by Ilsa J. Bick
“I don’t know what’s right,” she said to the wolfdog. “Maybe it’s smarter to kill Wolf, but it would be like putting a gun to Tom’s head, or Chris’s.” Wasn’t that exactly what Tom wanted her to do if he Changed? Tom had killed Jim, his friend, to save her and Ellie. Could she do something like that? At the last second, if there was no other choice, she probably would. “But maybe we’re not there yet. And what if Wolf can come back? Then I have to do something. I can’t just leave him with Finn. It wouldn’t be right.” Penny … she wasn’t sure what to do with her. But there was Peter, too, caught in between like her and Wolf. Whatever Finn had done to him might also be undone, eventually.
So, go to Rule? See if she picked up Wolf’s scent? It was insane, but with the wolfdog, she might pull it off. As long as she didn’t succumb to the push-push go-go …
“You know what I can’t figure out?” she asked the wolfdog. “What that whole thing was. Like the monster either grabbed on to or got grabbed by Finn, then jerked me along for the ride. I hopped. First I land behind one set of eyes and then a whole bunch of other eyes, and then I jump to someone else, further ahead.” She thought about that. “Know what it reminds me of?” At the wolfdog’s look—no, really, tell me—she said, “High school bio.”
Really? The wolfdog cocked its head. Which part?
“How the brain works and cells talk to each other.” By that point in bio, the monster had shown itself, too, and she became somewhat of an expert. “The brain’s an electrical system mediated by chemicals. But here’s the thing,” she said to the wolfdog. She was starting to get a little excited now; felt she was onto something. “The brain has tons of synapses, like more than the stars in the Milky Way. Even an electrical impulse would be too slow on its own for everything to work together the way it should. So the impulse has to hop. It jumps like a bunny from node to node along an axon, and that speeds everything up.”
So what if Finn was doing that? “Like an out-of-body thing. A signal leapfrogging from mind to mind. Only it can’t be a straight line. Too inefficient.” And wouldn’t the signal decay? She thought that was right; depending on the frequency, a radio signal could peter out fast, and hadn’t cell towers worked the same way? Unless you boost the signals somehow. So how did Finn work around that? She thought about how the push-push go-go got stronger when Finn was closer. Like roaming, or Wi-Fi. The monster got part of it, like a cell phone getting only a bar or two instead of four or five. And then what had happened? The monster tried looping her in, on its own?
“Or maybe the monster couldn’t help it.” She said this slowly, testing each word. “Unless you disabled a computer’s Wi-Fi, it would automatically search for a connection, a network, something to grab.” With the exception of Wolf, for whom the monster seemed to have a special affinity, every time she’d leapfrogged into a Changed’s mind was on the basis of both proximity and the strength of an emotion: lust, hunger. Rage. “But the monster can’t always be receptive, because it doesn’t happen all the time. I never really know what’s going on; it’s like being in a French class when all you speak is Russian. You hear sounds, but that’s not the same as knowing what they mean—and I don’t hear anything anyway. Whatever I figure out is from the scent.”
Because it’s not the right kind of signal, nothing to snag the monster’s interest? Like lunch in the cafeteria … there’s always the buzz of conversation, but unless you make an effort you don’t pay attention, because you’re either not interested or you’re focused on something else: finding your friends, for example, or someone’s called your name from across the room. The rest of the time, you don’t hear anything, really, even though you register the noise.
So, a regular conversation between Changed wasn’t strong or interesting enough to goose the monster? Even when she did hop—that time she’d dropped behind Spider’s eyes, for example, way back at the lake house after Spider had killed poor little Jack—it wasn’t like eavesdropping. She was never pulled into a wider conversation. Because I really don’t understand the language? Or maybe …
“There’s some other piece I’m not seeing.” She also had this really crummy feeling that she had to experience the mind-jump a couple more times before she figured it out. If she followed Finn, she’d be asking for trouble, because if she was right about proximity and the monster was receptive, getting closer to Finn and his weird, altered Changed would increase the chances of her being detected or pulled in, or losing herself in the red storm.
“And Finn sensed the monster. He felt my edges.” Which was also different. Wolf and Spider, Leopard, Acne … none showed any awareness of her or the monster at all. But Finn had. How could he do that?
“Hell if I know, and I’m not going to figure it out tonight.” Her head ached, and she needed sleep. Clicking off the headlamp, she settled down next to the wolfdog, which groaned and put its chin on her belly. “I like you, too. If we ever see my dog again, you can’t eat him, okay?” She stroked the animal’s ears. “Should give you a name.”
A name. She thought about that. Finn wanted my name. He asked twice. Why?
“Something important about a name …” She scrubbed the wolfdog’s chin. “So how do you feel about Buck? Great book, and you fit. Me, too. We’re both half wild now, aren’t we, boy?” That made her think of Peter’s paperbacks. She should take a few. Long walk ahead, but that was all right. She needed time to think about what to do.
Still fidgety, she rolled onto her side and heard the crinkle of that Almond Joy wrapper in the pocket where she’d stowed the candy. So tempting to eat the other half. But she should hold off, maybe wait for a real celebration.
She let go of a very long sigh. “Because, sometimes,” she said to Buck, “you just feel like a nut.”
PART FIVE:
MONSTERS
90
“Tom!” Weller, far behind on his grullo and barely audible over the thunder of hooves. “Wait, Tom, wait up!”
No, he couldn’t wait, wouldn’t stop, not just yet, maybe not ever. Go go go. His head was the size of the sky, the panic in his chest a claw. Get out, get out, cut the wire, go! Tom kicked his horse again. Felt the mare dig even deeper. The world streamed: snow and choking red funnel clouds from rotor wash; evergreens and the thump-thump-thump of helos; fingers of oaks scratching blue sky; body parts falling to earth in a ghastly rain; and that dead dog, careful, careful, they put bombs in everything, in dogs, in trash, in dead kids, and go go go.
If he’d stayed one more second, he might’ve put a bullet through Mellie’s head. That he imagined what her head would look and sound like if he did frightened him even more.
Can’t let it get me. He swept past a stack of burning tires; bloated dogs bobbing in sewage; a pile of rubbish, and that bottle that might not hold water at all; rubble where, five seconds ago, there’d been a house with children and laundry snapping on a line. Can’t let it take over. Past a phalanx of screeching, wailing women, shut up, shut up, shut up—and Jim: Jim, in the Waucamaw; Jim, bellowing, charging …
“Tom!” Weller bawled. “Hold up before you lame or kill that poor horse, goddamn it!”
Of course, Weller was right. This was a bad move, stupid. A single, powerful jab through the diminished hard pack into a tangle of branches or rocks would cripple the mare. He’d have to put it down—shoot it like Jim—over something he could’ve prevented.
“Ho, girl, ease down, ease down.” Hearing his own voice helped. He pulled left, enough to turn the mare’s head and break that gallop. Beneath him, he felt the horse’s chest strain for breath. Gobs of thick foam lathered its face to the poll. “Sorry, girl,” he said, patting the animal’s shuddering neck, feeling the thrum of blood under his own, still-healing flesh. He was panting, too, and couldn’t tell if that was only sweat on his cheeks. To his right, a Humvee wallowed at a near-ninety-degree angle, the driver’s arm only just visible in yellow canal water because body armor was that heavy. He looked away. “Ease up, girl. We’ll be okay.”<
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But only if you get control of yourself. Turning the mare, he watched as Weller slowed his own horse to a trot. Get it together, Tom, or you won’t be able to help anyone.
“Jesus.” Reining in his blowing animal, Weller armed his forehead, then shrugged his bum right shoulder. “I won’t ask what the hell you think you’re doing.”
There was brown blood caked on Weller’s neck below the jaw he didn’t have anymore, and Tom could see the useless worm of a blue tongue. Not real. Averting his eyes, Tom pulled in a breath that reeked of diesel fuel and burning oil. “I had to get out. I couldn’t think …” He gathered himself. Come on, Tom; look at him; Weller is fine; the rest is a damned flashback. He forced his eyes back and thought, to his immense relief, that Weller could use a shave. “What Mellie wants makes no sense. You have to know that.”
“I do.” Weller threw him an irritated look. “But there are better ways to get your point across than challenging her in front of the kids. Only puts her back up.”
“I know. I left because I didn’t want to completely lose it in front of them.”
“Oh no, it was so much better for the kids to see you tear out of camp like a crazy person.” Screwing up his mouth, Weller spat, sighed, then prodded his silvery-white gelding north. “Come on, might as well walk the horses the rest of the way to the church and pick up Cindi and Chad. We can talk this out. You and me, Tom, we’ll figure a way.”
“How? Mellie won’t listen. She thinks you’re better off without me. Maybe she’s right.”
“Don’t be stupid, Tom. Those kids need you, and I think you need them just as much.”
“Then we have to stop her.” After five seconds, he realized that the smell of fuel and oil had vanished, and he no longer heard the ululating wails of women. “She’ll push those kids until there’s an accident, Weller, or worse. Mellie will keep going until those kids are dead.”
“Tom, take a breath.” Mellie’s tone was that of a playground monitor heading off an eight-year-old’s tantrum at being forced off the jungle gym. “I hear you, but aren’t you supposed to be heading for the church? We’ll talk when you come back, all right? Now is not the time for this discussion.”
“No, Mellie, you don’t hear me and this is the time.” Tom tossed a glance at a clutch of some two dozen kids. Only Luke stood apart, throwing worried looks, clearly wanting Tom to put on the brakes. The rest excitedly milled around the concrete cap of a cistern behind an all-metal equipment shed where Tom had set up shop several weeks before.
He’d been afraid this would happen. Kids loved a ka-boom. It was why he hadn’t allowed anyone to watch him put together the penetrators they’d used in the mine. Gathering what was left—the det cord, the C4, caps, detonators, everything—he’d divvied it up, stashing most where no one would think to look. He only wished he’d remembered the aluminum powder and magnesium ribbon. And that bottle of glycerin. Stupid.
“Yes, it’s great that Jasper’s motivated. I agree he’s smart. But Mellie … seriously? A ten-year-old monkeying around with thermite? Trying to slow the reaction?”
“Are you saying it can’t be done? It was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, for the time delays at the mine, when I thought we might need it.” Thermite was a great primary incendiary. The problem was the reaction was very fast. He’d hit on the goofy idea of using fire retardants to stretch the reaction time, and it had worked. The last time he tried, he got nearly ten minutes, but the ratios had to be just right and he was still uncomfortable with an unpredictable incendiary whose temp topped over three thousand degrees. “Unless you’re planning to rob a bank, I can’t think why you need something that can melt steel. Mellie, these are children. I know what I’m doing.”
“You do? Have you taken a good look in the mirror?” She flipped a dismissive hand at the Uzi, on a retention strap so his hand was on the pistol grip at all times. Jed’s Bravo was slotted in a back scabbard. The Glock 19 rode in a cross-draw on his left hip, and he carried two knives: the KA-BAR in its leg sheath and a boot knife as a last resort. “Armed to the teeth. Riding out to the church every day as an escort? You look ready for Armageddon.”
“I … what I do is …” Was what? Only common sense? That was a lie. Never far away to begin with, all the old horrors—flashbacks, nightmares, that awful crushing panic—had roared back after the fight on the snow to fuel the black monster growing in his chest. Whenever he walked into the farmhouse or barn now, he immediately scanned all the exits, tried to work out the fastest way to egress. Get out, move, go, evade. Two days ago, when a group of kids got between him and the door, a flood of adrenaline drowned his mind and then he was in a cold sweat, heart pounding, thinking, Thirty-two rounds in the Uzi, nineteen in the Glock, five in the Bravo, as he methodically devised an escape route, which children to shoot and in what order he should kill them. That scared him so badly he’d bolted, shoving Luke aside and banging out into the snow where he’d run, fast, air ripping his lungs until the razor panic dulled.
To Mellie, he said, “Don’t twist this around to be about me, all right?”
“But this is about you. You want us to move. You want us to find a more secure location. You hide our det cord, our C4, everything, and all of a sudden, you have decided we don’t need to go to Rule. These are not your decisions, Tom. I’m in charge, not you.”
“Last time I looked, I was in charge, too.” Weller had been so quiet, Tom forgot he was there. “Tom’s right. Maybe there are better things we should be teaching those kids.”
“Oh, how perfect.” The frost in Mellie’s tone was unmistakable. “A convert.”
“Those things were out there,” Tom said. “I fought one. I saw more. We need to move.”
“That was two weeks ago, Tom, and where are these monsters? Don’t you think that if there were something to be worried about we’d have seen it by now? Now, I’m sorry about the mine. I’m sorry about Alex. But you need to get over that already.”
“Mellie,” Weller said sharply.
“If I had a nickel every time someone suggested I should just get over Afghanistan already, I’d be a millionaire five times over,” Tom said. How could you get past a splinter that had worked into your eye and scratched deeper every time you blinked? “Hear me out, all right? Let’s leave”—his throat tried to knot—“let’s leave Alex out of it. Let’s talk reality. Luke is fourteen, Cindi is twelve, Chad’s thirteen. That leaves, what … three other twelve-year-olds?”
“Yes.” Mellie’s eyes were as testy as her voice. “And?”
“Do I need to spell this out? For God’s sake, Mellie, napalm? These are children. They can’t fight, and they certainly shouldn’t march off to war. There’s no reason to go to Rule.”
“Oh? I know you said to leave Alex out of this, but tell me, Tom, would you have had this sudden change of heart if Alex hadn’t been in the mine?”
“Yes. Wait … let me finish.” He was honest enough to know this would come, but it still sent a knife through his heart. “Of course, I’d go to Rule. Nothing would stop me.”
“So now that there’s nothing you stand to gain …”
“I said I would go. Getting Alex out would be my fight.”
“Really. You were happy enough for Luke to go with you, and Weller.”
Tom opened his mouth, then closed it. Happy was the wrong word. But she was right.
“Uh-huh.” Mellie nodded when he remained silent. “Don’t pretend you’re more noble or any better. Think about how you used Luke, risked his life for your gain—and then tell me I’m so much worse. There is only one person you truly care about, Tom, and she’s dead. So get over it, Tom, or get out.”
“Mellie!” Weller said. “Let’s all just calm down, all right?”
“Oh, shut up, Weller.” She rounded on him. “I’m tired of you taking his side. Look at him. He’s unpredictable and dangerous. He’s not fit to be around these children.”
“I … I know I’ve had a few …”
Tom stopped again. What was he going to say?
“Yes, a few. Go.” She made a shooing motion. “Get out of here. Take your little ride to the church, escort Chad and Cindi, go play soldier, do something useful, but both of you, get out of my sight. Oh, and Tom? I’ll thank you to return my explosives.”
That was the moment his forefinger twitched and he imagined his bullet drilling her eye and fragging her skull—red mist, pink brain—and for him, how sweet the sound.
“Under the horse trough,” he heard himself say. “Take it all. I never want to see or make another bomb as long as I live.”
Then he got out of there, fast, afraid that he might just prove how dangerous he could be.
“She’s right.” Tom gave Weller a weary look. “Who am I to tell these kids anything?”
“You’re human. But she did rip you a new one. Don’t understand what got into her.” Weller shook his head. “Stressed out like the rest of us, I guess. So what’d you have in mind?”
“I’ve said it: forget about Rule.” To his left, the Lutheran church’s bell tower rose from a far knoll hemmed by evergreens. Through gaps in the trees, Tom thought he saw Chad and Cindi’s horses tethered to a bicycle rack. But were they lying down? He wished he hadn’t left his binos back at camp. In another few feet, the trees closed in again. He looked at Weller. “This isn’t a novel or movie where they can move from town to town and scavenge. Eventually, everything will run out. Take Jasper: he’s smart enough to make thermite, but he’s got no idea how to farm, hunt, keep himself warm, build a house that won’t fall down. We have to help these kids create a life.”
Wouldn’t that also mean giving up on Alex? If he meant what he said, he would have to let go of the idea of searching for her. He didn’t want to. Caring for these kids didn’t come close to easing the ache. But Luke had come to him. Cindi had skied out to this church every day to be with him. He couldn’t let them down. And, yes, he was still afraid of going to Rule. Of what he might do if he ever met Chris Prentiss face-to-face.