My simple question now seems insignificant, dwarfed by the crazy things she's saying. More conspiracy theories? Is she insane like Tucker? She sounds completely rational, matter-of-fact, even as she relates a story that's far too bizarre to believe.
"But what does any of this have to do with..." I trail off.
"Everything." She pauses. "You see, Willard and I were once in love. He allowed me to keep the infected alive, to study them, try to cure them. But he found out I was one of them around the same time as his first contact with the UW. He thought I had lied to him, betrayed him. He nearly fell apart, regressing beyond the point of simply wanting to kill off the infected. With the eager assistance of Perch, he started to reverse engineer them—taking them apart piece by piece without the proper use of sedatives—to find out how the physiological transmutations worked on a subatomic level. Of course they were unsuccessful and ended up killing all their subjects. Willard thought he could ingratiate himself with the UW leaders by studying a contagious phenomenon they didn't fully understand, one they couldn't allow themselves to come near enough to study. He hoped he could delay their plans to exterminate us." She pauses. "Then we found you."
She reappears suddenly with a thin strip of steel in her hand and sets it on the cart.
"Thanks, Margo," Tucker says.
"How about you go help Luther and Samson. They're getting a Hummer ready."
He sniffs and shuffles away, past me. Then he stops. His breath is warm and sour as he leans close. I have to restrain myself from slapping him as hard as I can.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly.
I don't know where to look in the empty space before me, just like when we first met. And I don't know what to say. I can't forgive him. He sniffs again and his footsteps exit the room, passing Milton as they step across the catwalk outside.
Margo faces Shechara. "Needless to say, you're able to see more than a mere mortal with these new eyes. It will take some time to adjust to the way they perceive the spectrum. They give you infrared thermoptic and night vision perception." She almost smiles, an awkward twitch of her lips. "But no X-ray, I'm afraid."
Shechara nods. "Thank you."
Margo turns away quickly. "Back to what we were saying."
What she was saying. I've never heard anyone so long-winded—besides Mother Lairen, maybe. Margo busies herself cleaning up, moving instruments, replacing used cartridges.
"When he found you, Willard thought he'd been given another chance to forestall the inevitable. He believed if he could prove to the UW that a new generation was going to be born in Eden, that they would postpone the end of days they had in store for us." She turns to fix me with her unblinking stare. "So yes, we took your eggs and sperm. And yes, we have all of the equipment and resources necessary to create new life from what we've taken. The first generation since All-Clear."
Is she proud of herself? "What's to keep us from smashing everything you have and leaving you with nothing?"
Milton leans in again. "Uh…because that's not the deal Luther made."
What? He made a deal with these people? Why? We have the upper hand here. We can destroy what they took from us and blow them all to hell!
"But you won't," Margo says, her deep-set eyes boring into me.
Did she just read my mind?
"Why won't we? You mean nothing to us, and after all you've done—!"
"Daiyna." Shechara squeezes my hand tightly, her gleaming eyes rotating toward me. "Daiyna, listen to her."
"I have. She's said more than enough."
"Then you won't mind if I add something else." Margo pauses. "The UW knows about you. Us. Our abilities. When Willard told them, their first inclination was to shower us with another Destruction-Day of nukes, wipe us out along with the hundreds of deformed soldiers they abandoned here years ago. But Willard assured them he had things under control. And while they may still risk sending over a team to assess the situation themselves, they will not destroy us while we have a new generation down here in the making. You see, from the sound of things, repopulation has been a global priority for years. But it hasn't been met with success. The UW is concerned the bioweapons and airborne toxins released by the rebels two decades ago may have rendered the rest of the world...infertile. An unexpected result of the plagues." She lets those words sink in. "The deal I made with Luther is simple. You are free to go, and we will give you a vehicle, weapons, fuel and supplies. Whatever you need. But you will not retaliate against us in any way. Go, and leave us far behind. Forget about us. But know that because of you, because of what we took from you... The world will live."
I stare at her. I don't know what to say. I sway on my feet, unable to sort out my thoughts. But one question arcs through my mind: "They would have to know the eggs and sperm came from us. Wouldn't our...children be like us? Infected?"
Her frail shoulders lift and fall. "From what we can tell, our superhuman abilities are the result of contact with the surface. The dust enters our lungs, spreads through our system, and we're changed. Willard and his soldiers have never ventured out onto the surface, and they remain unaffected. So, we're almost certain these gametes and the fetuses they will become won't be at risk, as long as we keep them in Eden during their gestation, growth, and development."
All so very scientific. Nothing supernatural about it.
"You can't know for sure."
"Of course not." She pauses. "What matters is the UW thinks we do. And they'll have to wait nine months to see if we're wrong."
A sudden blast shatters the moment as Milton fires his weapon.
"Sneaky devils. There you are." He fires again. I let go of Shechara and join him at the doorway. "See?" He points across to the catwalk at the other side of the dome where the steel door of that strange apartment remains locked from the outside. Half a dozen soldiers ride up the conveyor, crouching with wide pallets held up as shields. "Probably planning to unlock the door and let their boss out. Where have they been hiding?"
He fires again, obviously a warning shot. But the soldiers dive off the conveyor in all directions and scramble for cover. Milton will make sure none of them get close to that door.
A loud horn honks below. Luther and Samson climb out of a black armored vehicle.
"All aboard!" Samson grins up at me.
Shechara takes my hand. "Time to go, Daiyna."
I turn and look back at Margo. Who is this woman? Ally? Enemy?
"God be with you," she says with that twitch of a smile. "Though I'm not sure whose side he's on anymore."
"You don't belong here. You're not one of them."
She nods slowly, eyes unblinking. "They need me."
I can soften his heart, she places the thought into my mind. Does she mean Willard? Right. Good luck with that.
She smiles.
"You two go ahead." Milton stands rooted, covering the main floor with his rifle. "I'll catch up."
"I'm sure you will." I pat his shoulder.
I look Shechara in the eye. It'll take a while to get used to the new additions. "Ready?"
She nods, squeezing my hand. "Yes, Daiyna."
We jump up onto the railing and leap down from it, plunging to the concrete floor below and landing on all-fours.
"Good to see you still have it in you," Samson rumbles, balancing awkwardly on his new legs. He winks at me.
"Good to see your spirits are still up."
"And that's not all." He thrusts his pelvis forward suggestively and nearly topples over.
Luther chuckles. "Let's get out of here, shall we?" He raises his hand in farewell, his fingers wounded, his eyes full of gratitude.
Margo stares down at him. Slowly she raises her hand in return.
We file into the large vehicle, Samson taking the seat next to the driver while Luther, Shechara and I slide into the seats behind. The doors close automatically, and the engine roars to life. But the driver's seat is absent, as is the steering wheel.
"Ready folks?" Tucker says.
/>
He's not coming with us. He can't be.
"Take us out, Mr. Tucker," Luther tells him. "Thank you. We'd be lost without your help."
"I know these tunnels like the back of my invisible hand," he says with a sniff. We roll forward, then surge across the main floor with a sudden burst of speed, heading toward what looks like the open mouth of a cave. Shots echo outside, the rounds pinging across the vehicle's surface. "Damn fools," Tucker mutters, flooring the gas pedal.
I look out the window just as five of the armed soldiers rush our way, firing wildly. I cringe as the shots bounce off the pane of tinted glass. Bullet-proof, apparently.
A moment later, we're in the tunnel, and all I see is the glow of the headlights against the curved concrete ahead of us. I glance back as the half-circle of light behind us recedes in the distance along with the small silhouettes of soldiers halting their pursuit and shaking their weapons in frustration.
Eden. I hope I never see that place again.
My mind feels heavy, overloaded as I try to process everything that whirls through it like a tornado. An impossible task. Some things I'm able to catch and tie down: We have a vehicle. Our original task is finally complete. Now we can go back to the caves and see if anyone survived the daemons' attack.
Margo said Willard controlled the daemons. Did he send them after us? He's still alive back there with everything they took from us. Will he send the daemons after us again?
And what's all this about the United World still being alive and well, out there somewhere? How many continents survived D-Day? Why didn't the spirits tell me?
The spirits. I can't even tackle that one right now. Where have they been? Why haven't they spoken to me? Was I possessed like Milton all that time? Milton's spirit has left him. Has mine done the same?
Before I realize it, we're in the underground parking structure at the south end of the city ruins, back where this ordeal began. Our invisible chauffeur takes us up through the sublevels and eventually out into the light of the morning sun.
I have no idea what day it is.
Tucker doesn't stop once we're out on one of the rubble-strewn streets. He takes us through the city and into the desert beyond, across barren terrain that rocks the vehicle with every ditch we cross.
Is he actually coming with us? A sinking feeling hits the pit of my stomach. He can't be trusted. The others need to know.
He brakes once we're over a kilometer outside the ruins.
"This should do it. Give you a head start on the hungriest of the mutos." The steering wheel materializes and the driver's door swings open automatically.
"Thanks again." Luther steps out and strides around the front of the vehicle. He holds his hand in the air as if he's expecting a handshake. Then he disappears. Samson curses softly to himself at the sight. I can't hear what Luther and Tucker say to each other. Moments later, Luther reappears and climbs into the driver's seat, leaving the door to shut automatically behind him.
"You're sure you don't want to give it a try," he asks Samson, nodding toward the steering wheel.
"Tempting." Samson shakes his massive head. "You go ahead. I'd probably kill us all with these things." He wobbles one arm.
"Where's Milton?" I ask.
Luther glances back with half a smile, then leans forward, squinting through the windshield. He points up at the sky. "There he is."
"Flying again?" Samson mutters. "Yeah, I won't be getting used to that anytime soon."
Milton can fly?
"He wants us to follow him." Tentative—but trying not to look it—Luther shifts the vehicle into drive and steps on the gas pedal. "Let's hope we have enough fuel to reach wherever he leads us."
Aren't we going back to the caves?
"We've got a few reserve tanks and some solar panels in back. We can install them if we need to." Samson chuckles and rotates his left wrist. Instantly, his fingers flip out of socket and spin to transform into various tools—screwdrivers, crescent wrenches and the like. "A dream come true."
Shechara giggles—something I haven't heard her do since we were down in the bunker years ago, playing practical jokes on our sisters. I catch her eye and reach up toward the dark stubble on her head, almost a centimeter long now. I run my fingers through it.
"You need a haircut," I tease.
"So do you!"
I glance into the rear-view mirror. "I'm thinking of growing it out."
She giggles again. "Me too."
"I don't know, Luther," Samson cautions. "We won't know what to do with two beautiful women."
Luther looks at me in the mirror. "They've always been beautiful, my friend."
I smile and look away, out the window. That's when I see it. We're going the wrong way—north instead of southeast.
"Where's Milton taking us?" I frown.
"He's been fairly enigmatic about it." Luther shakes his head.
"What about the caves?"
Luther glances at me in the mirror. "He said…no one's left."
"But that was before, when he was possessed—"
"When he came for us in Eden, he said he'd gone back there already. To see…" Luther shakes his head again, resolutely, his voice grim. "No one survived."
Why would Milton have gone back there alone?
We ride on in silence, crossing kilometer after kilometer of desolation, rocking through ditches, plunging down craters only to climb up the other sides and tear across the cracked hardpan beyond. Luther is a capable driver. Not as fast or as reckless as Samson, but we'll get there in one piece—wherever there is.
It's past noon, the sun high in the sky, when Luther slows to a stop on a flat plateau of hard-packed earth, hot beneath the scorching rays of the sun. He reaches back to hand us jumpsuits, boots, gloves, and face shields in neat stacks.
I wrinkle my nose at the sight. Urine suits.
"It's all we could find," he apologizes.
Outside, maybe thirty or more meters beyond the front of our vehicle, Milton has touched down and now stands with two other figures wearing the same suits and face shields. Who are they? Where have they come from? One of them hugs him close, and he returns the embrace. The other one stands off with arms crossed and chin raised. I watch them through the windshield as I pull the jumpsuit on over my clothes.
"Who are they?" I ask Luther.
He pauses, hesitating before he meets my gaze. "Milton said you'd be able to see them."
What does he mean? "You don't?"
He shakes his head.
"I'll stay put if it's alright with you," Samson growls. "I'd probably destroy any jumpsuit I tried climbing into." He wobbles both his arms and chuckles.
Luther reaches over to squeeze his bulky shoulder with obvious affection and steps out, snapping his face shield into place as the doors swing open. Shechara and I follow. The sun's heat is a strong presence, beating down on us and baking everything it touches. Luther steps toward Milton, and they confer quietly. Shechara walks toward the end of the plateau, probably to test the range of her new eyes. I hang back, feeling awkward and out of place as the two strangers stare at me, their face shields glinting in the sunlight.
Who the hell are they?
Suddenly a wall of sand flies up on one side, then the other, rushing into the sky. I whirl around as sand behind me does the same, trapping me where I stand. I turn to face the two strangers. I know better than to break through the rushing sand. I remember what happened to Rehana when she did, so long ago. It ripped her skin off.
One of the strangers moves toward me, cutting the distance between us in half as the sand arches over us now, blocking out the sun and casting a shadow across the ground. As the stranger approaches, the sand encircles us both, whirling around, shooting up into the sky where it creates a rushing canopy in motion. The other stranger stands just inside this perimeter of thrashing sand, rooted with arms crossed. Watching me.
Just the three of us. Luther and the others—will they try to break through and pull me out? S
hould I call to them, warn them to stay back? Would they even hear me?
The closer of the two strangers stands a few meters away. My hands have curled into fists, muscles tight. I'll fight them if I have to.
The stranger takes a step toward me and stops. The opaque polymer of the face shield holds no expression. Slowly, both of the stranger's gloved hands reach up. The clasp snaps open, and the face shield comes off.
"Hello, Daiyna." Rehana grins.
It can't be.
I stumble backward, muscles suddenly loose, my lips parting without sound. I stare, but I know she can't possibly be here. I saw them kill her.
"Surprised?" Her teeth flash white against flawless olive skin.
"How?" I manage weakly, my throat dry. "You're...dead!"
"Really? I look that bad?" She curses, then frowns with half a smile. "Thanks. You look good, too—from what I can tell."
I release my face shield and drop it to the ground. I stare at her.
"That's better." She winks. "Growing out your hair, or just lazy?"
How can this be? "How did you get here?"
The other one speaks. The voice is familiar but unwelcome. My abdomen tightens.
"We're here to send you off, Daiyna." She steps forward, beside Rehana, and takes off her face shield. Her fiery red hair billows around her pale, pinched face. "You have a long journey ahead."
Mother Lairen. This can't be real. I must've passed out. I'm dreaming this nightmare.
"He told you, didn't he?" Rehana raises an eyebrow.
Told me? Who? I shake my head sluggishly.
"You will go west," Mother Lairen says.
What about the Preserve? Aren't we going north?
"You will go to the coast. The path will be difficult. There will be others like you that you will meet along the way, and you will convince them to join you. It will not be easy." Mother Lairen casts a sidelong look at Rehana, one of both disapproval and resignation. "But it is the choice he made for you."
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 38
