Screw it. She didn't have to know how the moment would happen. She only had to know that it would, or that, in some weird way she could only feel, the moment already had happened. Nothing could stop it. Nothing could stop her. Nothing.
Gabrielle stepped into the bus stop shelter and stood near the back, to keep her chances of being spotted to a minimum. She had no idea whether her father had spies following her, but he might, and she wanted to get away unnoticed.
As the bus approached, Gabrielle saw the stack of newspapers in the rack in the corner. She stepped over to look down at the headlines as the bus pulled in to the stop. She lifted a paper from the rack and unfolded it. Above the fold was a story about how Greensleeves had come to Montreal. Below the fold, a story and photo: a new crop circle, depicting that same strange symbol she'd seen before, had appeared on an overgrown golf course on the Maine coast, close to some placed called Boothbay Harbor.
Slipping the paper into her backpack, Gabrielle boarded the bus.
9.2
Keeley woke up in her hospital bed, disoriented and confused. It was a different bed. In a different room. She wondered why they’d moved her.
She turned her head to look out the window. Was it lighter out, or darker? Was it dawn or dusk? And what day was it? She couldn't tell. Her sense of time had slipped from the nail on the wall and fallen to a heap on the floor. She slept. She woke up. She slept some more. She woke again. Mostly she slept, and was glad of that. Her sleep felt so peaceful, so right, so transcendent, that she would happily sleep until the Day of Judgment, she felt so good.
She remembered eating a sausage biscuit. She'd been so hungry! But that could have been days ago. Or just hours. Mary hadn't come back. She knew that much. Mary had left for a moment and not come back. She smiled, thinking of her partner. My love. Alas. My love.
She drifted into blissful sleep. She woke again. She looked out the window. It seemed brighter than before. Mary might come back at any moment! Keeley closed her eyes. Her heart was filled with glad excitement. She wanted to tell Mary how good she felt. Mary would be so happy! But when Keeley opened her eyes she was still alone.
The nurses were different. Young. Strange and beautiful. Coldly professional. They hardly spoke at all. But Keeley loved them so much. Even though they wouldn't tell her anything.
The television told her all sorts of things. Things Keeley didn't want to know. Like how quickly Greensleeves was spreading, and the growing number of deaths from the disease. It told her about the grounding of flights and the closing of cities. It told her about a riot in a FEMA shelter near New Orleans, which broke out after three cases appeared there overnight.
The TV told her that the high today would be over one hundred degrees in most of Maine. It told her how the Global Environmental Summit was going, and how the President was holding up. It replayed Linda's impassioned response to the ambassador from Nunavut. It showed dramatic footage from the collapsing ice shelf in Antarctica. It reported on failing crop yields in Europe and China. It told of the assassination of the President of Mozambique. It played a snippet from the latest tirade from Pastor Clinton. It reported on a new crop circle that had appeared on the Maine coast.
The television wanted Keeley to be afraid. Or angry. But Keeley only felt calm and peaceful joy. The only thing she wanted was Mary, but the television would not tell her where Mary was, or when she would come back. Keeley smiled. Mary would be so happy, when she returned.
Keeley wondered why she was in this bed. Why did she sleep all the time? Why did she feel so full of joy? Linda had this same flu, didn't she? But the President was still up and awake and addressing the summit from her biocontainment room on Squirrel Island. You could see her on TV, speaking and participating. And that young woman lying on the sidewalk in front of the Burger Hut: she hadn't been bedridden for days, had she?
The TV said that people with the alien flu felt pretty good, and then they collapsed and died. So why was she confined to a bed? Keeley didn't understand. She wasn’t strapped down. She was just so tired.
It didn’t matter. She felt so good here!
Keeley glanced again at the window. It was definitely lighter out. Which meant it was morning. Which meant that a whole night, at least, had passed without Mary returning. But Keeley didn't know what that meant. Keeley wanted to call Stan and see if he knew where Mary was.
But that would have to wait.
She felt so sleepy right now. And sleeping felt so good.
My love.
Alas.
9.3
McAfee gasped. Corporal Osterman's insistent knocking had pulled him up and out of the deep well of drug-induced unconsciousness that passed for sleep these days. "What?!" he shouted at the door. When the Corporal told him "what," he rolled quickly out of bed and got dressed. Somebody... somebody from The Families... had just wokked in for a surprise inspection. Great.
"Good morning, Sir," said the Colonel as he entered the conference room they'd built inside the President's old garage. He feigned a chipper gladness he did not feel. If he was being monitored, and he was, then he was surely being closely watched right now. He trusted that "the show" would suffice. And why not? If people could hide their true thoughts and feelings from themselves, then surely they could hide them from an implant and a qputer? Having been tagged by the Life years ago, Aidan McAfee was an old hand at this game. He smiled warmly and stuck out his hand.
The man standing before him was older, wiry, and slightly stooped, with a full head of feathery white hair and a neatly trimmed white beard. He was dressed in khakis and a colorful Hawaiian shirt. "Colonel," said the man with a nod. "You may call me William." He took McAfee's hand and shook it. His skin was warm and soft. His voice was confident and richly British.
"To what do we owe this honor?" asked McAfee, as if he truly meant it.
William flashed his eyebrows. "I should rather think it more a pain in the bottom than an honor, wouldn't you, Colonel?" he said with a slight twitching of the corners of his mouth.
McAfee smiled in return, the sort of smile that came embedded in a pained and knowing face. "It is early," he agreed. He wouldn't go any further than that. Obsequiousness would stand out as much as resistance or resentment.
"Quite," said William.
McAfee glanced around the room but saw only his own people. "Did you come alone?" he asked. "And will you need accommodations, Sir?"
William shook his head. "Regrettably I must soon be off. I piloted the AB12 myself, you see, and have pressing business elsewhere. I do thank the Life for not absconding with the ships we built ourselves when they pulled out of the game." He flashed his eyebrows again. "Makes a trip like this all the less painful."
"Are you expecting a painful visit, then?" asked the Colonel, suddenly worried.
"Not at all, my good man," said William, raising his hands and showing his palms. "Simply making small talk by referencing the trials of commercial air flights, as your comedians are so fond of doing." He grinned.
McAfee relaxed. "So how can I help you?"
"Yes," said William, clapping his hands. "Brilliant. To it, then." He looked around the room at McAfee's staff, then returned his attention to the Colonel. "I need to see President Travis," he said.
McAfee opened his mouth and William raised a hand. "I am aware of exactly what I shall find," he said. "I merely wish to view her body. To confirm for myself, and others, that her condition is unchanged."
The Colonel almost sputtered an objection, then caught himself and smiled again. "Of course," he said warmly. "I just..."
"Your facility computers have scanned me, Colonel. I am exactly who I have presented myself to be, and I have every right to make this request."
"Of course," said McAfee again. He scratched vaguely at his temple. "I'm just... has there been a problem?" he asked. "My reports-"
"-are professional and clear and greatly appreciated," said William, finishing the Colonel's sentence for him. "And, I must say, I am comforte
d by your hesitancy. The Quietus has been triggered and Changeling has been implemented. It is important, in this time of great moment, to be wary of subterfuge, is it not? I understand your position, and take no offense at your question."
Colonel Aidan McAfee knew a coded threat when he heard one. Another moment of hesitancy on his part and this William surely would take offense, and in ways that the Colonel would no doubt find inconvenient. McAfee smiled tightly, turned, and spoke to his aide. "Corporal Osterman, arrange a viewing for us immediately," he commanded.
"I will be going down alone," said William, his voice reasonable and assured.
McAfee turned, forced one last smile to his face, and nodded. "By all means," he said.
William raised his eyebrows in apparent delight, then strode out of the room.
Apparently William knew exactly where he was headed.
9.4
Ness was surprised that the nurses had not checked in on the kids since she'd powered up her creation. She'd expected a confrontation, but nothing of the sort happened. The check-ins, adjustments, treatments, and caregiving had been regular and frequent during the previous day. She'd thought the same would continue throughout the night, though perhaps not quite so often. But nothing?
Now it was fully light out and Ness could hear the sounds outside her door as the hospital staff made ready for the day. Surely the door would open any moment. Surely. Ness looked across at the children. Had she planned more thoroughly, she'd have slid her own cot in next to their gurneys before building the construct. But she hadn't thought that far ahead, and it was only after she turned on her phone and brought the construct to life that she realized her error. After a while, after standing there in the darkness until her feet hurt, she'd just crawled into bed next to Grace. It was sweet, really, to hold the girl. And there was room for the both of them, yes there was. Ness had managed, finally, to get some sleep.
A soft knock sounded and the door opened, just as Ness knew it must. In stepped a nurse, a dark young man with a shaved head. She'd seen him briefly the day before. "You are doing well in here," said the young man. Ness couldn’t tell if he was asking a question or not. He surveyed the room, looking at Ness, at the kids, and at her construct, a weird, wild, wiry half-dome made from curtain rods, automobile antennas, cutlery and cooking utensils, coat hangers, and a couple of rolls of aluminum foil, held together, seemingly, with rubber bands, paper clips, clothespins, and surgical tape. Resting on the blanket at Emily's feet was Ness's cell phone, connected to the outer structure with a single wire. On Emily's stomach was a pile of carrots resting on a sheet of foil, also connected with a wire. The construct seemed to almost buzz with energy. The nurse’s gaze landed back on Ness and he studied her for a moment.
"I know what you are," said Ness in a low defensive voice, having no idea what she meant by that.
"And we know you," said the nurse. He gestured widely with both hands, to indicate the construct. "Do not be afraid of us," he said. "We are here for you."
He turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Ness frowned and shook her head as though she were bothered by a bee. She did not understand what had just happened.
9.5
"I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition," muttered Mihos in the blackness.
Cole’s three children turned their attention to their cat guide. His eyes glowed as they had before, but so small and weak were they in the immensity of the Murk that they might as well have been single photons traveling through the depths of spacetime. Still, they were something, some tie to the world they knew, and the kids were glad to be able to perceive them, no matter their intensity.
"Is this different than you expected?" asked Grace. There was no speaking here, really. No sound. No breath. No voice. There was thinking, and there was the perception of others thinking. And there were the cat's eyes. And that was all. But even then, there was worry in Grace's voice. The complete absence of light and body and feeling, of reference points and up and down and in and out, of each other and of herself, and of her ability to know how Dennis was doing, was driving her quickly toward the idea of tears. Even time had lost its meaning here. Had it been hours or moments? She could not tell.
Mihos' eyes went black and then glowed again. A blink. "I haven't actually made it a habit of hanging out inside of Murks, yo," he said. "I just know what I've been told."
"I think we're being pushed," said Emily, her tone hushed.
Mihos blinked again. "Pushed?" he said. "Pushed by whom?"
"I don't know," said Emily. "When we were here before, I felt like there was somebody in my head. Not a feeling, really. An idea. And now I have the idea that we're being pushed. Kinda like animals. Rounded up. Herded."
"Hmm," said Mihos, closing his eyes for a moment. He spoke without reopening them. "I don't feel it," he said. "Are you sure?"
"So much for the map," said Iain, his frustration clear in his voice.
Mihos cleared his throat in this place of no throats, and no clearing of them. "Excuse me, monkey-boy?" he said.
"We can't see," explained Iain. "And there's no rug underneath us. Not here."
"You forget," said Mihos. "I made the map. It's all inside of me."
"Then why aren't we following it?" said Iain.
"My dear fellow," said Mihos. "We have been, since the moment we were engulfed in the Murk." He blinked. "I, for one, am moving forward. Since you all are still with me, I can only assume that you are moving with me. Perhaps that's what you are feeling, Emily."
"I don't know," answered Emily in the blackness. "Maybe..."
"You said this Murk was like a trip wire," offered Grace.
Mihos blinked. Every now and then a small portion of his eyes were occluded by blackness. Eventually it became obvious that he was licking his paws, though how he could do such a thing in this place of no bodies Grace did not understand. After a while he stopped and answered. "Yes?" he said.
"So," interjected Emily, "I was expecting something else. Something more... I don't know. Explosions. Monsters attacking. A big mean man chasing us, like that skeleton guy that chased Grace when she was here before. Something. You said the Murk would not be happy with us. That it might try to kill us. But it's just more blackness."
"Ah. Yes. And here, without your guidebook, you three look to me as the expert."
"Well, that and the fact that you act like one."
Mihos closed his eyes, leaving them with no reference points at all.
"I just mean..." added Iain, worrying that he'd pushed too far.
"Shush," said Mihos, still not opening his eyes. The three kids, and presumably Dennis, waited for what felt like a whole minute. Then Mihos spoke again. "I apologize for that," he said softly. "Perhaps I know less than I thought I did."
"So you don't-" said Emily.
"-wish to discuss this any further," said Mihos, cutting her off. He opened his eyes. "Grace," he said, "I was basing my metaphor on my previous, but quite limited, experience with Murks. My rescue of you three was only my second time inside one of these black beasts. My first experience was many centuries ago, in monkey years, and in a very different lifeline. Murks are rare, you see. They are created beings, and few venture to use them. So while I have an idea of how to pass through this one, and even made a map based on my best guesses, I am less certain of myself than I might have... ahem... seemed." Mihos stopped, then spoke again to Iain. "You satisfied, boy?" he asked.
"I-" started Iain.
"But I do know this, Emily," he continued, cutting Iain off. "Monsters? Mean men? Explosions? I don't think that Murks work that way. Ultimately, I can think of few ends, few situations, few deaths that would be worse than being trapped forever in this disembodied dark. Were it not for my cat's eyes, I fear you would all soon be mad."
The four of them fell silent at Mihos' words, none of them able to argue his point. Whatever this was, it felt horrible, and madness did feel right around the corner. The eyes of the Son of Bast we
re the only things keeping them sane.
They waited in silence. Time passed. Or it didn't.
"Here door," said a voice in the blackness.
Mihos blinked his eyes. Nobody said a thing. This voice was new. Hesitant, yes, but steady and very close. It was an older voice. Wiser. Heavier with authority. A voice that seemed to know the way to proceed.
"Who's that?" demanded Iain at last, feeling both protective and helpless.
After a moment, the voice spoke again. "Dennis," said Dennis.
9.6
Cole stepped quietly onto the deck, hoping he wouldn't wake anyone. He needed time alone. He scanned the sky, the water, and the distant islands floating in the morning fog. He thought about his children, gone off with Alice in an alien craft, and maybe headed to Squirrel Island as well. Perhaps already there. A frown crossed his face like the shadow of a crow. He hadn't really been there for the kids. Not with these gut-wrenching "hops." Not with the rage and panic that had consumed him since they took Linda. He put a hand to his nervous stomach. The kids are strong. He knew that. They'd lived through times that had hardened them all. But he still worried. They were his children. They were all that was left of their mother, Ruth. Worry was in the blood.
But perhaps today he could make up for his negligence. He imagined Alice and his kids, landing on Squirrel Island in the distance. He was headed there to help them find her. He studied the tiny white blob he could see through the trees, wondering if it was the cottage. Wondering what sort of prison were they all trying to break in to? Who would they find there? The military, surely. The doctors. But more than that? Those shadowy figures that ran things from behind the scenes? Cole did not know who had stolen his best friend away. He intended to find out, and take care of his children in the bargain.
He'd gone on a hop during the night. It felt like he'd taken a trip to the future. Linda had not been there, in that time and place. He was with some other woman. Cole shook his head. He could not conceive of the sequence of events that could ever result in such an end.
Rumi's Field (None So Blind Book 2) Page 29