The Crash of Hennington

by Patrick Ness

  It was the thin creatures, then. Was this the answer to the smell of blood she’d been unable to shake? Was this the price?

  No time. She bellowed once more. The racing animals answered. She turned, forced her way through a fallen, dead log, only briefly noticing another thin creature running to get out of her way. At full gallop, forcing as loud a call through her throat as she could manage, she stampeded forward, onward, away from the explosions that were only now resuming behind them. More animals answered her call as she plunged through the brush. She heard cries of pain as animals fell near the back of the herd, but they were getting away, they were gaining distance from the chaos.

  She headed for the edge of the forest. Another explosion just above her head caused her to swerve, but three more steps and she was through to the lea in the hill of fields. She turned her head slightly as she ran and bellowed, watching as the rest of the herd smashed through the wooded border, leveling small trees, and driving smaller forest animals in front of them. As she led them further from the woods, further across the lea, heading towards the open hills just across the northern edge of the city, she noticed that less than two thirds of the herd was following her.

  How many animals killed? How many more wandering alone, lost and terrified in the forest? Sorrow mixed with her fear now, and a deep, ferocious fury. They were beyond all borders now, past all sense and history, past all precedents, all rules forgotten.

  She bellowed again, and they followed her, running, running, running.

  92. Not the Highest Bid, but the Earliest.

  Archie’s grand office had degenerated into squalor. Papers were piled everywhere. Half-eaten food decomposed on dirty plates. The garbage can overflowed. The breakdown didn’t stop with the main office, either. Archie had turned off the ice rink and drained the water. The tennis court was dusty with lack of use. And the grass on the driving range had actually begun to sprout weeds, although how weed spores could have found their way into the for-all-intents hermetically sealed penthouse was beyond both Archie’s knowledge and interest. The small living space, intended only for single overnight stays, was in even worse shape. Archie had only left the penthouse on three occasions in the past two months, all of which were brief visits to Thomas. Jules had finally insisted on bringing a maid service into at least the bathroom and bedroom, once even locking Archie in his office so the fleet-footed team could dispose of age-old clothes, change ripe sheets, and vacuum up alarming piles of detritus. Jules had worried about pulling such shenanigans on Archie, then had worried more when Archie had shown no response at all.

  —I think you’re in danger of falling into such a deep hole that you won’t be able to get back out again.

  —That’ll be all, Jules.

  —The Board are at their wits’ end, sir. The individual companies can more or less run themselves for maybe a little while longer, but without a captain at the wheel—

  —I said, that’ll be all.

  —Disaster is just waiting to happen.

  —Leave now if you don’t want to be fired.

  —If you haven’t made good on that threat by now, you’re never going to. I’m merely telling you the facts.

  —I’m aware of the facts! And despite your flitting and fretting, I’m handling the problem.

  —You are?

  —Yes.

  —How?

  —Who are you to ask me how?

  —The one who’s been running Banyon Enterprises singlehanded for months now, that’s who.

  —Don’t worry, Jules. You’ll be taken care of.

  —Oh, shit, meaning what, exactly?

  —Leave. I’m taking care of things. I told you. Leave. Oh, wait, yes, get that maid service in here again. I need the office cleaned up.

  —You what?

  —I have a meeting at 2.30.

  —It’s 2.10 now, Archie. I can’t possibly get a crew in here between now and then.

  —Oh, well, forget it then. Just call me when he’s here.

  —Who?

  —The only one who’ll show up by 2.30. Now, please go and wait for him.

  Archie was indeed expecting a guest. A call from nowhere. References and financial securities offered with a reassuring quickness. And now to actually meet the man and seal the deal. That his last deal should also be his easiest was a comfort. The office should have been cleaner, though. Simple good practice, that was. Archie was still a businessman, goddamnit. There was a way you did things. At least, there used to be. At least, that was what he tried to tell himself. At the very least, he supposed a cleaner office would have maybe made him feel a little better. Maybe. Maybe not. Who cared anymore?

  He had stopped wondering how he had gotten to this point. He would find himself making a movement in his chair and discover he had been sitting there for hours. No matter. Somewhere a line had been crossed, some irretrievable boundary, but if so, fine. He had learned to not look back. Always move forward forward forward. Keep your goal in sight and don’t bother with what’s gone on before or what will come after. Eyes on the prize, as they say. And when you got the prize, because you always did sooner or later, you just went looking for another prize. That’s all this was, he told himself. This whole meeting was a way to make it easier to get his hands on the prize, that of finding his dear son. Looked at that way it even seemed part of the process. Yes, he could live with that.

  His announce light came on. Jules’ voice came through the speaker.

  —Your 2.30 is here.

  —Send him in.

  —Do you really think—

  —Just send him in.

  Archie clicked off. He closed his eyes and waited for the sound of his door opening. He kept them closed as the man stepped firmly into the room and made the long walk to Archie’s desk. There was a silence as the man waited for Archie’s attention. Archie opened his eyes.

  —It’s a pleasure to finally meet the legendary Archie Banyon in person.

  Archie reached forward, extending his hand. Jon Noth, new owner of Banyon Enterprises, shook it firmly.

  93. What We Wish For.

  —You don’t understand, I have to.

  —I’m sorry, Jacki, but the risk is just too high. You go see them, you get snatched up by Thomas Banyon, and then what?

  —All right, answer me this. Do you think my chances of getting out of this mess are all that high?

  —I think you stand a fair chance—

  —A fair chance isn’t good enough. It’s also a lie, isn’t it? My chances are pretty damn low.

  —We’ve gotten plenty of other people away from—

  —But not anyone that he was looking for quite so strenuously, right? Not anyone that he’d punch a poor little woman for, right? Not anyone who he would dig so deeply in the Underground for, right? If he finds me, he’ll kill me. I know that. Either he’ll kill me straight out or force me back onto Forum and then I’m dead anyway,

  —Jacki, look—

  —So he grabs me when I see my kids. That would be horrible, but if he’s going to grab me anyway, at least I will have seen my kids that once. At least someone will know that I’ve been grabbed. At least—

  —He could grab your kids.

  —Not if we do it in a public enough place. Besides, they won’t even know I’m there. I’ve got a plan—

  —Listen to yourself. You’re purposely putting yourself and your kids in danger that you don’t seem to be aware of. There are some weird things going on that you don’t even know about.

  —Like what?

  —Strange rumblings in the air. People who you wouldn’t expect are finding religion all of a sudden.

  —Religion? What does that have to do with anything?

  —Something’s at work, but nobody quite knows what it is yet. It might even be more of a risk than you think.

  —I want to see them before I die.

  That stopped things, at least for a moment. Jacki knew every argument the shorter one, whose name she still didn’t know,
was throwing at her. She knew the risk, but she knew her chances, too. She also bet that Thomas was far too smart to ever drag her kids into it. Jacki could be painted as a whore, a drug addict, and who knew what else. She could be disappeared; her kids couldn’t. He would only want her. She had to see Morton and Tucker, even if it meant Thomas finding her. Because, because he wouldn’t stop until he did.

  If the shorter one could only understand what it had been like to talk to them again. Just to hear their voices, just to have them acknowledge who she was, after all this time. It was like throwing yourself out of a plane only to discover that the ground was a few feet away. Gathering the courage to jump was the hard part, the rest fell into place like a dream.

  —Mom? Is this a joke?

  —No, Morton. It’s Mom.

  —Oh.

  He said it again.

  —Oh.

  —I know it’s been a long time, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that.

  —Where are you?

  —I can’t tell you that, Morty.

  —Why not?

  —I, uh, I’m in a bit of trouble.

  —What kind of trouble?

  —I can’t really go into it, but I’m safe for now. I just wanted to call—

  —Where’ve you been? It’s been like two years.

  Apart from anything that could bring them danger, she had decided on complete honesty right from the start.

  —I’ve been fighting a drug problem. That’s only an explanation, not an excuse. But I’m better now. I’ve kicked it as good as I ever have.

  —Is that why you’re in trouble?

  —Yes. I had to kind of run from a situation, making some people unhappy, but I’m doing it to rescue myself. Listen—

  —We were worried about you. We thought you might be dead.

  —I’m not.

  I was, she thought, but I’m not now.

  Amazingly, everything just got easier and easier. Morton and Tucker, savvy teenagers both, turned out to know about drug addiction in more intimate terms than Jacki frankly felt comfortable with, but the result was complete acceptance that in no time whatsoever transformed itself into an almost pushy curiosity. Arguments and resentments might come later, but for now, there was only shared relief. To her horror, being a Forum addict almost made her a heroine.

  —How much did you take a day?

  —Usually three or four hundred ccs.

  —Holy cow, Mom! That’s enough to kill people.

  —I had to work my way up to it.

  —Did you shoot or snort?

  —I shot. Morty—

  —Like where did you buy the stuff?

  —Morton, is your father around?

  —No. Where did you shoot?

  Greg had been a more difficult hurdle. She had managed to get Morton that first time and then Morton and Tucker on the second call, each time asking for her ex-husband. Jacki found herself struggling to even remember his face. Had they really been strangers that long? He answered himself on the third try.

  —Hello, Greg.

  —Jacki. So the rumors are true.

  —They like to think so.

  —I didn’t know what to say when Morton and Tucker told me that you called, and you know what? I still don’t.

  —I’ve been—

  —I know. Drug heaven. I’m not sure I appreciate that kind of talk to my sons, Jacki. They’re at an impressionable age. It’s hard enough to keep them away from bad elements without their mother emerging from the past as a cool junkie.

  —I’m drug-free now.

  —So you say, but for how long?

  —I’ve risked my life to do it. I’ll either succeed, or I’ll die. Either way, doubt shouldn’t be an issue for you.

  —That’s all very melodramatic, Jacki, but surely you understand—

  —Of course I do. I’m in trouble, Greg.

  —Why am I not surprised?

  —Big trouble. I may not come out of it with my life. I’m not exaggerating to win your sympathy. Those are the facts, and believe me, I wish they were different. That’s what I’m facing. I had to call the boys. I had to.

  —So let’s see where we stand, Jacki. You turn invisible, vanish right off the face of the planet, returning to us in rare, garbled phone calls and in the occasional grapevine report of drugs and even worse. Then you vanish completely, leaving me to explain to your sons why you’ve disappeared though I don’t even know myself. Two years pass and now you’re back? Out of the blue. In trouble, surprise surprise, but now drug-free and ready to be a mother again? You’ll have to forgive my incredulity.

  —I have no counter-argument.

  —So why should I act any differently than any other sensible person in my position would?

  —I have no legitimate reason that I can reasonably expect you to believe, except to say that what I’ve told you is true. I’m in danger. Thomas Banyon is after me. If he finds me, I’m probably dead. This literally may be my last chance to talk to my sons. Literally. I had to take the risk, even the risk of you saying no.

  —You didn’t ask me first. You’ve talked to them already.

  —I wouldn’t expect you to act any different if the situation was reversed.

  —The situation would never be reversed, Jacki.

  —Nevertheless.

  —Why is Thomas Banyon after you?

  —It’s too long and degrading to explain. Please, Greg. I’m at your mercy. Please don’t put an end to this.

  A long pause, another obstacle jumped or not.

  —I trust that your maternal instincts are sharp enough not to put them in any danger.

  —That would never happen.

  And it wouldn’t, a point she was trying to make again to the shorter one, whose resistance she could feel weakening. Morton and Tucker wouldn’t even know she was there. She would go to their school and wait. She would look for them as they arrived or after they left. She would question them lightly during their phone conversations about their school activities to find out the best place to watch. She would see them from a distance.

  —And that’s all.

  —The risk you’re taking—

  —We can make it so the risk is all mine.

  —There’s no way to do that.

  —Just get me a car—

  —And have you drive how? Crouched down in the driver’s seat?

  —You could get me a disguise.

  —Our resources are hardly unlimited. Don’t forget that. We do what we can, but we’re not miracle-workers.

  —Look, please. Please. Think of this. I may never see them again. Never. It’s that serious, and as optimistic as you are, I know you know I’m right. This could really be it. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

  He looked at her for a moment, and she knew she had won.

  —I’ll see what I can do.

  94. A Cold Dish.

  He called Theophilus from the Bisector on the way back from the meeting.

  —What we discussed has come to fruition, Brother Velingtham.

  —I expected that it would, Brother Noth. So no one now needs to vote for our dear befuddled Brother Banyon?

  —No, thank heavens.

  —Don’t worry, my friend. We are more than happy to help you drive out the dark wind.

  —Yes, of course, the dark wind. The election’s only six days away. Are you sure you have enough numbers to actually make a difference at the ballot box?

  —My people have been on a mission, acting on the prophecies they’ve received in the Sacraments, spreading the word around the city. You don’t need to concern yourself with my methods. As I’ve said, it only takes a small catalyst to spark a big change. The message is being disseminated.

  —So you’ve gone beyond the one church, then?

  —In the true sense, no. We have established the one true Church and new followers come to us every day. Answering the spirit of your question, though, yes, the message has spread to other congregations, and we antici
pate many more in the coming days. By the time election day arrives, you will have no worries about the size of your assistance in driving out the dark wind.

  —And there’s no trouble with the preacher you kicked out?

  —He’s finding difficulty in getting our local, devout police force to listen to him.

  —I’m guessing then that it was your people who orchestrated the attack on The Crash.

  —Again, are methods so important to know? Isn’t it the ends that both of us are after, that both of us have been after since we met so very long ago?

  —It’s only that I wonder if attacking The Crash doesn’t play right into Thomas’ hands.

  —Whoever it was that might have attacked The Crash could very well be hoping that the kind of extreme reaction to Thomas Banyon’s view on The Crash might in fact be exactly the kind of backfire that Thomas Banyon so foolishly doesn’t expect.

  —I follow you. If a few people react to him in this way, everyone else will be too scared of what he’s capable of.

  —I also think that whoever it was that might have attacked The Crash would be foolish to discuss that attack over a mobile phone.

  Jon paused. Theophilus was right, of course. There was something here he didn’t like though, something odd, something off, out of his control, something that made him uncomfortable enough to ignore basic caution, apparently.

  —Theophilus, look, these phrases you use, ‘driving out the dark wind’ and so forth. I’ve assumed all along that you’ve meant them metaphorically, like you said.

  —Ye-e-es?

  Theophilus stretched the word out to several syllables, and even over the mobile, even over the noise and honks of the traffic around him, Jon could still hear the taut smile in it.

  —What exactly do you mean?