by R. T. Lowe
“How about the shooters on your campus?” Lofton continued. “You took their lives as well—and rightfully so. The analysis is so simple and instinctive you probably weren’t even aware you were doing it. You considered the relative value of the shooters’ lives against the dozens they undoubtedly would have taken without your intervention. Then you executed the appropriate action. Two died so that dozens could live. Isn’t that what you did?”
Felix began to speak, then hesitated, not willing to acknowledge that killing a shooter in the process of committing mass murder was in any way comparable to massacring a stadium full of innocent people. It wasn’t the same thing. The ends don’t always justify the means, he told himself. Every life mattered. Every life had value. It couldn’t just be a numbers game. But if that was so obvious on its face, then why was he so confused? I am nothing like Lofton! he told himself. I don’t shoot kids in the face! I don’t kill people who trust me!
‘What about your parents?’ the voice in his head returned, mocking his feeble lies. ‘Did you forget about them?’
“All I ask is you be honest with me,” Lofton said, a note of firmness entering his voice for the first time. “Let me simplify it for you. Would you kill one to save ten?”
“Yes,” Felix admitted, at last.
“Good,” Lofton said encouragingly. He glanced down for a moment, his lips twitching downward at the corners. “The Faceman and my other agents have killed thousands, and for that, I would understand if you think I’m an evil man. But would it change your opinion if I were to tell you those thousands will save billions? Does that make me…less evil?”
Did it? If the only way to save ten was to kill one, then wasn’t that the right thing to do? The only thing to do? But you’re still killing! And killing is killing, and killing is wrong. ‘You think your hands are clean?’ the voice in his head rang out once more, taunting him. ‘How many have you killed, Felix? Do you even know anymore? Have you lost count?’ Felix stared at Lofton, attempting to keep his expression blank. What should he say? ‘You’re not evil? I’m as evil as you?’ What was Lofton looking for?
“There must be sacrifices, Felix. I hope you of all people can appreciate that. What happened today at the Rose Bowl was unfortunate, but necessary. Sixty or seventy lost their lives, but now the country knows the government doesn’t give a damn for their welfare.”
“It’s a lie,” Felix countered quickly, but even to his own ears it sounded like a childish protest, an empty cliché of false conviction.
“Is it?” Lofton arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t invent mass murder or school shootings or tainted water. I simply increased the frequency of their occurrences to illustrate the government’s incompetence. Can you honestly say the government represents the people? Is society evolving? Are we a less violent society? Are we more humane? Have we ensured our natural resources are preserved and shared equitably? Have we eradicated disease? Are we safe? The government has failed the people by allowing them to destroy themselves. There is a power greater than all of us.” He paused as if contemplating how best to make Felix understand. “The Source, it’s called, and it’s not only responsible for your magnificent abilities, it sustains every living creature on this planet. It’s an actual thing, as real as you and me, not some esoteric philosophical construct. Sadly, it has been dying for as long as humanity has traveled along this path of self-destruction, and as the value of human life declines, so too does the Source. If it dies, we all die. That is why I have blood on my hands, Felix. That is why I created the Numbered Ones. I had no choice. It is my duty to defend the Source, to save the people from themselves, and I will not allow the selfishness and stupidity of a small segment of the population to destroy an entire world.”
A line from the Journal popped into Felix’s mind and he surprised himself with the tenor of condemnation he heard in his voice. “‘Nations will burn, armies will fall at his feet, and all who refuse to succumb to his rule will be slaughtered like sheep.’”
Lofton’s eyebrows lifted then came together. “So you’re familiar with a verse in The Warning. Yes, make no mistake, war is on the horizon. Those who benefit from the status quo will die to defend it, and if that is their wish”—his expression grew somber and his eyes seemed to glimmer—“then I will grant it. Society is rotting away at its foundations because of this preposterous notion we are all created equal. But we—you and me, Felix—we know that isn’t true. Those of us with the ability to fix society must do so, because the Source cannot be healed until society is healed. We have an obligation. That is why we are here. We are the same, Felix. Together, we can save this world.”
Why is he saying ‘we’? Felix wondered. There was no ‘we’. There couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.
“No need to decide anything now,” Lofton continued conversationally. “I understand this is a lot to digest, but I would like you to remember one thing. There will come a time when you must pick a side. You can’t straddle the line of neutrality forever.”
Pick a side? What the hell is he talking about? Hadn’t The Warning already done that? Hadn’t it already picked the sides? Lofton was the Drestian and those who followed him were Drestianites. Felix was the Belus, and the Order was supposedly on his side, though he was reserving judgment on whether he could trust them. So how was it, he wondered, Lofton could ask him to make a choice. There was no choice. Or was there? Felix nodded, then quickly shook his head, as if he’d changed his intentions, his inconsistent actions mimicking his state of mind.
“You’re an intelligent young man,” Lofton said, smiling at Felix’s mixed signals. “Has anything I’ve said struck you as wrong or misguided? Can you deny that tragedies occur around the globe every day and governments do nothing to prevent the next? Or the callous injustice of a world where half the population starves while the other half celebrates conspicuous consumption? Our governments permit the plundering of continents, and even genocide, in exchange for commercial profit. Our values and our respect for human life have become so warped our fellow humans shout ‘God is great!’ before committing the most horrific atrocities. Entire countries are being torn apart in the name of philosophies less enlightened than the beliefs practiced by cave dwellers. Millions are dying over oil, minerals and shiny rocks—trinkets—so a few men can live like kings. This goes beyond nation states and continents, Felix. Civilization itself has enemies. You cannot negotiate with them, compromise with them, or tolerate them. You can only destroy them. Make no mistake, they must be destroyed. I know who these people are, and they will come to understand what it means to fight on the wrong side of evolution. Think of it, Felix. Think of a world where people don’t need to fear those who would murder them over land or resources or for not sharing their beliefs. Imagine standing by my side as we crush the dictators, the terrorists, the demagogues and peddlers of hate and lies and false hope and every so-called leader who opposes what is good and just and right. We can end this strife. Think of it.”
Awed by the resolve in Lofton’s voice, Felix was adrift in a sea of confusion. Lofton’s words felt like the truth and they carried him away to the possibility of a world without fear and chaos, a world unburdened by the paralysis of self-interest and compromise. Lofton was going to set things right. He was going to fix the world’s troubles. Why should I believe him? Felix wondered suddenly. Why was he allowing Lofton to so effortlessly convince him of the justness of his actions when it was just as likely he only sought power and domination and didn’t actually give a shit about humanity’s troubled plight? People, after all, were Wisps, and weren’t they to blame for everything wrong in the world? Wasn’t that the way of Lofton and his Drestianites? Was Lofton really any different than the scores of garden variety despots whose insatiable lust for power had plunged kingdoms, countries and continents into a spiral of war, famine and disease? Lofton, he reminded himself, was his enemy. His opposite. The man at the other end—the wrong end—of a 2,000-year-old prophecy that had carved a bloody scar thro
ugh the course of human history.
“Let me ask you something,” Lofton said, giving him a long, searching look. “What is it you can’t live without? Is it an object? An activity?” He paused and added meaningfully, “A person perhaps? If you were to lose this…person, would you accept your fate or would you seek to redress it? If it’s the latter, where would you turn for help? Who could bring this person back? Whose name would you call upon?”
Who was he talking about? Allison? Did he mean Allison? Why would he lose her? “What are you—?” Felix started.
“You can’t deny human nature, Felix. We have always been our own worst enemies, more vile than any beast that has ever walked the earth or swam the seas. Without us it’s only going to get worse until the day it simply ends. Candlelight vigils, prayer, and yellow ribbons are not the solution to this calamity. They”—he waved out a hand—“have lost the right to govern themselves. They can’t fix this. But we can. Think about it.” He nodded down at the ground. “I believe you dropped it again.”
When Felix looked up, Lofton was gone.
“Seriously?” Felix muttered to himself. “I’m such an id—”
An explosion of pain ripped through Felix’s head and he stumbled backward, fighting to stay on his feet. Lofton! Felix thought, trying to find him through the gathering mist as another wave crashed down on him and he fell to his knees, screaming in agony. It felt like a wedge had been pounded through the crown of his skull, and now someone was hammering it down deeper and deeper, splitting his brain apart. Lofton, he realized, had waited until his defenses were down before launching his attack. Why had he trusted him? he wondered, feeling stupid and betrayed. Why didn’t he incinerate him when he had the chance? Why didn’t he go with his first instinct? Now it was too late. He’d had his opportunity and let it slip away. Felix had never made a graver mistake, and now, he was sure, it was going to cost him his life.
Chapter 28
Crossing Lines
Felix thought he understood pain. The duration of any pain he experienced, admittedly, was different than the norm, and it seemed there wasn’t a wound he couldn’t recover from in relatively short order. The initial pain of his injuries, however, he felt like anyone else, and there had been many in recent memory: the Faceman had smashed his face into a wall; the Protector Tripoli had choked him unconscious with a garrote, plunged a blade through his guts, and the log he’d intended for her head had missed the mark and shattered his shoulder instead, nearly sending him off the edge of the Cliff Walk; and the Numbered Ones had practically drained him of blood in the forest and at the rock quarry. Those injuries, initially at least, were all immensely painful, and he couldn’t imagine many situations that would better test his tolerance for pain. Until now.
Grenades seemed to be going off in his head, searing orange flashes bursting one after another as if set to a steady drumbeat. He clamped his mouth shut to silence his screams and as he quieted he realized there was another voice in his head, a woman’s voice. No words, just a series of notes, a terrible war chant without pattern or rhythm he felt inside himself, in his blood, in his every cell. Squeezing his eyes shut, he heard something else, the sound of feet crunching on glass and broken asphalt.
“Take it down a notch, Lilly,” a man’s voice said. “He needs to talk before I kill him.”
That didn’t sound like Lofton, Felix thought. Lilly? Did he say Lilly? Lofton wasn’t alone, he realized. He’d brought Drestianites. That backstabbing motherfucker!
The pain in Felix’s head subsided, slightly. He opened his eyes, raising them toward the voices. Two shadowed figures stood over him, silhouetted against the lamplight from the street. Slowly, their faces began to emerge from the milky haze and Felix was certain Lofton’s would be staring down at him, his smiling visage changed, all hate and rage, the face of death. Their features clarified, coming into focus. Neither of them was Lofton. The coward doesn’t want to do it himself, Felix thought, staring at the faces of his Drestianites. As he watched them, something about their spiteful expressions struck a note of familiarity. Had he seen them before? Did he know them? Then a snapshot of the gathering hall inside St. Rose chapel flickered behind his eyes and he remembered the leering looks of the couple heckling him and Allison from the front pew. Lilly and Kane. It was them. They weren’t Drestianites, Felix thought, confused. They were in the Order. What were they doing here? Were they with Lofton?
“Kane, what are you doing?” Felix managed to whisper through the searing pain. Why were they doing this to him? We’re on the same side! Aren’t we?
“Higher!” Kane commanded. His blond hair was swept back from his forehead, his hatred of the world engraved in the dull shimmer of his dark, deeply set eyes.
Lilly stepped forward, chin undulating, unleashing a banshee cry that penetrated Felix’s skull like a thousand hypodermic needles. Dressed entirely in black, her pale face shone white beneath midnight black hair, her luminescent eyes framed within a thick layer of mascara, a single diamond stud glittering in her left ear. It was her mouth that stood out though, and as Felix stared at it, he realized her voice was the source of his agony, ascending and dropping as the volume ebbed and flowed from her lips. He slumped to his butt, head lowered between his knees, staring down at cigarette butts and gum, blackened and as hard as the asphalt it clung to.
“Did I tell you to talk?” Kane said disdainfully, one side of his upper lip arching in a snarl. “Just tell me one thing before I kill you!” Felix heard a low hum, like an electric guitar plugging into an amplifier, and then there was light all around, glowing angry and purple. “How long have you been with Lofton?” Kane demanded.
Lofton? They think I’m with Lofton? Then this is all a mistake. I just need to make them understand. Felix raised his watering eyes to Kane and the air stirred as a streak of smoldering red flames sliced through the mist. He jerked his head back and pushed himself off the pavement, blinking back the splintering pain. Kane was holding something in his hands, something long and blood red—something on fire. Felix staggered, falling against the building, using it to support his shaking legs. “I’m not with Lofton,” he blurted out. “I’m—”
“Don’t lie to me!” Kane raged, his weapons ripping trails through the mist, whipping around him, the air shimmering from the heat. “We saw you! You shook his hand! Come clean and I’ll kill you quickly. How long have you been his little bitch? How long? Tell me, you little fuck!”
Felix had only talked with Lofton. Shaking his hand didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t symbolic. Why couldn’t they see that? He pointed at Lilly and said weakly, “Stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Lilly recoiled, her pinched face flaring with anger. She glared fiercely at Felix and lifted her chin, chanting up to the darkening skies.
White light exploded behind Felix’s eyes, burning through his brain. He jammed his palms into his ears, unable to silence her voice, his vision blurring.
“How long?” Kane screamed, holding his weapons out front, the tips hovering near Felix’s head, singing his hair. “I knew we couldn’t trust you! I told that dumb bitch Zara, but she wouldn’t listen! Now tell me how long you’ve been Lofton’s bitch or I’ll start with your feet. Then I’ll work my way up.” He turned to Lilly and ordered, “Louder!”
Lilly shrieked.
Her high-pitched song struck Felix like an axe to the face, bringing him to his knees. He cradled his head, out of breath, gasping for air. He opened his mouth to speak and the words wouldn’t come. He wanted to tell them to stop. That it was all a misunderstanding. That he wasn’t Lofton’s bitch. But his mind was clouded, the fracturing pain confusing his thoughts, incapacitating his ability to communicate.
‘How long are you going to let this go on?’ a voice in his head asked. ‘How much pain are you willing to endure? They’re not listening to you. You have to act! You have to defend yourself!’
Don’t! Felix replied to the voice. Don’t hurt them! They’re with the Order. It’s
a misunderstanding. I don’t want their blood on my hands.
Kane smiled down at him smugly with his dark eyes, his fiery weapons cutting paths through the cold air, gray smoke curling around them. “This is going to hurt. You see, my little Sticks here cauterize on contact. When I learned I could do this, I tried to come up with a proper name for them. You know, something clever and menacing. I went with ‘Light Sabers’ for a while, but someone informed me the name had already been taken.” He smiled at Lilly. “‘Fire Wands’ seemed pretty cool, but that’s too geeky—too Dungeons and Dragons, and that’s never been my style. Then about six years ago I de-limbed a Protector outside a nightclub in New York City, and Lilly convinced me I should call them ‘Death Blades’. I went with that for a time. It was menacing enough, but I decided it was too cheesy so I dropped it.” His eyes went briefly to Lilly. “Sorry babe. So now I call them ‘Sticks’. It’s understated, of course, but I think that’s the beauty of it. You hear ‘sticks’ and you think of a skinny little piece of wood, right? Then you see these bad boys and you wonder ‘how the hell can he call those terrifying instruments of death something so pansy-ish? Those aren’t sticks!’” Kane smiled, pleased with himself, and Felix thought Kane had delivered this soliloquy many times before. “Etymology aside,” Kane continued, “all you need to know about my Sticks is you won’t bleed out when you start losing parts. You won’t bleed much at all, actually. You’ll live for a good while even after I cut off your head.”