. But he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing that he knew it. “I just don’t see what kind of boss sends somebody all over the country without at least introducing himself first.”

  “You’re being an idiot again,” Sarah said helpfully.

  He felt his face turning red. “I’m not the one who signed up for such a lousy job. Did you ever think to read the fine print first?”

  Perla appeared just at that moment, floating down from the treetops until she came to a soft landing nearby. She saw Sarah and Ed scowling at each other and pointedly wandered a few feet away. Sarah gave Ed a mean look and disappeared.

  “What did you do now, Ed?” Perla asked.

  “She’s just prickly.”

  Joy and Rayfield arrived next, holding hands as they approached through the forest. Rayfield towered over her like the Jolly Green Giant. Joy smiled at Ed in her mildly disconcerting way—she never seemed to blink quite as often as most people did—and said, “Rayfield and I have an announcement!”

  Perla squealed, jumping up to wrap both Rayfield and Joy in a tight hug. Ed had never heard her squeal before; it was an odd sound coming from her. “What’s the announcement?” he asked, irked that Perla was a step ahead of him.

  “We’re getting married,” said Rayfield.

  Ed forced down an instinctive stab of jealousy and smiled at them both. It didn’t make any sense to be jealous. “Congratulations, you two,” he said. Joy waved him over to join in their hug. He wished Sarah hadn’t left. She would have been thrilled to hear about this.

  “Where’s Sarah?” Joy asked, glancing around at the woods that surrounded them. Perla gave her a don’t bring it up gesture.

  Ed cleared his throat. He had bad news to share, and the only thing to do was to jump right in. “Danny hasn’t been in contact the last couple of weeks,” he told them. The other three reacted with concern and lots of questions, but he raised his hands to hold them off. “I didn’t want to mention it until I knew something was wrong. But it’s not like him to go so long without checking in.”

  “Did you say weeks?” Rayfield said.

  “Do you even know if he’s still alive?” Perla asked.

  “He’s still alive,” Ed replied glumly. “At least, his mind is still living. I don’t know anything more than that.”

  Perla clearly wasn’t satisfied with his response. “So what are you doing about it? Have you at least tried find him? You’re the one who sent him there to find that that stupid monkey―”

  “You both stop that.” Joy regarded Rayfield and Perla with the most serious look that she could summon. “You’re going to make Ed feel all guilty again. I’m sure Danny’s okay. And even if he’s not, well…” She shrugged uncomfortably. “You still have to listen to those green monkey kinds of dreams, right?”

  Rayfield nodded vigorously. “The Guru always said you’ve got to listen to dreams.”

  “And if Ed dreamed about Danny finding the monkey, then Danny will be okay in the end. Otherwise Ed would’ve dreamed about Danny getting blown up or something.” She looked at the others and nodded in a satisfied way when no one argued with her logic. Ed wasn’t particularly confident with her line of reasoning, but he let it pass.

  “Oh,” said Rayfield, “I forgot to tell you! I found her, Ed.”

  Ed blinked in confusion. “Who did you find, Rayfield?”

  The big man smiled, his clean white teeth shining in the strange light of Ed’s mind. “Maggie. The girl you wanted me to look for. I found her working in a store. She’s not a nice girl.”

  “No,” Ed said thoughtfully. Sarah had told him about their brawl in a ladies’ room in Toronto. That whole day was quite fuzzy in Ed’s memory. “When did I ask you to look for her?”

  “A few weeks ago. You said she used to hang around with that FBI dude.”

  Ed was impressed. “Nice work. How did you find her? I only ever knew her first name.”

  Rayfield seemed to be blushing from the attention. “Doris let me peek at one of her memories so I could see what the lady looked like. Then I went in Agent Driscoll’s mind and found out her last name. After that it was easy.” Joy was beaming up at him proudly.

  Ed sighed. “Rayfield, I appreciate that you want to help. But you need to be careful about poking around in people’s heads. Didn’t the Guru have rules about that?”

  Rayfield shrugged. “He had lots of rules.”

  “There were good reasons for them. Don’t look at people’s memories without their permission.” Of course, Ed had done just that when he’d gone into Charles Witherspoon’s head. But he’d had good reasons for doing it. “Unless it’s an emergency. And don’t try to control someone by force.” He understood that one well, after Nathaniel had taken over his body. He shivered at the thought of being a prisoner in his own body, able to see and feel but completely out of control. “And I’m adding another one. Don’t use your abilities to hurt anybody.” He thought of what Arthur had done to Sarah, that day they had gone to confront him at the headquarters of his Society cult. Arthur had tortured Sarah almost to a breaking point that day, and Ed had been powerless to stop him.

  “Screw the rules,” Perla said peevishly. “I say we should do what we need to.”

  “Ed,” Joy whispered.

  “No,” said Ed. “I need each of you to promise me you’ll follow the rules, no matter what happens. If you want to help me, you have to promise.”

  Rayfield pursed his lips and thought for a moment. “I promise,” he said finally.

  “Me too,” Perla said.

  “Ed!” Joy repeated. She was gazing into a darker part of the forest with wide eyes. “Look!”

  He turned that way and saw a ghost. It was a human figure, transparent and flickering, looking into the distance past Ed and the others. It didn’t seem to see them, although it was only a short distance away. Then it vanished.

  Nathaniel? Ed felt his heart skip a beat. But it hadn’t looked like Nathaniel. He walked slowly over to where the specter had been standing. “I think it was Danny,” he said.

  The others came over to join him. Joy passed her hand through the spot where the ghost had been. “Why didn’t he talk to us?” she asked.

  “He couldn’t see us,” said Perla.

  “But… this means he’s still alive,” Rayfield said hopefully. “Right?”

  Ed stared at the spot where Danny had been standing. His face hadn’t looked fearful, just… lost.

  “We have to help him,” said Joy.

  “There’s nothing we can do for him right now,” Ed told them. Saying this made his chest hurt, but he knew it was true. “Danny’s on a mission. He’ll come through.”

  Joy was shaking her head. “Ed, we can’t just―”

  “We have to. Look, maybe there is a way we could look into his mind and find out what’s happening to him. But how will that help? He’s thousands of miles away. Even if we knew exactly where he was, there’s nothing we can do. It’d be worse to know without being able to do anything. We have to focus on what we can do here, like locating the three-headed man. Rayfield, you know I’m ri
ght.”

  Rayfield was watching Joy with a sorrowful look on his face. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I know.”

  “If Danny comes back, I’ll try to talk to him. That’s the best we can do for now. All right?”

  From their expressions, it was clear that this was not all right. But it was the truth, and they all knew it.

  9

  The Blue Horse

  The humidity in Vietnam was like nothing Danny had ever experienced. Monsoon season had begun in earnest. When it wasn’t raining, the jungle steamed and dripped. The air was so thick with moisture that it made him feel like he was drowning. The rain kept the dust down, but that was a small comfort. He would gladly have traded this misery for the choking red dust, if he had any say in the matter.

  Every evening he called Les on the radio, and every evening he received instructions on where to go next. The battery had been designed for a few days of regular use, which he was stretching as much as possible by keeping the radio switched off most of the day. He had used up the last of his C-rations more than a week ago, and was now living off of the land. As a city boy, the thought of doing this would never have crossed his mind a few months earlier. But with Lester’s advice, he had learned a few things that had proven to be useful. He had figured out which plants could be eaten and which ones would kill him. He had successfully hunted some small game, which he cooked over a campfire that he started with his dwindling supply of matches. And on occasion, he had snuck into a nearby village to steal rice or eggs or even a chicken. He wasn’t anywhere near as well-fed as he’d been when his mother had been cooking dinner for him every night, but he was surviving.

  He was well inside Cambodia by now, which meant it was increasingly unlikely that he would come across any American forces anytime soon. The countryside was sparsely populated; there were some villages in the fertile valleys where the people grew rice and raised livestock, but most of the terrain Danny covered was rocky and not suitable for agriculture. When he did come close to a village, Les told him in advance and guided him safely around it. But even as he guided Danny through the mountainous countryside, Les never would tell him where his ultimate destination was. All he would say was, “This is how you find the monkey.”

  At first he kept track of the days that passed. After a couple weeks, he lost count. Eventually he decided it just didn’t matter. So he didn’t know how much time had passed when, one morning, Les told him that he would have to ditch the radio.

  This did not sit well with Danny. “I’m only alive out here because of you,” he protested.

  “It’s just temporary,” Les told him. “You can hide the radio in a spot where no one will find it. It’ll be there when you come back. Where you’re going, you can’t bring it with you.”

  That sounded ominous, but Les would say no more about it. He guided Danny up a steep slope to a rocky area where a small stream flowed out of a little cave. The cave went only a few feet into the side of the mountain before it narrowed to a tiny crack in the rock, but there was enough room for Danny to stay out of the rain. At the back of the cave there was a deep fissure that was large enough to hide his gear with room to spare. Other than the dead body, the cave seemed like a nice enough spot to stay for a while.

  The body belonged to a Viet Cong who had died of a snake bite on his leg. Danny assumed he was VC, because he was heavily armed with Soviet-style weapons as well as a few American grenades. The snake bite was an assumption as well, since the man’s leg was black and hideously swollen. He seemed to have died recently, because although he was bloated and stiff, he hadn’t been eaten by animals yet.

  The way up to the cave was booby-trapped with a Claymore mine rigged with a tripwire. Les had warned him about this, and he found that it wasn’t difficult to find the tripwire once he knew it was there. Once he stepped past the wire carefully, he located the mine and disconnected it from its firing device. Then, rethinking this tactic, he hooked it up again in case anyone happened to come across his hiding place.

  The dead man proved to be boring company, and he smelled bad, so Danny dragged the body out of the cave after taking every bit of equipment that seemed useful—including the clothes. The corpse was close to Danny’s size, and it wasn’t prudent to wander around in an American uniform, so he washed the clothes in the stream and changed into them once they were dry. The grenades he piled up in a corner of the cave for later. The Soviet rifle was serviceable, and he had three small sacks that contained spare ammunition. He concealed the body in some muddy weeds at the base of the hill, too tired to do a proper job of burying it. All that mattered was that it was far enough away from the cave that the carrion-eaters wouldn’t be drawn to where he was sleeping.

  “Do you think they’ll come looking for him?” Danny asked Lester during their usual conversation that evening.

  “Of course they will,” Les replied. “Keep your guns loaded. You have to kill them before they find the body.”

  Danny thought about that for a moment. “Okay.”

  Two men did come around the next morning. Danny waited a short distance uphill from the cave entrance with a grenade in his hand and the AK-47 within reach. When the two men came close enough, he pulled the pin and tossed the grenade between them. This reminded him of Lieutenant Lonnie, who had always told his men to spread out so they wouldn’t make easy targets. Now he saw why: when the grenade exploded, both men were standing within a few feet of it. One of them was killed instantly; the other lost some of his more valuable parts and required a couple shots from the rifle to finish him off. When it was done, Danny dragged the two bodies to where he’d left the other one. Then he washed up and went to sleep.

  * * *

  What upset Seymour Fleming, more than anything else, was the fact that he had wet his pants.

  Fleming and Burkholder had been moments away from putting a knife in Larson’s neck when the men in blue came crashing in. Larson was initially furious to find two of Big John’s sympathizers in his room, but his anger had turned to fear when the silver-haired man had arrived. Fleming had never seen Larson afraid before. Larson was an easy-talker, a smooth operator who could charm his way out of any situation. Larson wasn’t afraid of anybody. But he’d been afraid of that man. Seeing Larson’s fear, Fleming had promptly wet himself and surrendered.

  The men came suddenly, breaking down doors and overwhelming the Society with a combined force of will that rendered Arthur’s training practically useless. Nothing Fleming had learned from the games of Operation and poker in the basement had prepared him for the onslaught. Their leader was a silver-haired man with a kindly look about him. But what Fleming had seen in the man’s eyes was alien and scary. What was behind those eyes was a monster, a thing with one red eye that had the power to tear his mind apart.

  Nathaniel, they called him. Whatever Nathaniel was, he hardly seemed human.

  Burkholder had fought back. He had charged Nathaniel with his knife. He’d taken no more than two steps before Nathaniel had made Burkholder collapse to the floor just by looking at him. It was the kind of thing only Arthur and John could do. Seeing that power in another had terrified Seymour beyond his limit. He wasn’t sure whether Burkholder was dead or just unconscious; he didn’t have an opportunity to find out. Fleming had gone with the men without resisting.

  Outside the house, all was silent. Fleming thought of calling for help—even the Society had neighbors; this was Bel Air after all—but when he tried to shout, his throat had sealed itself shut.

  The next several hours were a blur. The invaders loaded the men of the Society into big vans, four of them, and the vans had no windows. Questions rose up in Fleming’s mind, questions he didn’t want to think about. Had they captured John? And Arthur? He didn’t see how anyone could have escaped, but those two were no ordinary men. Fleming hoped John had managed to escape.

  They were on the move for many hours. No one was tied up, but none of them could move or talk. The men in blue were apparently very well trained,
and the power they exercised over their captives’ minds was absolute. Fleming’s arms and legs ached after the first couple of hours, and the ache turned to agony in the hours that followed. What pained him the most was the knowledge that it was his own mind, the weakness of his mind, that kept him from resisting.

  Fleming couldn’t tell how much time went by. It felt like days. Sometimes his ears popped from changes in the air pressure. He slept a couple of times. They allowed him to eat junk food, but no real meals. There were no bathroom stops for the prisoners. It didn’t take long for the back of the van to stink. They stopped a few times for their two guards and the driver to get out and stretch, and he had heard the sound of fuel being pumped into the tank. But he had no way of estimating how far they had gone. For all he knew, the kidnappers might be driving in circles to confuse their prisoners.

  At last, the van stopped. The back doors were opened and the captives looked out into darkness. Had they driven through a whole day and into another night? The men dragged Seymour and the others outside and released them from their paralysis. They flopped to the ground like dead fish, unable to stand or even sit. Then the van drove away, leaving the Society men alone with their two guards. The ground was flat and covered by grass or weeds, and the only light came from the stars overhead. Fleming and the other prisoners were given five minutes to get their strength back. Then the guards made them get up and walk. Seymour stumbled several times on legs that ached and tingled from the long ride.

  A while later, maybe an hour, they came to a chain-link fence. Neither of their guards spoke, but somehow each man knew that he had to get down and crawl underneath. Then they arrived at a small hill with a door in the side. One guard went inside first. The prisoners followed, single-file, and the other guard shut the door behind them.

  Inside the door was a stone stairway that took them deep into the ground. The walls were smooth, gray concrete and there were fluorescent lights along the ceiling. Somewhere deep below them Fleming could hear machinery humming. He followed the man in front of him: down the stairs, a turn to the right, along a straight, long corridor, down a curving ramp. He soon gave up trying to remember the way. After some time he realized that the walls were no longer concrete; they were bare, rough rock. At an intersection with another tunnel, he had to step over a railroad track. No, not a railroad. It was a track for mine carts.