Apocalypse blues x-1

by Walter Greatshell

  Crumbling, I demanded, "How can you say that? I tried, but you were never there!"

  Dr. Stevens put her hand over the mike, and said, "Let's stay focused, shall we?"

  I nodded, regrouping. Keeping my eyes fixed on her, I said to him, "This is important. I need to know if you took what was in the safe and what you did with it. This can help both of us."

  "Come with me. That's all the help we'll ever need, Lulu. That's all I want. I know you think I'm a monster, but I've changed. I been blind, now I can see. I was scared like you, spitting like a cat stuck in a drainpipe because of time eating away at me, but now I know that's not real. It's a movie, Lulu, only a movie. You're stuck on the screen, and you know it's gotta end, because every movie you've ever seen has a beginning and an end. But it doesn't have to. Step out of the picture and join me."

  "I… can't. I'm sorry."

  "I know. There ain't words to describe it, and all you have to go by are words. That's the curse of the Xombie. But try to remember one last thing."

  I was weeping. "What?"

  "I loved you, baby girl."

  He fell away, folding down into a crouched homunculus once again. Nothing we could do would make him move. After a while, it was hard to believe he ever had.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  As the doctor and I tried our best to reanimate Cowper, a few people came in through the flaps. All of them were wearing the crisp blue uniforms of Air Force officers, their head implants strangely in harmony with the other medals. They weren't armed.

  "Colonel Lowenthal," said Dr. Stevens, sounding tense.

  "Hello, Doctor," said the leader. This was the man who had met Commander Coombs when we first arrived, but I hadn't had a very good look at him then. Seeing him close-up, I thought he seemed very young to be a colonel-midtwenties at most-and too wispy to be any kind of military officer. He looked more like a sullen supermarket bagger. "Still no luck?" he inquired.

  "I wouldn't say that. She was able to elicit more information in five minutes than we were able to in three days."

  "Yes, I heard, but I wouldn't call it useful information, would you?"

  "Without reviewing it properly, I couldn't say." Lowenthal smirked. Looking at me, he said, "So this is our little Lulu. You wouldn't be holding back on us, would you?"

  "No, sir."

  "Sir!" he repeated, amused. To the man next to him he joked, "You see that, Rusty? Some people respect my authority around here."

  I suddenly realized where I had heard that effeminate drawl before: He was the twerp in the booth who had admitted us to the complex.

  Sobering up, he said, "All right, let's give this one last shot. Lulu, you're in a very tough position. I realize you probably don't have a clue about what your dad did with our property, but I've been mandated to find out anything-anything-you may know that could help us. Anything at all, no matter how insignificant you may think it is. Something your father said to you, something you overheard, and thought, 'Hmm, that's weird.' Anything."

  I shook my head. "He gave me a survival kit when we first got on the boat," I said. "After that, I didn't see him until just before we were taken off, and he wasn't really conscious then. It's Kranuski and Webb you should be asking-they tortured him."

  "Oh, we're talking to them, don't worry. And we've examined your belongings, too. The trouble is, it's a big ship, and there are lots and lots of hiding places, especially for an old hand like Cowper. What makes it difficult is that we don't have a lot of submarine experts available here to help us in our search. We don't dare let your crew loose on the sub, and if we start picking it apart ourselves we're liable to wreck it. It's not exactly tied up to a wharf-anything could happen to it out there. Without your help, we don't have a whole lot of options."

  "I'm still hopeful that we can reach Cowper again," offered Dr. Stevens.

  "Was I talking to you?" Lowenthal asked snidely. Turning back to me, he confided, "These doctors will tell you anything, but the truth is they don't know squat about what makes these mothers tick. Furies have their own agenda, and you can't push them an inch beyond it. Cowper's tapped out. I've seen it numerous times."

  "What's going to happen to him?" I asked anxiously.

  "You should be more worried about what's going to happen to you. I understand you've been made privy to all our secrets around here, and unless you can prove you're deserving of that trust, that puts you on pretty thin ice. See, the problem I have, Lulu, is that I don't think you're being entirely honest with me."

  "But I am!"

  "Oh, you may think you are, but I don't think you're completely honest with anyone. You're a natural spy. In fact, you're the perfect spy because you even keep secrets from yourself. Coombs saw that, and used it. I think your father may have as well. But ultimately your inner spook exists to serve you, and maybe with the right incentive, we can get at the truth."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I'll show you. Come on."

  They led me out of the building and into a remarkable gathering of people. The alleys of the research compound were suddenly full of well-dressed older men, clomping through the mud in fashionable gear and Wellingtons as if outfitted for a shooting party. Not a single one had the implant. They stared at me in fascinated silence, and I back at them.

  "Just keep going," said the colonel, indicating a path through the crowd. "Go right out the gate. If you get any brainstorms you want to share, just cross your arms like this:" He made a big X over his head.

  I looked for Dr. Stevens, but she was gone. None of the doctors were in evidence. Something red flashed across my eye, and I realized men were aiming laser pointers at me. They didn't care that I could see them doing it.

  Feeling a nameless dread, I walked out of the compound and onto the surrounding mire. What next? The gate shut behind me, leaving me alone under that quilted silvery sky full of hot air. Not knowing what else to do, I picked my way over to the metal pier leading to the drawbridge. It was my hope that I was dismissed for the moment. Just then the electric winch activated, lowering the bridge for me. No, not for me. For a small group of people standing on the far side.

  My heart leaped to see them. It was my posse-all six of them: Hector, Julian, Jake, Shawn, Lemuel, and Cole. They crossed at a run, and we collided joyously on the catwalk.

  "Ohmygodohmygod!" I screamed. The boys, too, were the most emotional I had ever seen them. We were all in tears, delirious with relief, yet stung by the sight of the gadgets on each other's head. "Where have you guys been?" I cried.

  "There's no time to talk," Julian said, suddenly aware of the curious mob behind the fence. Lowering his voice and making a warning sign to the others, he said, "We're breaking out."

  "Call us mint jelly, 'cause we're on the lam," said Jake.

  This only made me cry harder. "You mean right now? How?"

  Shawn said, "They were gonna punk us out. I was like, 'No way, dude. See ya!'"

  "What?"

  "It's true," Hector said. "There aren't enough women to go around, so there's like a sex-slavery thing going on, like in prison. That's how we're expected to earn our keep! They have sugar daddies all picked out for us, and we're supposed to act all grateful or nobody will want us. It's either that or be guinea pigs for medical research."

  "Fuck that shit," said Cole. "I didn't come here to marry no millionaire."

  "How do you expect to escape?"

  Julian said, "There's no security in here, no guns; everything's on the honor system. Nobody even tried to stop us!" He was giddy. "They left us alone in this big tent, and we just took off!"

  "Shouldn't be any problem getting outside," said Hector. "Keeping people in is incidental. They let the Arctic climate handle that."

  And with good reason, I thought, but I wasn't about to nit-pick. If there was ever a time to march out into a freezing void, this was it. "How'd you find me?"

  "That was the easiest part! They showed us the map program they have here that traces everybody'
s movements. Anybody can find anybody. It's a joke."

  "Where's Mr. Albemarle?"

  Hector answered brusquely, "He's not in the system. We couldn't find him. We couldn't find Mr. Cowper either. I'm sorry, Lulu. We were hoping you might know something."

  I shook my head no, reluctant to speak. Cowper was beyond rescuing.

  "The rest of the crew is at the boat," Julian said. "They're all still being held out there to keep it running, so we're going to try to free them and retake the ship. I know it sounds sketchy, but if we can just reach the motor pool, we may be able to swipe a vehicle and crash the gate before anybody knows what's happening. From what I've heard, there may even be a few people who want to throw in with us."

  Cole corrected him, "A lotta people, G. You heard how they hate Mogul-damn!"

  "Almost as much as they hate that colonel dude for selling out the Air Force, then acting like George fucking Washington," Shawn said.

  "Colonel Lowenthal?" I asked.

  "That's the dude. He wasn't even a colonel until he hooked up with Mogul. The real colonel's dead. It's sorta like what happened with Coombs-Lowenthal was just a second lieutenant, but he was willing to play ball, and they put him in charge of everything."

  "They inflated a statue in his honor," said Jake.

  "They definitely have problems in here," agreed Julian, "but we can't waste time trying to whip up a revolt. Main thing is to get our guys free and storm the boat." He was more and more worried by the spectators. "Let's get the hell out of here."

  We had been moving toward the bridge. It was suddenly raised in our faces.

  I whispered, "I'm so sorry, you guys."

  No one heard me. They were all swearing and attacking the cable mechanism.

  This had to be what Lowenthal was talking about-this was the "incentive." I had almost fooled myself into believing we could run. As the scales fell from my eyes, I looked back at the men behind the fence. They were watching us like rapt bettors at the Kentucky Derby, waiting for the starting gun. There was even a zoom-lens camera on a crane to capture live video of our plight. The revolution will be televised, I thought.

  "We need tools," Julian said, stepping back in disgust from the greasy, unyielding winch. He had hurt his hand.

  "We have to go another way," said Lemuel.

  Dreamily, I answered, "There is no other way. The moat goes all the way around."

  "Then we'll swim it."

  Shawn piped up, "No way! Look down there!" There seemed to be things moving under the slimy water. Glutinous, embryonic shapes.

  "He's right," said Julian. "It's a death trap down there."

  "Well, what the hell we gonna do?" demanded Cole.

  "I know what I'm going to do," said Jake, looking across the field.

  "What?"

  "Pray."

  Alerted by his tone, we turned to see what he was looking at. Someone was coming. Someone blue.

  "Oh no, man," Hector said. "Come on."

  It was Ed Albemarle.

  He came on like a charging rhino, and we knew there would be no stopping him. There was no choice but to flee the onslaught.

  "You run ahead of us," Hector said to me. "We'll try to hold him off."

  "Run where?"

  "That gate!" said Cole, gesticulating at the men in the compound. "They have to let us in!"

  "They won't," I said. "They're only here to watch."

  Julian barked, "Then we'll run in circles! Just go!"

  I ran. My sandals flew off my feet, then my mud-caked booties. Barefoot, I could run faster anyway, clay smooshing between my toes as I left a trail of perfect footprints. The five boys were following in close formation, and behind them the juggernaut. For all his bulk, Mr. Albemarle barely seemed to touch the ground, legs a pistoning blur and clods of mud rising in his wake. He was a flesh-and-bone torpedo homing in.

  "We can take him down if we have to!" shouted Julian. "Two of us on each leg, two on each arm, one in the middle, and one around his neck! Be ready!"

  Without panic or argument they arranged themselves into a loose flying wedge, chests heaving. Albemarle drew closer and closer, his thumping footfalls matching my racing heartbeat-I thought I could feel the ground shake. In the space of a few seconds, he went from being a barely believable threat in the distance to a drowned specter at our heels, scattering us like sheep. Hector overtook me, singled out by his stepfather and frantic to keep his lead as the rest of us peeled off to either side and closed formation behind them.

  They were getting away from us; it was now or never. "Go!" Julian shouted.

  Cole and Lemuel put on a last burst of speed and closed on Albemarle, trying to tackle him around the legs. At the same time, Julian, Jake, and Shawn swept in from either side. I held back, not wanting to be crushed in the fight, but there was no fight to speak of-they never touched him. The big man slipped through their grasp with animal fluidity, barely conscious of their clumsy grabs. Fumbling after him, the boys tripped over each other and fell in the mud.

  Hector knew he didn't have a chance. As a last resort, he tried to feint and double back like a jackrabbit, but Albemarle was quicker: Simple as picking fruit from a vine, he snatched the boy off his feet, cutting him off midscream with a crushing embrace, the zealous affection of a feeding anaconda. Hector's pleading eyes went dull.

  "No!" I cried. "You can't!"

  Ed Albemarle opened his plum-colored lips wide and engulfed Hector's mouth and nose. As we scrambled up, he turned his back on us and moved off, hoarding his stepson's body the way a dog hoards a bone. It was not that he was intimidated by us, just that he was in the middle of something and could not be disturbed. Hector already looked dead, but I wasn't ready to believe it.

  Echoing my thoughts, Julian yelled, "We have to catch him! Cut them off at the moat! C'mon!"

  The other boys, muddy and wild-eyed, fanned out. Albemarle reached the edge of the ditch and cut left. We began to converge on him, and he trotted right toward us with Hector slack in his arms. I remembered a picture in one of my mother's art books that had given me nightmares when I was little, a hideous painting by Goya called Saturn Devouring His Son, and suddenly I knew what we had to do.

  "Push them in!" I shouted on the run. "Hector's gone-we have to push them both in now, before it's too late!"

  God help them, the boys were with me. I would have tried alone, but they were there at my side, all of us riding the same wave of shame and horror at what we were about to do. Albemarle hesitated as we closed in, then abruptly dropped Hector's body and rushed us-rushed me. His big hand grabbed me like snatching up a barnyard chicken, and I was hauled before that dark face. Intelligence burned there, the inscrutable grin of a cannibal idol, and I imagined I heard a voice say It's going to be okay. Then Lemuel head-butted him at full speed.

  Lemuel had lost some weight on the boat, but he was still a hefty kid, and the force of his blow probably would have knocked a normal person cold. The only effect it had on Albemarle was to throw him off-balance, so that the combined momentum of the other boys was enough to shove him in the deep trench.

  Falling, Ed Albemarle sensibly dropped me and seized the two biggest boys, the two athletes, Lemuel and Cole, like a climber trading handholds, but even they weren't enough to offer purchase-the dynamics overwhelmingly favored gravity, and all three vanished under a heaving spout of muck. Julian yanked me back from the brink.

  "Lulu! You okay? You okay?" He was frantic, tears streaking his muddy face, and the other two, Jake and Shawn, staring over the edge, shell-shocked.

  Coughing through my bruised windpipe, I tried to gather enough air to say Hector, but before I could do it, there was an explosive movement to my left. Shawn shot bolt upright, neck arching backward in a volley of popping cartilage, and began gliding away as if on a dolly. His feet weren't touching the ground! But I could see footprints and a second pair of feet underneath-it was Hector. Hector had Shawn on his back like a side of beef, throttling him from behind as he capered
away.

  None of us had anything left, but we gave chase.

  "Albemarle was one thing, but I can take Hector," Julian muttered halfheartedly. "I can take him…"

  But it was obvious we were never going to catch them. It is exhausting to run through mud, and we were already beat: Jake's face was blotchy red, Julian seemed delirious, and the strain was aggravating my implant something fierce-it felt like a chisel in my head. The painkillers were wearing off. If theirs felt anything like mine, we were all going to be out of action soon. And every second poor Shawn was flopping farther and farther out of reach.

  Watching them get away, I finally called it quits: "That's enough… we can't." I sounded like I had laryngitis.

  "No!" Jake yelled, still plodding. "We have to catch them! Come on!"

  Julian slumped in the mud. "It's all over, dude. Give it up."

  "No!" But the strength seemed to go out of him, and he slowed to an aimless, broken walk. "Don't you get it?" he whimpered. "We're next."

  It was hard to think with my skull aching so bad. I tried to look at the whole thing methodically, rationally, in the way that always drove my mother crazy. I'm not a robot like you! she would scream during our fights. I'm a human being! I have feelings! I thought of Cowper saying, Lulu, did you look into my heart? and of Lowenthal calling me a spy.

  Maybe they were right. Maybe instead of the innocent victim of circumstances I always imagined myself to be, I was a selfish, scheming little creep. Was that the only reason I had made it that far, by conning everyone, including myself? If so, maybe it was justice that it end there and then. I had gotten the boys into this-it was only right that I share their fate.

  Crying a little, I fished the gold locket out of my shirt and looked at the baby picture. When had I ceased to be that child? When had I gone bad?

  "Here they come," said Jake.

  I gave you my heart, and you didn't even give it a second glance.

  Frowning, I picked open the clasp and took out the picture, looking again at the tiny chicken scratching on the back: 4 ABL SFR 13. A chill blew through me. I recognized this. I couldn't have understood when I first read it, but I did now. 4 ABL was four feet Above Base Line-the lowest part of the submarine; S was Starboard; FR 13 was Frame thirteen, as in one of the submarine's numbered ribs, up near the bow, perhaps inside one of the forward ballast tanks. These were engineering abbreviations used on the diagrams I had been studying. Coordinates. Anyone who knew subs would know these things. I was holding a set of directions.