by Peter Liney
Suddenly there was this loud metallic crunch behind us, and we heard the shriek of a distressed engine. Jimmy and me turned around, barely believing our luck—the Dragonfly had struck the top of a building and somehow become entangled in its superstructure.
“Keep going!” I told Jimmy, pushing him on, the noise of the screaming Dragonfly’s engine behind us almost deafening.
As we approached the junction with the main street they must’ve realized we were getting away ’cuz they opened fire again, even though there was no clear shot. I guess up to that point it had never occurred to them that we might escape, but now they were determined to finish the job, to eliminate Jimmy once and for all. But it was too late. We left them there, on top of the building, pinned and helpless like some huge insect on display.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dr. Simon had told me to get to the clinic for ten, but I was at the security gates before nine, waiting for him to send my clearance. I hadn’t slept a wink all night—in fact, I hadn’t even bothered going to bed. Jimmy and me had stayed up for a while, talking over what had happened. Neither of us could work out how he’d been read, how he’d ended up on the database. It couldn’t be from the Island, ’cuz we’d all been there and they didn’t have anyone else’s name—and anyways, he hadn’t been “recognized” when we first got over. Something must’ve happened in the last few days—or maybe they’d just manually fed him in, adding as much information as they could to the photos taken on the Island? But that couldn’t explain where they’d got his name, even if they hadn’t spelled it correctly.
Eventually we got tired of speculating, of worrying what it might mean, and Jimmy went to bed, telling me to do the same. I was too embarrassed to say there was no point, that I simply wouldn’t be able to sleep without Lena beside me. I did try, lying there in the dark for a while, staring at nothing, but eventually I returned up top; leaning against one of the church walls with my sleeping bag draped around my shoulders, gazing at the fire still burning across the street, thinking about all manner of stuff.
I never said anything to Jimmy—’course I didn’t—but I’d been really shocked by how badly Infinity wanted him taken out of the picture. I mean, yeah, destroying the satellites, taking away their system of control, that’d make anyone Public Enemy Number One, but I couldn’t help but feel there was more to it than that. The amount of firepower they laid on us, for one—and for sure, most of it had been directed at him. For some reason this was personal: they wanted him removed from the face of the earth and the sooner the better. But I just didn’t get why. What could Jimmy possibly know or discover that would do harm to Infinity?
I shifted position and a slight waft of Lena came off the sleeping bag. I smiled, tried to chase it, to get it back into my body, but it was gone, swallowed up by the stifling smoke. How I wished that night was over so I could see her, make sure she was okay, find out if she’d regained her sight.
The trouble with dealing with medical people is that they automatically got this thing going on; this professional aura. You’re almost too scared to ask them questions, to meet them head-on, and they know it. Perhaps we were being conned? Maybe Dr. Simon was just going to take our money knowing we were in no position to kick up a fuss? Not to mention the fact that every operation, no matter what it might be, has its dangers—what if Lena ended up not only blind but damaged in some other way?
And it wasn’t just the failure of the operation I was worried about, it was also the success. What would happen if she could see? Would it change things? Would it change her? Would she want to do something different with her life? And, Jesus, sorry to keep talking about this, but what was she gonna think when she saw me?
I don’t know whether he was trying to prove a point, or maybe there were just things to do, but the Doc didn’t arrange my clearance ’til nine fifty-five precisely. Nor was the driver sent for me. By the time I got through security and walked up to the house it was ten past ten.
He came out to greet me, bidding me good morning, looking all fresh and polished, dandy and dapper, but I wasn’t in the mood for exchanging pleasantries. “She okay?”
“Yes. Of course she is,” he said, a little taken aback by my abruptness.
“No problems?”
“Clancy . . . No! None whatsoever.”
I hesitated for a moment, never so afraid to ask a question. “Can she see?”
He smiled. “Let’s go and find out, shall we?”
“Don’t you know?” I asked.
He never replied, just took me through to her room.
I couldn’t help myself: I stopped dead at the doorway, too afraid to enter, letting him go in first, just kind of easing myself into the room.
Maybe I seen too many movies, but I assumed she’d be sitting up in bed with bandages around her eyes, that we were going to unwrap her and she’d tell us what she could see. She was in bed, but there were no bandages and she was staring at the door, waiting for me to enter.
Again I stopped dead, unable to go so much as an inch closer, waiting for some kind of reaction, in that moment feeling like I was nothing, that she was bound to reject me.
“Clancy,” she whispered, opening her arms.
I tell you, big guy or no, it was just too much. I went to her, grabbing hold, fighting tears every step of the way.
“You can see?” I whispered.
“Kind of,” she said. “Not clearly. You’re very blurry.”
“Well, that’s for the best,” I told her, not altogether joking.
“But I can make things out. Shapes . . . people,” she said, her excitement threatening to bubble over.
“That’ll improve,” Dr. Simon assured her. “Quite quickly.”
I might’ve been a bit sparing with the pleasantries when I first arrived, my mind elsewhere, but I tell you, not then. I thanked that man from the bottom of my heart. I mean, he might see it as a fairly standard operation, but as far as we were concerned, it was a damn miracle.
“Just one thing, Clancy,” he told me. “I’d like to keep her here.”
I turned to him, a little surprised. “Sorry?”
“The first seventy-two hours, she really should be under observation.”
“You told me she’d be able to come with me.”
“I said I ‘hoped’ . . . Best not take chances.”
I looked to Lena. I know it was crazy, but I just couldn’t bear the thought of having to spend another night without her.
“I’m coming with you,” she said, swinging her legs around to get out of bed.
“Lena! Please!” Dr. Simon protested. “Just for a couple of days.”
It’s funny, for both of us her sight was the most important thing in the world, but being together suddenly seemed almost to rival it.
“I’m going with Clancy,” she told him.
“Lena!” he repeated, sounding just that bit angry. “Really. I’ve got to insist.”
“Sorry,” she replied. The image of her searching for her clothes, actually trying to find something by looking, almost stopped me in my tracks. Were we being foolish? Shouldn’t we take every precaution?
“Maybe . . .”
“I’m coming with you!” she insisted.
“I can manage.”
“Well, I can’t. Where are my clothes?” she asked Dr. Simon.
In the end, and despite how unhappy he was about it, she got her way. He did ask where we were living, just in case anything went wrong, but Lena refused to answer—it was only when I faithfully promised that, no matter what, I’d bring her back on Friday to check everything was okay, that he finally let her go.
I think we both felt kind of guilty as we were leaving, a bit like rebellious teenagers. That man changed our world; he’d been so generous, but he couldn’t understand how much we wanted to be together, to explore the gift he’d bestowed.
The whole way back to the churchyard was spent kind of stumbling in wonder; stopping every now and then, letting her take things in, listening to her
almost childlike cries of joy. I mean, it had been more than four years.
When we finally descended the steps into the crypt everyone went crazy. She took them outside into the daylight, so she could get as clear a view as possible: standing in front of them one by one, looking them up and down, so thrilled to finally put faces to voices. Arturo insisted on showing her his transfer, rolling his sleeve up as far as it could go so she got the full effect, moving his arm and giggling when Mickey Mouse moved with it. Lena’s delight, her excitement, were utterly infectious. You never heard such a lot of whooping and laughter and helpless crying.
’course we celebrated; using up the last of the food, knowing we’d have to get more the following day, that it was probably going to be even more difficult. But do you know something? In that moment, we didn’t really care.
Delilah took the opportunity to sing; none of her usual chilly blues stuff, more gospel, praising the Lord, praising every possible entity who might’ve assisted in any way in restoring Lena’s sight. And though I couldn’t help but deliver the odd note of caution, reminding them that we couldn’t be certain her sight would improve, that we shouldn’t forget the possibility of rejection, I think I was saying it more for my benefit than theirs.
The kids joined Delilah in singing, even Gordie, without the slightest hint of a sneer or protest, and all of us ended up dancing around the crypt in our own individual manner (which for me is a kind of internal thing that you might not even notice too much from the outside).
As ever, Delilah had her arms around Arturo, the Mickey Mouse Kid, teaching him how to waltz as if he was to be her partner at the summer ball. She loved him more than if she’d had one of her own. For sure, Jimmy was convinced she loved him more than him. Sometimes he got a little jealous, asking her stupid questions like which one of them she’d save in a fire. Mind you, I gotta say, she never gave him an answer.
Later that night, as quietly as humanly possible, Lena and me made love in our sleeping bag, keeping every movement so gentle and slow, our breathing shallow, stifling our moans. I don’t know why, but for some reason the silence makes it even more intense, as if the discipline of keeping quiet, of not being able to let our passion fully go, mingled a little pain with the pleasure. Afterward, we lay there silently cuddling, feeling a little naughty, wondering if the others had heard and were just indulging us.
“It’s the same,” Lena whispered.
“What?”
“The crypt. I can’t see any more than before.”
“Can’t see that much myself,” I told her. “Give it a few days and you’ll see a damn sight better than me.”
She never bothered to reply, just grunted, maybe ’cuz she caught the slight tone in my voice, ’cuz she feared which direction those words would take us in. As much as I hated myself, and I truly did, I knew it’d have to come out at some point.
I went silent for a little while, pretending disinterest, though, in fact, I was frantically wrestling with this madman, trying to shove him back into his room and lock the door.
“So was it a shock?” I eventually asked.
She paused for a moment, knowing all too well what I was talking about. “It was the nicest thing my eyes have ever seen.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I forced a bit of a chuckle. “Find that a little hard to believe.”
“I’ve run my hands over this body a thousand times,” she said, with the first hint of impatience.
“Feel sorry for you,” I said, knowing even before the words were out that it was a step too far, that I’d crossed the line.
There was one of those expectant kind of moments, like the world had shifted on its axis and something profound was about to happen, then her fist slammed into my stomach, air literally exploding out of me.
“Jesus!” I gasped.
“Goodnight, Clancy,” she said, turning over as if she’d just given me the fondest of pecks on the cheek.
“Lena!” I protested.
“And thank you for spoiling such a special moment.”
I gotta say, that hurt me even more than her punch. Mainly ’cuz it was true, ’cuz I’d pushed her into that, knowing it would make me feel better.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I said, putting my arm around her.
“Never again, Clancy,” she warned, shrugging me off. “Never again!”
Sometime in the night she must’ve forgiven me, ’cuz I woke with her nestled in my arms. Mind you, that wasn’t what disturbed my sleep; it was feeling how tense and concentrated she was, like the prey sensing the approach of the hunter.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Can’t you hear?”
I guess I hadn’t been fully awake ’cuz when I really listened I could hear the same noise as the other night: this kind of rhythmic beating, an echoing clatter, and as it began to grow, the yelling and shouting too.
“What the hell is that?” I said, more confused than actually asking the question.
And suddenly Lena was panicking, scrambling frantically at the zip on the sleeping bag, desperate to get out.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“It’s coming this way!”
I listened again. At first I couldn’t hear any difference. It sounded more or less stationary to me. However, after a few moments I began to think she might be right: it was growing in volume—and yes, it was coming our way.
“Jimmy!” I shouted, struggling up. “Kids!”
“What is it?” Jimmy asked, immediately going quiet, realizing what was going on. “Oh Jeez!”
I stumbled across to the steps. Lena was already up to the entrance and I followed on behind. Just as before, the noise was a lot louder outside: Boom-Boom-Boom! Boom-Boom-Boom! Not to mention those cries scything through the night like the raw emotions of creation.
Jimmy, Delilah and the kids followed us up and all of us just stood there, gaping out into the huge smoky darkness.
“What is it?” Arturo cried, looking from face to face, as if at least one of us grown-ups should know.
Whatever it was, Lena was right, it was coming our way. Through the smoke, I could just make out the shapes of people running past in the street, heading in the opposite direction, doing everything they could to get away. A guy stumbled into the churchyard, looking for a hiding place and almost immediately decided it wasn’t safe, that he was better off running, which was kinda ominous.
I made my way over to the street, ignoring Lena’s shouted warning, thinking that even in this visibility I might get some idea what was coming our way.
More and more people came scurrying past. Some were kids, younger than any I’d seen on the Mainland up ’til that point—where the hell did they come from? An old couple dashed past, the man coughing from the smoke, and I was pretty sure they were Islanders so I called out, asked them what was going on, but they just kept running.
Whatever was scaring them, it wasn’t that far away. It sounded like the beating of a thousand different drums, a hundred different surfaces, the mass crying of countless angry emotions. I also realized there was a glow beginning to color the night, not of fire, but lights. I promptly turned and ran back to the church. Whatever was coming, it was going to roll right over us.
“Go back down!” I shouted.
Delilah and the kids didn’t need a second bidding, Jimmy followed them down, wailing to himself, convinced it had something to do with him. But Lena hesitated, trying to get her eyes working, squinting through the smoke.
“Can you see?” I asked her.
“Something,” she told me, repeatedly blinking. “Maybe we should make a run for it?”
“It’s too late,” I told her.
We went down after the others and I dragged the old gravestone that had been used to disguise the entrance when we first arrived back into place. The only thing was, it left us in complete darkness; our wind-up camping lights had run down as usual and hadn’t been rewound.
We huddled together for strength in the darkness, fearing the church walls, maybe even the ceiling, were about to come crashing in on us. Delilah started to weep, sparking off little Arturo. Gordie told them to shush, but they were only silenced by the screaming of an engine, growing louder and louder, ’til we realized something monsterous was right overhead, lurching this way and that, colliding with everything in front of it, ’til finally something big must’ve given way. The impact on the stone floor above us was like the deep-throated shuddering of an avalanche.
“Shit!” I gasped, convinced we were about to be buried alive.
The yelling and shouting came next, and more drumming, and for the first time I realized that whoever was doing it wasn’t only beating something they were carrying but also everything they passed, as if they were marking their territory, hitting everything before them: buildings, walls, trash cans, posts, anything that would resonate to their threat.
It crashed over us like syncopated thunder while we waited helplessly below. Lena buried her face in my chest, hugging me with all her strength, as if determined to crush us into one before that last moment came. All of us were waiting for the crack, the first specks of dust that would tell us the floor was about to give way—and yet slowly, so slowly that at first I couldn’t be sure, the noise started to recede. Whatever it was was moving on into the night.
I waited ’til I was sure whatever it was had moved on, then fumbled my way up the steps, forced the gravestone off the entrance and peered out.
There wasn’t a lot left of the church, just a few stumps of wall, the rest piles of rubble. Jeez, we’d been lucky: bricks and stones had fallen almost everywhere but on top of the entrance. Just a few more inches our way and we would’ve been buried under several tons of rubble, and the crypt would’ve played host to more lifeless bodies.