by TJ Klune
Then, “She… How did you…”
Alex said, “I don’t know. It’s… what she does. The connection. The bond. With me. With you.”
“We have to get her home,” Nate said, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever believed in anything more in his life. “We have to find a way to get her home.”
He didn’t expect Alex to raise an arm. He didn’t expect the hand coming toward his face. The fingers trailing along his cheek. His jawline. The thumb brushing over his lips.
He leaned into it because it was the only thing he could do.
He turned his head slightly and pressed a dry kiss into Alex’s palm.
Alex’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away.
Nate reached up and took Alex’s hand in his own. He slid a little bit closer until he could tuck Alex’s hand against his chest. It was warm.
Alex sighed as if in relief and closed his eyes. Nate watched as he fell asleep a moment later, arm resting over Art.
Nate fell asleep soon after under the sea of stars and a comet that burned brightly.
The next morning, over powdered eggs that tasted like shit, Art said, “You know where we have to go.”
Alex rubbed a hand over his face. “Are you sure?”
She nodded slowly. “It’s… I think it’s the right thing to do. Before.”
Nate glanced between the two of them. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Saddle up, partner,” Art told him. “There’s rough days ahead.”
chapter fourteen
Five days later, Nate stared out the window as they passed a black carriage being pulled by a single horse. Inside the carriage sat two men dressed in dark clothes with wide-brimmed hats. Both had thick beards. They waved as the truck passed them by. Art waved back cheerily.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nate said as they passed a sign welcoming them to Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania.
Alex snorted. “Afraid not.”
“He’s Amish now?”
“No. But there’s a good-sized Amish population out here. Mennonites too. It seemed to fit him… after. There’s a tendency to eschew technology of any kind. It makes sense if you think about it.”
“Nothing about this makes sense. Literally nothing.”
“Try not to worry too much about it.”
Nate turned slowly to gape at him.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Alex said, a small smile on his face. Ever since that night in the Badlands, it’d been making more of an appearance. Nate wasn’t complaining. He was rather fond of the crinkles around Alex’s eyes when he smiled.
“Do you think I’ll get to ride a horse?” Art asked for what had to be the hundredth time. “If he has horses, that is. But, I mean, he lives on a farm, right? He has to have horses. It’s like, the law.”
“I don’t think that’s quite true,” Nate told her.
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t know that. And—” She gasped. “Oh my heck, what if he has pigs? What if there’s bacon?”
“You just had bacon yesterday, remember? You told the waitress at the restaurant to just, and I quote, keep it coming, sweetheart.”
“She stared at me weird after that.”
“Probably because you called her sweetheart.”
“I saw it in a movie once. Wanted to try it out and see how it went. Upon retrospection, I don’t have the chops to pull it off.” She sighed dreamily. “Pork chops.”
“You’re so weird,” Nate said, and he didn’t know if he’d ever meant anything more. She acted like such a human sometimes.
“Please, if you’d had to subsist on nothing but the energy around you for centuries until you finally got to have taste buds for the first time, you’d say the same thing.”
And then there were those other times when she said shit like that.
“Christ,” Nate muttered.
“Still working on him,” Art said with a frown. “Why do humans say his name in vain while others use the idea of him to make themselves think they’re better than everyone else?”
“I don’t even want to get into that conversation with you,” Nate said. “It’s futile.”
“But, Nate.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Later,” Alex said. “We’re almost there.”
Nate glanced at him. “Are you sure about this? I mean, he doesn’t even know we’re coming. You said he doesn’t have a phone.”
“He doesn’t. But…”
“He knows,” Art said. “He knows I’d come find him.”
“How?” Nate asked, unsure if he actually wanted the answer.
Art winked at him.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know. I’m practicing being mysterious. Is it working?”
“You’re an alien from another planet. You don’t need to be any more mysterious.”
“Oh. Wow. I never thought about it that way. Huh. I need to rethink a few things. Hold on.”
Nate sighed and looked back out the window.
Bird-in-Hand wasn’t big enough to even be called a town. It was more of a village, and it took only a couple of minutes to pass through and leave it behind. Alex had a map open in front of him on the steering wheel, glancing down at it every now and then with a frown on his face. Art sat between them, hands folded in her lap as she hummed quietly to herself.
Ten minutes outside of the village, Alex said, “I don’t know where it is. Maybe we already passed it. We should turn around and—”
“We didn’t,” Art said. “It’s up ahead on the right.”
Alex sighed and crumpled up the map and tossed it to the side. “Maybe you could have told me that before I opened the map.”
“You looked like you had it under control. It isn’t my fault you’re not very good with directions. You’re a man, after all.”
He glared at her. “Do I even want to know where you heard that one?”
“Probably not. Look. It’s there.”
Nate followed where she was pointing. Up ahead on the right was an old mailbox in the shape of a barn. Next to it was a dirt road surrounded by empty fields. In the distance, Nate could see a large copse of trees. Above them rose a thin black smudge. Smoke.
Alex slowed to a stop just before the road. They hadn’t seen another car since they’d passed through Bird-in-Hand. “Are you sure about this?” he asked her, leaning forward against the steering wheel to study the road. He winced slightly, and Nate knew his back was probably bothering him from the almost nonstop driving they’d done since the Badlands.
“I think so,” Art said, face scrunched up. “It feels like the right thing to do.”
“And nothing else, huh?”
She shook her head slowly.
Nothing else being the enigmatic way of asking if her… people… were here. Or on their way. Or signaling somehow.
“Not yet,” she said. “I think there are things I have to do first. And he’s one of those things.”
She sounded unsure. Nate didn’t like that.
“All right,” Alex said. “But you stay with me at all times, you hear me? I don’t want you out of my sight.” He glanced at Nate. “Either of you.”
Art laughed. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Alex and Nate both groaned.
“What? Why did you guys do that? What did I say?”
Alex turned onto the dirt road.
In the trees sat a rambling farmhouse, well-kept with a sloping roof covered in what appeared to be solar panels. There was a chimney rising up on either end. It was white with blue shutters on each of the windows.
Next to it sat a large barn. The mailbox they’d seen looked to be almost an exact replica, albeit smaller. It was a rusty red with white trim, the big sliding doors open.
It looked almost like an oasis after all they’d been through. It was late April now, and unseasonably warm. But, shaded by the trees, the house looked
inviting. The grass was green, and the fields around the house looked as if they’d been recently tilled. Nate wondered what would grow there. Given the bare knowledge he had of the area, he thought it would be corn.
Next to the farmhouse was a garden of flowers and tomato plants and other things he wasn’t sure of. He was a city boy mostly, or at least he had been for the past few years. He’d never had a garden of his own. He’d had a plant once, given to him for his apartment, but it’d died within a month. He hadn’t been too surprised. He’d watered it maybe twice.
There were a few trucks next to the barn. Two older sedans.
And people.
He could see a few in the fields.
A handful in the garden.
Some carrying hay out of the barn.
Two sitting on the porch in old rocking chairs.
They were dressed in jeans and work boots. The men wore white shirts. One of the women had a tank top. Some had hats.
They all looked up at the same time, watching the truck approach.
An icy chill ran down Nate’s spine.
One of the women on the porch got up and went inside the farmhouse, the screen door slapping shut behind her.
“Who are these people?” Nate asked. “I thought you said it would be just him.”
Alex was frowning. “I thought it would be.”
“They’re here because of him,” Art said, and they both looked down at her as Alex stopped the truck a short distance away from the house. “I think they know. And they believe him.”
Nate wanted to tell Alex to turn around. To drive away. To get them the hell out of there. He didn’t have a good feeling about this, and if there was anything he’d learned to trust over the years, it was that twist in his gut. Maybe sometimes it’d led him astray (or at the very least, he’d ignored it, instead choosing to sink down on his knees and suck the thick cock of the junior senator, hands tugging in his hair as he choked), but usually he was spot-on.
They should leave.
He had opened his mouth to say exactly that when the woman who’d gone inside came back out.
And she was followed by another man.
Instantly, Nate knew this was who they were here to see.
He wasn’t what Nate expected. He’d been only twenty-four years old when he’d stumbled around in the dark in Cisco Grove, California, in 1964. And after that, he’d been held in the Mountain for twenty years.
If everything Alex and Art had told him was true, Oren Schraeder would have been born in 1940.
Which would have made him fifty-five years old now.
He looked younger than Alex.
Oren’s skin was tan, as if he spent his days out in the sun. His hair looked almost white and was pulled into a ponytail that rested in front of his left shoulder. He was lean and fit, jeans dusty and streaks of dirt across a white shirt that looked like what the other men wore.
He had a smile on his face, wide and toothy. He raised a hand and wiggled his fingers at them.
He stayed as he was, Alex had said. For years. He didn’t… age. He had stayed twenty-four years old for almost twenty years.
Like he’d been stuck in time.
In stasis.
And only resumed aging after Art had been electrocuted out of him.
The woman who’d gone inside to fetch him leaned over and whispered in his ear. He waved her away. Watching. Waiting.
Nate turned to tell the others that this didn’t feel right, but Alex was already out of the truck, Art scooting across the seat after him. He tried to help her down, but she told him she could do it herself. He stepped back to let her jump out of the truck.
Nate didn’t want to follow them.
He did anyway.
Alex kept Art behind him as they slowly approached the farmhouse. The people stood stock-still in the garden and in the fields and in front of the barn as if they were all waiting for something.
Nate hurried to catch up with Art and Alex. Art took his hand, squeezing it tightly.
They stopped a short distance away from the farmhouse.
Nate saw the telltale bulge of the gun tucked in the waistline of Alex’s jeans in the back. Where once the sight had frightened him, it now made him feel a little bit better. Funny how that worked out.
Nate didn’t know who’d speak first. If there was… protocol for this sort of thing.
He was in over his head, though he’d be lying if some small part of him wasn’t still thinking about how big a story this could be. How when this was all over, the narrative he could craft would probably get him hired anywhere he wanted. Or better yet, a book deal. Sure, he’d probably get pushback, but couldn’t he provide proof? The things he’d seen. The people who’d come after him. The Mountain. They couldn’t cover it up. Not all of it. He could expose them all. Maybe if they all got out of this alive and Artemis found her way… home, he could consider it. He could do something. People deserved to know, didn’t they? They deserved to know what else was out there. That if it was anything like Art, it was benevolent and kind and not to be afraid of.
It was a small part.
But it was there nonetheless, having become clearer the more all of this had sunk in.
“Oren,” Alex said. “Oren Schraeder.”
The man on the porch nodded. “That’s not a name I’ve heard in a very long time.” His voice was higher-pitched than Nate expected, and softer. But he had a presence around him that made it hard to look away. There was something about him that drew attention. He radiated strength and something that closely resembled peace. It was the only thing Nate could find in his extensive vocabulary to explain it. He felt soothed by this man. “And it’s one we don’t speak out loud here.”
He didn’t like it.
“My name is Alex Weir.”
“I know who you are,” Oren said. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Alex stiffened slightly. If Nate hadn’t known what to look for, he’d have missed it. But he’d been side by side with Alex for weeks. He’d studied him closely, far more closely than he probably cared to admit. He knew what to look for. “That’s good,” Alex said.
Oren briefly glanced at Nate before looking back at Alex. “I see that you’ve brought a guest.”
“This is Nate,” Alex said. “He… found us.”
Nate snorted. That was one way to put it.
“Did he now,” Oren said. “What a thing to find. Tell me. Does he know what it is you have huddling behind you?”
“He—”
“I can speak for myself,” Nate said. “You don’t need to talk like I’m not here.”
Alex didn’t look too pleased at that when he glanced back.
Oren, however, was amused. “Indeed. My apologies.” He bowed his head slightly. “I meant no offense.”
“None taken,” Nate said, dropping Art’s hand and moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with Alex. “And yes. I do know.”
“Interesting,” Oren said, gaze boring into Nate. He felt like flinching, looking away. Somehow, he didn’t. “How curious the people we find when we need them most. It’s as if there is a higher power pulling the strings. Placing those in our paths that we can lean upon in our darkest hours.”
The people around them murmured quietly under their breath as if in prayer. It was over almost as quickly as it’d begun.
“Tell me, Alex,” Oren said. “Were you followed?”
Alex shook his head. “No.”
“And you can be sure about that.”
“Yes.”
“Not even that pesky Enforcer?”
“The water guy,” Nate muttered quietly.
“How did you know about that?” Alex asked, voice hard.
Oren’s smile grew even wider. “I have my ways. When one has been through a life-changing experience as I have, one tends to keep their ears to the ground. They didn’t have them when I was in the Mountain. Not like this… Randy. He’s tenaci
ous. Or so I’m told.”
“And what’s going to stop him from coming directly here?” Nate blurted. He hadn’t meant to speak, and he winced when Oren’s gaze snapped back to him. It made his skin crawl. “If you are who they say you are, if you’ve… been a part of this, why won’t they know to come here?” It was a question he’d asked Alex almost immediately when Oren’s name was mentioned back in the Badlands. He’d received a vague response, followed by Alex asking him to trust him on this.
That hadn’t been fair. But he’d gone with it, swallowing down further questions. Because he did trust Alex. And he trusted Art. If she thought they needed to come here, then they would.
But if he trusted them, then they needed to trust him. They wanted him safe. He wanted the same for them.
Oren laughed. A few of his people smiled at the sound, gazing up at him with what Nate thought was adoration. “Oren Schraeder committed suicide in 1991. Ate a shotgun shell in a motel room outside of Olympia, Washington. A terrible tragedy. Head was blown clean off. They identified him by the license he carried on him.”
Nate felt numb. “Not the fingerprints?”
The man who had once been Oren Schraeder stepped off the porch and walked toward them. They didn’t move. He stopped a few feet away, holding up his hands toward them.
Nate could see how unnatural they looked. Oh, he had the right number of fingers, thin and spindly though they were. But it was the details that weren’t quite right. There were no lines on his palms. No creases. He could see the veins underneath his skin. A streak of dirt. Multiple calluses.
He had no fingerprints.
His fingertips were completely smooth.
“Do you know how hard it was to find someone who suffered from adermatoglyphia with my same blood type?” he asked. “I almost thought it was impossible. But I was provided with such a person who found their life no longer worth living. They were sad and alone. And in the end, they gave themselves to a higher power.” His gaze flickered down before coming back to Nate. “They gave themselves to me so that I could escape the shackles that had tied me to those who would keep me chained for the rest of my life. He was a gift.” He smiled again. “Oren Schraeder died. My name is Peter Williams, and this is my home. You are safe here, Nate. We live off the land, much like the people that have been in this area for centuries. We have the solar panels on the house and use propane in the kitchen. You are off the grid now. Nothing can find you here.”