by Rajan Khanna
The pain shoots through me, and my finger contracts on the trigger, sending a shot out. Down to three bullets now and I don’t think I can move.
But you have to.
I plant my free hand and push, rolling to the other side as I see another boot coming down. I whip the other arm up and fire. Twice.
Sarah looks shocked as the first bullet takes her in one thigh, and then she drops. The second explodes her throat and one side of her face. What’s left of her expression still looks surprised as she topples to the side.
I hear movement behind me. Tess.
With a supreme effort of will, I try to raise myself to my feet, even though my spine feels snapped in two and I can barely feel my legs or my body.
But amazingly, I stand. Amazingly, I can move.
Tess is shuffling away from me, a bag over her shoulder, her feet in oversized, cushioned slippers.
I raise the revolver. Only one shot left. Have to make it count.
“Stop,” I say.
She keeps moving.
“Tess!” I want to shoot the gun to make her stop, but I can’t. So instead I stalk after her, slapping back the pain, grab her shoulder, and turn her around. Her face is impassive. Her eyes stare at me from behind the large glasses. I jam the barrel of the gun up against her chin.
“An execution?” she asks.
“One I’ve been looking forward to for a long time.”
“And what was my crime, Benjamin?”
“You know,” I say.
She tuts at me. “If this is an execution, a justified killing, the tradition is to read out the list of crimes.”
The pain of Sarah’s kick is still swelling inside of me, and Tess’s words are making a fuzz in my head. I jam the gun against her face, pressing hard just under her right eye.
“You know,” I say again. “When we were here last . . . you gave us the location of the boffins. You deliberately fed it to us, so that they could infect the island with the new virus. Enigma. And you sold out the location of Tamoanchan to your Valhallan friends and their allies. And . . .” I feel the tears start to well up. And my voice is thick with the emotion of all of this. “And because of that, people died. Miranda. Died.”
Tess just stares at me. I think about pulling the trigger. Then she sneezes. Or at least I think it’s a sneeze. Soon I catch it for what it really is—laughter. Great, heaving, wheezing laughter.
Heat is starting to flood my face. “What are you laughing at?”
She doesn’t reply. She’s still shaking with it.
“Stop,” I say, my voice low and dark. I cock back the hammer of the revolver.
Tess holds up her hands and manages to get herself under control. She sighs. “Sorry, Benjamin. It’s just . . . your version of events is so typically . . . you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Benjamin, what is it that I do? I’m an information broker. I trade information. Yes, I gave you the location of Miranda’s scientists. Because she was looking for them. And because of me, you got them back. Did some other unsavory types take advantage of that? Yes. And apparently that caused a lot of problems for you. But that isn’t my problem. I only provide the information. The location of Tamoanchan? Another piece of information. Which I already had. And, you should know, it wasn’t really of any value once you let your spies escape.”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses.”
“Excuses?” She shakes her head. “It’s business. It’s . . . survival. We do what we need to do to survive. For me, the only thing I’ve ever been good at is knowing things. Learning things. So I rely on that.”
“There are lines,” I say.
Tess holds up her hands. “Of course there are. But I think if you look closely enough, you’ll find that we’re standing about the same distance away from those lines.”
The barrel of the revolver comes away from her face. “You were my friend,” I say, my voice strained. My arm feels like cold stone, fixed, with the gun still pointing at her eye.
Her smile is humorless. “Maybe,” she says. “But we both know that friendship has its limits. Friendship didn’t stop you from leaving Malik behind, after all.”
A flush of something bitter pushes up beneath the cold rage. My gun arm trembles.
“The difference, of course,” she continues, “is that I didn’t know what was going to happen to you. Or Miranda.”
“Don’t. Say. Her name.”
“But you knew exactly what you were doing to Malik.”
“I was trying to save you and Claudia.”
“I know,” she says. “Benjamin, I know. And I’m grateful for it. But it’s just one example of the hard choices we sometimes have to make. In this world. . . . If it helps, I am sorry that you had to make that choice. I’m sorry that the world is like this. I’m sorry that Miranda—”
Blood flows back into me. I press the revolver against Tess’s sternum. “Do not say her name.” Tess presses her lips together. “Mal taught me something,” I say. “Yes, we make hard choices. But he taught me that those actions have consequences. This is yours.”
Tess shakes her head almost imperceptibly. “Think hard about that, Benjamin. Think very hard on what you just said. ‘Actions have consequences.’ What consequences have your actions brought? Malik. Your father. Sergei. Your friend, what was his name—Diego? Even Sarah over there. What consequences did they face from your actions?”
“Shut up, or I will shut you up.”
The voice in my head is saying that she’s stalling me. Hoping that one of her people will come to check on her and take me out. So the voice tells me that I need to take care of this now. Do it quick, easy, and get out. I put the barrel against her head.
“You’re a coward, Benjamin,” Tess says. “What did you do when your father Faded? You ran away. And since he’s been gone, you’ve been fumbling around trying to stay alive, and you’ve fucked over all the people you come into contact with. You’ve fucked your friends, the people who care the most about you. I’m surprised Claudia can stand you anymore.”
I go to pull back the hammer, but it’s already back.
Something cold and wild comes into Tess’s eyes. “And you ran from Miranda. Go ahead. Shoot me for saying it. But she was sick and you locked her away and . . . well, did she die because of me or because of you?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No.”
“No? Remove yourself from the equation, Benjamin.” She’s raising her voice, practically yelling. “Where would she be—right now—if you hadn’t been there?”
“I saved her,” I say. “Without me she would have died.”
“Maybe the first time,” she says. “But would she have been infected? Would she have been bombed? You want to shoot me because you think it will assuage your guilt, blame someone else. But it’s you, Benjamin. It’s always been you.”
Tears blur my eyes. A buzzing fills my head. My body. Everywhere. And I’m willing my finger to move and end this when the voice cuts in.
No. Not like that.
Right. That would be too easy.
I step back and lower the gun.
The barest hint of a smile curls Tess’s lips.
My finger tightens around the trigger, and I raise my hand and shoot Tess in the stomach.
She crumples to the ground, her liver-spotted hands going to the bloody ruin of her midsection, and her face twists in pain as it sets in.
“That probably won’t kill you,” I say. “At least not right away. And maybe your men will come get you. But even if they do, that wound is probably going to be infected. And that certainly will kill you. But slowly.” I shrug. “Of course, you know that. You know everything.”
As I’m coming back to myself, I realize the smoke that’s already seeping into the room. A dull roar fills the air, somewhere beyond us. “Or,” I say, “if I’m lucky, you’ll lie here, until this whole building, all your work, all your treasure, burns down around you, and you slowly roast on the a
shes.”
Tess opens her mouth, as if to say something. But nothing comes out.
“Good-bye, Tess,” I say. “I hope you suffer.”
Then I run for the exit.
* * *
It’s only as I’m running out that I remember Claudia. I look back inside, but everything is smoke and the bright orange glow of the fire.
Did she get out? I didn’t even see her.
I stand there for a moment. Unmoving. I couldn’t find her if I wanted to. Not in there.
Tess’s words come back to me. You’re a coward, Benjamin.
Then lights hit me, from the direction of the street, and I see the Valkyrie descending to pick me up.
She’s alive.
I exhale loudly, then move my aching body toward the ladder leading to the Valkyrie.
Pain jolts through me with each rung I climb, starting in my back and radiating everywhere. But eventually I make it inside, falling into the cargo bay, gripping the edges, and hanging my head from the opening as we pull away.
Beneath me, orange flames are already licking at the edges of the roof and smoke pours out of several of the upper windows. The San Francisco Public Library, and all the assembled knowledge it contains, is dying. And I’m the one who killed it.
Tess’s other words come back to me. And the words of others. Look at all the wreckage you’ve created, Ben.
I push the words away. Now is not the time for that. Now is the time for celebration. Because Tess is dead.
I remember once reading something that said, “revenge is best served cold.” I didn’t know it at the time, but that’s Feral shit. It’s not served—you need to take it. And it’s nothing but hot. Revenge is a fire, and once it starts burning, it will continue to burn and consume until you’re able to put it out.
And what’s left when you do? Ashes?
Shut up, voice, I think. It’s a celebration. And what’s a celebration without something to drink? So I dig up my next bottle (there are only two left) and I tip it back. It tastes bitter as it crests my lips, but I gulp it down and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
I drink, and I drink, like there’s a bottomless hole inside of me. I don’t go to find Claudia. She doesn’t come to find me. I just drink until I’m fit to bursting, until it’s all ready to come out of me. And as my eyelids flicker, and the darkness beckons, I think, at least in this one moment, I am full.
CHAPTER NINE
FROM THE JOURNAL OF MIRANDA MEHRA
Dear Ben,
If you’re reading this, I’m dead . . .
No.
Dear Ben,
The odds of you finding this are slim, but I wanted to write some words to you in the event . . .
Fuck, Miranda.
Ben—
I miss you. I know it hasn’t been that long since I saw you last, but with everything that’s been going on . . .
Fuck. Fact is, you’ll probably never see this. That this entry will find you, that it will navigate this world, that it will speak to you . . . it’s too improbable. But I need to believe that it will. I need to fill each word with you. With thoughts of you. With feelings.
There are things I need to say to you, things you need to know in the event that I die. I know that despite your best intentions, you would go to your death without saying the things that I would guess need saying. I won’t let that happen.
So much has changed in the past weeks. Since reaching Tamoanchan. Since Enigma. And we never had that chance to sit down and talk things through.
If you’re reading this, it’s probably far too late. Too much has happened. Too many enemies are at the door and—
Damn it. Speak of the devil. I hear them now.
* * *
That I have this journal at all is a miracle. Yeah . . . that’s a word that I’ve never been comfortable with—never liked to use, never liked to hear—but when the odds are so slim that such a thing would be possible at all . . . well, it captures the idea.
But I do have it, and I’m able to write in it, and I’ve been, at least so far, able to hide it away in this room so no one will find it. So yes, Ben, I’m going to be writing to you. Because even if you never see this, because even if a stranger is reading this, it needs to be expressed, it needs to be let out into the world. The things here must be known.
So . . .
Dear Ben,
I fucking miss you.
If you’re reading this, then the world is a better place than I think it is.
Fuck. I should probably start at the beginning: back on Tamoanchan. Back in that room, barricaded in, so fatigued and weak that I could barely stay awake, even as the bombs were dropping.
I remember the door opening, being battered open, and shapes rushing into the room.
You would have been proud of me. Even as worn out as I was, I reached for the gun next to me, and, taking a moment, only a millisecond, to make sure it wasn’t you, I shot at them. I swear to God Science that I hit one of them. I remember one going down. Dead. But there were more of them. Too many for me to recover and reload and fire. Then I felt a sharp pain, and that was it. I don’t remember much about that moment, but I remember thinking, “This is the end.” I knew death was coming for me, and I felt rage. And frustration. I wasn’t done yet. There was still so much more to do.
Then . . . I woke up.
If I’m being honest, my first feeling was disappointment. I don’t know why. I’m ashamed to even admit it, but it’s true.
I later figured out that they had used a tranq gun, like the ones I used to use on Ferals. That was the sharp pain. It must have been quick acting, or else I was weak from Enigma. I also recognized that I was aboard an airship, from the feeling of its motion, that sense of being up in the air. I thought to myself—no bullshit—that Ben should be here. Because he loves the air so much.
But you weren’t there.
I was so angry with you for a while. A long while. Angry that you weren’t there to stop them. Angry that you had left me all alone. Weak and vulnerable.
I know that you were trying to help. Trying to defend the island. Trying to . . . not think about yourself.
No, that’s not fair.
You didn’t think about yourself. You faced the attackers. You put your life on the line without being asked to. But . . . part of me wondered, maybe still wonders, if you didn’t partially do it because you couldn’t face the thing that was killing me: Enigma. Them . . . them, you could shoot at. People you could kill. A disease . . .
You couldn’t defeat a disease.
But then again, neither could I.
And that’s one of the most fucked up things about all of this. These people, the Cabal, who had infected me in such an insidious way, were able to reverse it like . . . well, like that. Even as they ushered me off of the airship, to wherever I am (I’m still trying to figure that out), they just stuck a syringe into me and pushed the plunger and then . . . voilà. I was cured.
It filled me with rage. Such fiery rage. Because these people, who tormented us, who killed Sergei, who literally poisoned the well of our community, the home that we’d found, could have reversed it in an instant.
Knowing that made me wonder. If Maya, the saboteur in our midst, if she had offered me the cure, when Sergei was sick, is there anything I wouldn’t have done to save him? I don’t know. I really don’t.
But she didn’t. And Sergei died. And now I know that he didn’t have to.
So, yes, there’s all this hatred and rage and bile leaking out of me all the time.
But, hey—I’m not dying of Enigma anymore.
Don’t get too excited about that. There’s a lot more . . .
They took me off the ship (cured me) and tossed me into what amounted to a cell. I thought, as I lay there, that I had ended up like you. Tossed into a cell. Because that seems to happen to you all the time.
Damn it, Ben, I miss you. I don’t know where you are. If you’re even alive. I don’t know if Diego and Ros
ie are alive, or Clay and all the others . . . Crazy Osaka, James, Coral, everyone. I don’t know if the island survived.
(And that’s part of the whole mindfuck, because I’m not completely convinced that I’m not on the island now, but—)
I can’t help thinking that I’ve been ignoring the real enemy. It’s not that Maenad isn’t the ultimate goal. It’s the mountain we have to climb, but—these evil fucking bastards are using it. They’re working with it. They’re mutating it and who knows what else. And they’re muddying our path. So I can’t help thinking, in retrospect, that we should have focused on them first. Because maybe if we could have stopped them, if we could have, to sound like you, taken them out, then the path to curing Maenad would have been so much clearer.
But we didn’t. And this is the world we live in now.
I wonder what else I might have done better. I think about it all now. When I have time to think. When I’m not wondering what they’re going to do to me.
There they are. I better put this away again.
* * *
They didn’t leave me in my cell for very long. They left me long enough to use the makeshift toilet, to think about what was happening, the choices I’d made, and then they sent for me.
I should probably explain who “they” are, especially if it’s someone other than you, Ben, reading this. We called them the Cabal. It seems silly, in retrospect. That seems like far too benign a word for an organization of such evil; but all I can say is that we didn’t know back then. Back then, they seemed like a curious faction within the Valhallans, one more concerned with knowledge and science than strength. But the truth, it’s been so much worse. I and my people grew up with science; we cultivated knowledge, but for one ultimate purpose: to cure this world of the Maenad virus, “the Bug” in your parlance, the destroyer of civilization. We wanted to heal the world. To patch up the wound that kept it bleeding for so long.
(When I talk like that, it’s my dad coming through—he was always a little melodramatic. I think I picked it up from his writings).
The Cabal (though they have another name I will get to in a minute), they studied and they accumulated knowledge and they honed their skills for one purpose, too—only that purpose is abhorrent. Instead of fixing the world, they want to use science, Maenad, their skills, for personal power. And fuck anyone who stands in their way. I mean, we’ve seen the lengths that they’ll go to. Each one more sick and twisted than the last. I was horrified when I saw that they were trying to engineer Maenad. Then you, Ben, told me about the mutated Ferals that you saw. Then we had Enigma. Evil after evil after evil.