“As Professor Red?”
“As Professor Red.”
“It feels ridiculous.”
“You’ve said that already. Now get used to it. Soon everyone will know your name and will follow you anywhere.”
“And Professor Red will be the head of the sanctuaries as well?”
“Yes.”
Mike sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, stared off into the distance in his mind’s eye, considering this direction for the future, imagining what a world that honored mother earth would be like at last. They would make it happen. It was no longer a question of if, it was a matter of when. He brought his gaze back to Moses. “Okay. I’ll do it; I’ll create a Professor Red, but he has to rise up as a survivor, be one of ‘the people’. And you’ve got it all wrong, Moses.”
Moses was smiling now. “What have I got wrong?”
“Professor Red is not the head of the sanctuaries. Absolutely not. We install a phantom persona as the head of Sanctuaries. We create an us or them situation, two ends of the field. An illusion of choice for the masses. They flock to Professor Red or they flock to Sanctuary. Only we know they are the same thing. ‘Control the board and you control the game.’”
Moses’s eyes burned with interest. “I like how you think.”
Mike grabbed up his stylus. “In fact, let’s have a little fun, shall we?” He scribbled out a name on his screen then began playing with the letters. After a few minutes of shuffling, he looked up and grinned at Moses, turning the tablet for him to see what Mike had written.
Moses broke out in laughter.
“You like?”
“I like!” Moses chortled. “That brother of yours deserves so much worse for ditching you here. His mistake; my good fortune.”
He grabbed the stylus and checked the letters, reproducing what Mike had created, rearranging Coru Wisla into a new configuration: Courlisaw. He looked up at Mike and murmured, “Meet your new head of Sanctuary, Professor Red. Meet the mysterious Mr. Courlisaw.”
Mike smiled faintly back at Moses, his brother’s abandonment, and Moses’s reminding him of it, still having the power to hurt. Though Mike didn’t show it, he couldn’t help thinking that Moses was so easily impressed. A word jumble was all it was, an inside joke only Moses and Mike would ever know.
Moses stood, his expression shifting from amused to pensive as his eyes roamed freely over Mike’s scarred face and tattooed head with what seemed appreciation and a strange adoration. A master sculptor viewing his subject was the errant thought that flashed through Mike’s head so quickly he barely caught the wisp of it before it was gone, forever forgotten.
Moses whispered, “You’re ready, Professor Red. You’re more than ready.
24
INDIES: DAY NINE: WEN 2047
TO WREN, this is too easy. After negotiating their way past the Burners, spreading the same message they’d delivered to the Hummers and Tramps, the Indies found the POE presence suddenly absent. Why? What was going on?
Wren stretched her sensors and was able to catch a few excited POE minds not trapped inside the hive mind hum. The POE soldiers were assembling in groups and travelling to predetermined centers around the city, massing for some event. It’s to be an important presentation by Professor Red. The over-riding hope was, if you were lucky, you could see him in person at the New Earth Center. Lucky guys stationed there…
That meant Coru’s group was on target, that both Nelson’s and Dom’s advice was correct. Red would be on the old SFU grounds, now known as New Earth Center, tonight. He was coming to them.
The very good news was there was no policing, no round-ups, no interest in the New Pacifica Wild survivors—this was all about the upcoming rally. The POE were so confident of their hold over the city, they had left barely any presence to watch over their territories, both old and new.
This was important. This meant the urban survivors would have a much easier time escaping the confines of New Pacifica Wild. It also meant Coru’s little band of Indies might have better luck making their way to the tunnel and up into the SFU grounds.
Before they attempted to cross the highway, Wren called a timeout. She wanted to make sure Mattea and his crew had the code Andy had provided before he’d killed himself, to disarm the explosive device inside each of the POE trannies they’d stolen and were currently driving back to God’s Country at top speeds. They had six of the powerful POE trannies, leaving one for Coru and his followers at the Pitt River bridge if they elected to leave New Pacifica by that route. If they were forced through the Port Mann or Patullo, they could always pick up the trannies they’d abandoned in the old warehouse on the Surrey side.
What wasn’t said was the fact Mattea and his team were only able to capture six POE trannies because of Waylon’s sacrifice on the Pitt River Bridge, Coru thought. There were only six remaining Indies returning to drive them back into their territory.
Coru could see what was happening with Mattea through Wren.
What’s going on with Coru? He’s different. He’s… Mattea drifted off, realizing Coru was also listening.
He’s being realistic for once, Coru supplied tersely.
Wren mentally elbowed him away. He met his nephew. We were captured, then sold, then the man who bought us introduced us to Payton’s son, here in this time. A son Payton doesn’t know he has. The boy’s name is—.
I can speak for myself, Coru interrupted.
Can you? Wren challenged.
What’s going on? Mattea asked. What’s happened? You never fight like this.
Coru continued as if Mattea hadn’t spoken. His name is Noah. He’s six years old. My brother raped his mother, then killed her with a virus he’d created and decided to send out to the world. The boy was immune—no thanks to Payton—and now believes this guy named Dominic Derrick is his father, and that Dominic and I are brothers and that’s how I’ve been introduced, as his uncle. And if you can keep up with that, there’s this fairy dust you can find if you—.
Coru! Stop it! Wren was angry this time. I know you’re struggling, but rein it in, will you? This isn’t all about you.
Oh no? Am I not the idiot who brought Professor Red into this world?
Mattea jumped in. Okay, I get it. You’re feeling sorry for yourself.
Now Wren rounded on Mattea. No! He’s not. Coru has… Sadness washed through her, and through them all by default. Coru has lost his faith.
Coru rocked back at her rebuke and truth telling.
Wren was right. He had lost his faith. He’d lost every scrap of faith and was now just going through the motions, drifting along in Dom and Nelson’s trail, not man enough to call their mission of futility to a halt. He no longer saw how he—they—could make any difference. He no longer believed they could stop Red. He no longer believed there was any possible correction in their future. He was a puppet; they were all puppets. And if he did make a change, would it be the correct change? Was he forcing events that should never be, was he messing with fate? Was he playing God here? Was he ignoring God? How would he know what was the right decision, the right move, or if he was merely playing into Red’s and Zhangs’ hands?
His faith was lost.
He was lost.
They were all silent. They had always stuck together, believed in one another, and now Coru was telling them there was no “us”, nothing to believe in.
This was huge; this was catastrophic.
How could they move forward if the center did not hold? Coru’s crisis of faith was a crisis to which they all must partake.
Mattea shook his thoughts free, his disappointment in Coru plain. I’ve got people depending on me here. You work this out, and when you do, let me know.
His thoughts stung. Mattea and Coru had never had cross words.
Where are you now? Wren asked Mattea, mentally shoving Coru aside.
We crossed the Vedder Bridge this morning. The good news is we picked up more Indies and were able to bring the rest of the
side-by-sides with us. With everyone mobile, we’re making good time, covering wide swaths of land, gathering everyone we can. We figure we can make Freeland within a day, two at the latest. I pray Gayle was able to work her magic in our absence. Should we come back and meet you if we find Freeland secure?
Yes! Wren answered.
NO! Coru overrode.
Wren shouldered him away again. You have no say here—you’re out. To Mattea, she said, There are explosive devices built into every POE trannie. Here’s the code to disarm them.
Wait, I’ll get something to write with. Mattea returned quickly. She read off the numbers; he recorded them, then repeated them back to her.
Good, she sighed. I feel much better. And yes, we may need help when we escape New Pacifica. Stay open.
Coru growled, Wren Wood—.
Wren shut down her sensors, cutting them all off.
Wren blinked brightly at the people around her, her determinedly bright blue eyes skipping over Coru as if he were a potted plant. “Everything is great. They’re making good time, they’ve warned hundreds of Indies and are bringing them along to Freeland, which is only a day or two away now. Mattea has the code and will disarm the POE trannies, so they’ll be safe.”
Dom looked impressed. “You are a treasure.”
Nelson reached out and hugged Wren to him with pride. “Isn’t she? You should see her with her bow.”
“We’ll be depending on you between here and the tunnel,” Dom confirmed. “No gunshots. A silent approach is the way to go.” He looked over at Coru, his eyes puzzled.
Coru didn’t need Wren to read Dominic Derrick’s thoughts: the man was disappointed in Payton’s older brother; it was written in his broad, expressive face. Coru looked away.
Nelson released Wren and they all climbed back into the trannie around Coru, who hadn’t climbed out. It was a tight fit, but it beat hours of walking, and had overridden Coru’s earlier suggestion they leave him behind, since he was only slowing them down. Since he was clearly still with them, they had obviously disregarded his offer, insisting upon dragging him along.
They’d removed the canvas roof so Wren could stand up in the middle front spot, inside the roll bars and have her weapon and arms free. Nelson stood up beside her, also supported by the roll bars, peering into the darkness, searching out danger and the path that would take them to the tunnel he was remembering from his university days. Dom drove, with Noah and Coru in the back seat. Dead weight, not contributing, just weighing them all down. Coru grimaced at his useless participation. This was not how he’d seen this going down.
Wren burst back into his head, Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop wallowing!
Then stop spying.
You’re an idiot. She shut him down before he could agree.
The highway was the scariest part, being so well lit, but it was necessary to cross it in any case—no getting around that fact, and luckily, they passed without incident. The POE’s eagerness to reach the rally points and obvious confidence in their ability to dominate this area showed, revealing cracks in their premise. Within two hours, and with Wren letting loose only one bow on a lone POE, silent and deadly, Nelson found the old tunnel opening as promised.
He jumped from the trannie with a stifled cry of joy and disappeared behind a wall of thorny bushes. “They haven’t moved it,” he called out, from perhaps twenty feet away. “There’s an old lock.” There came the sound of a rock against metal as Nelson made short work of the lock. Coru heard the door squeal as Nelson pushed it open, demanding the hinges at last do their work. Since the blackberry bushes remained still, Coru concluded the doors swung inward, not outward. A blessing. The door had to be metal by the sounds it made protesting mightily at being disturbed. If there were any POE around, now would be when they’d appear. They all froze, waiting for an enemy approach. Wren scanned, told them there was no one around.
Coru couldn’t help wondering again, why not?
Dom followed Nelson, disappearing behind the wild collection of deadly blackberry bushes growing thirty feet high against the doors, their wicked thorns savaging his and Nelson’s clothes. With grunts of protests and hissed reactions, they cut through and pulled back a passageway through the massive wall of blackberry bushes large enough to accommodate the trannie. If you didn’t know the tunnel was here, you would never see it.
After a moment they reappeared, trickles of blood showing on their faces and hands and bleeding through holes in their shredded clothes.
Nelson said, “There are cinder blocks set across the opening in front of the doors. We’ll need to move them to drive the trannie inside. We can chain them up and pull them away with the trannie.”
Dashing a blood trail from his eye, Dom tilted his head at Coru and Noah. “Time for you two to vacate. Daddy’s got work.”
Coru resented Dom referring to himself as daddy to his nephew and was ashamed of his thoughts at the same time. If not for Dom, Noah wouldn’t even be here.
Coru was swimming in a poisonous sea of self-doubt and recriminations, painting everyone around him with the same sludge. Pulling himself free of the trannie, Coru hobbled to the side on his crutch, the useless third wheel. Surprisingly, his leg felt much better from the rest and meds Wren had pressed on him. The trannie had been a blessing. They’d gotten there hours before they would have otherwise, and he had rested during the transport.
Noah followed him under the trees, his eyes big, his face openly curious.
Yeah, I’m your uncle, Coru thought gracelessly. You could do better, kid.
Coru turned and lowered himself to the ground, landing with a graceless thud. Not pretty, but effective.
Noah sat beside him, tucking his little warm body up close. He held a book in his hand. “You dropped your book, Uncle Coru.”
Coru was surprised to see Noah had his sketch book. It had to have fallen from his jacket. He took it from the boy, grateful to have it back, running his palms over the smooth leather surface, savoring its familiar touch. Wren had bound this book for him, using rabbit skins Mattea and Nicola had supplied. He valued this above all his possessions. And he was ashamed of his anger toward his friends, none of this disaster their doing. “Thanks. I wouldn’t want to lose this. It’s… it’s important.”
“What is it?”
Coru looked at the book, caressing its leather cover again, still warm from its place inside his jacket, kept where his tablet containing the coordinates back to his home world used to be. He’d thought the exchange a good one. Now he wondered.
Wren had given him this book as a way to exercise his damaged hands after his crucifixion in Rushton. He’d been skeptical at her suggestion he go outside and draw what he saw around the farm, but she’d insisted. Reluctantly, he’d wandered the forest, at a loss of what exactly he was to do with the book. He’d stopped by a huge spruce; he loved trees, even held out the faint belief that trees held spirits within them. Naturally he did not share this thought with anyone, suspecting what the reaction might be. But he was alone, and he had instructions to not return until he had drawn something—anything. Wren’s last words had been, “Look, look, and look.” So, he had looked, really looked at the tree, then he had drawn that tree.
He flipped the edges of the pages, enjoying the ruffling against his fingertips. He’d grown to love drawing and painting. This was one of the hundreds of things from this time he loved. “These are my sketches, Noah. Of our home, in the north.”
“Can I see?”
Coru looked at Noah. “You want to see my pictures?”
“I like coloring.”
Coru softened; he couldn’t help himself. “I like coloring, too.”
“Can I see?”
“Sure.”
Coru flicked on his wrist light, training it on the book, then drew Noah closer to him, a foreign action, but also a faintly familiar one, one he’d done many years ago with his little brother…
He opened the book to the first page. “This is the first tree
I ever drew, Noah.”
The boy studied the image thoroughly, as though there would be a test at the end.
Coru wondered as he watched Noah, if to keep him safe, Dom had been forced to keep the boy in the small unit they shared. Was this tree as amazing to Noah as it had been—as they had all been—to Coru when he first arrived in WEN 2046?
Together, he and Noah turned each page, Noah asking questions, Coru quietly explaining life in the north through his art. The book was packed full of images from Drop Out Acres, the people, the places, the wildlife, the wonder. This was the place Coru considered home and paradise on earth.
Noah got excited when they turned to a picture of the three boys who lived up at DOA, splashing in the pond above the cabin, their “Plan B” hideout. “Do you think they’ll like me?” he wondered, a trace of worry edging into his tone.
“They will be so happy to have another friend! That’s Deklin, that’s Malcolm, and that’s Wyatt. You’ll fit right in.”
They moved on, Noah stopping again, this time to spend several worrying moments studying a picture of a black bear and her two cubs that Coru had sketched hanging out in a tree down by the garden. Coru assured him the bears would be more scared of him than he would be of them. “Just don’t get between the Mama bear and her cubs! She won’t like that!”
“I won’t,” Noah promised vehemently, turning the page to a sketch of the mated pair of bald eagles that returned year after year to DOA.
Coru hugged him close with a soft chuckle. “Good decision.”
Noah wanted to know all about the eagles. Coru told him the pair hatched and raised a new eaglet high in a “big bam” tree across the field from the cabin every spring. Coru described how they taught their young one to fly with demonstrations and screeches and constant monitoring, always patient, never leaving the young one alone.
Satisfied, Noah turned to another drawing.
Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2) Page 38