by Ben Farthing
The echoing boom subsided, the pain faded.
Howser bent over, hands on his knees.
"I think we're running out of time," said Everard.
They approached the Monuments.
Moth wings darted erratically across the sky. Something crashed down onto the roof of a building. Lithe figures crawled up the walls to meet it, tearing away brick and mortar.
Two people stood at the foot of the Monument—the Minutemen who'd rescued him from Undone Duncan.
"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Meredith. "Where's Loretta?"
"We're trying to stop Mr. President from murdering six hundred thousand people," said Everard. "Loretta headed over here an hour ago. You haven't seen her?"
Meredith shook her head. "We're feeling every one of these people in danger. But something in there is putting out a veritable search light of needing help. Could be her. Can you help us get to it?"
Howser looked to Everard.
"How?" asked Everard. "Deny that it's on the other side?"
"Isn't that what you do?"
"I can try," said Everard. That was way bigger than anything he'd tried yet. Bigger than things he'd failed at.
The white brick tower loomed over him, with its unnatural twin behind it. How had Mr President done this? At first he thought he'd denied that everyone could see it, but it was actually moving away when they tried to walk toward it. Maybe he'd denied that it was fully in this reality. Everard didn't know enough about the Periphery to be sure.
He tried denying that the copy was on the other side of the Monument. His will couldn't pierce the mist.
Another boom shook the city. This time, Everard let it force him away, drifting on the impulse to leave like on a swell in the ocean. But he pushed aside the urge to leave, and pain erupted in his chest again.
It passed.
Howser gritted his teeth. Meredith and Stirling clenched their jaws.
"Can't handle much more of that," said Howser. "Stick to the Monument. Get us in there."
"I can't. We need another strategy."
Meredith scoffed. "Typical for a Burgess. You act like you rule the world but when it comes to actually doing something, you're useless."
"I'm not a Burgess," said Everard.
"You've been running their errands since you showed up. They're the ones funding your training. And you're going to argue you're not with them?"
"You're not helping," said Howser.
"No, she's right," said Everard. "Figuring out my bent, stopping the booms, it's all what the Burgesses wanted me to do. I didn't give a shit about these powers, and I didn't understand why everyone was freaking out about the booms. I just did what Bill Bill said because he promised to help me go back to my normal life. I'm so out of my element in the Periphery that I've been taking their word as fact. And look where that's gotten me."
"That doesn't make sense," said Howser. "You're trying to stop Mr. President, not following his orders."
"But I'm following the Burgesses. Or I was, without thinking about it. I don't know how it works for Bill Bill and Mr. President, but I'm not devoting my life to that cult. I've been acting like a Burgess, but I'm not one, and I'll never be one."
As he solidified that decision, the mental mist thinned.
He tried again. It was a conceptual denial—that the copy was on the opposite side of the Monument—but his newfound strength pushed him through.
In one breath, the copy hid behind the Washington Monument. In the next, it loomed directly over them.
Everard's head spun at the shift in space.
Green tinted smog dropped from the sides of the copy, dissipated.
"Shit," said Meredith, stepping back.
The copy was the same shape and height as the real monument, but made of either a darker brick or a similarly colored brick that was covered in some mix of rust and grime.
It shared a walkway with the original, the concrete circle and ring of American flags extending to look like a dividing cell. It had the small, square structure jutting out from the bottom, where you'd wait in line to go to the top in the original.
The sky behind the copy wavered in bent light.
"It must have been in another nook," said Howser. "You grabbed a little more than just the Monument."
"Or it's the fallout from his bent," said Meredith.
Everard doubled over, catching his breath. He felt like he'd spent all day in the gym. Apparently, bigger denials took more out of you.
The tiny window five hundred feet above didn't reveal any secrets about who was behind it.
"Think he knows we're here?" asked Everard.
"Who?" asked Meredith.
"Mr. President," said Everard. "These booms are going to kill every citizen of D.C. who doesn't leave."
"You mean I'm about to face Mr. President?"
"You don't have to," said Everard. With the power he'd just achieved, he might have a minuscule chance at facing Mr. President. The Minutemen would only get themselves killed.
"Someone needs help up there," Meredith said, "and I'm in a position to lend a hand. So that's what I'm going to do."
"Okay," said Everard, "let's figure out our plan."
"Every second counts," said Meredith.
"She's right." Howser headed for the door. "No sense wasting time."
The grass at Howser's feet shot up, wrapping around his ankles, his thighs, up his chest. He ripped one leg free only for more grass to grab it again. In less than a second, it pulled him to the ground, covering him head to toe.
Bowman stepped outside, adjusting the lapels of his suit.
Bill Bill stepped out behind him.
Chapter Forty-Three
Meredith and Stirling opened fire at Bowman without hesitation. Bowman brought up a wall of cement to stop the bullets.
Howser struggled against his grass restraints. Everard denied them. Howser broke free, only for more grass to cage him.
Everard denied it again. He aimed the flintlock between Bill Bill's eyes. "You fucking asshole! You're in on this?"
Bill Bill tilted his head inquisitively.
"You, of all people, are willing to murder the city to please a couple dead men?"
His elderly neighbor backed away, fear in his expression.
Meredith threw her tomahawk. It burst out into a dozen tomahawks, each zeroing in on Bowman. The suit dodged them all.
With Bowman distracted, Howser broke free to leap at the CFO. Bowman punched Howser square in the chest, the wasteful force knocking the huge man back ten feet.
Everard reached Bill Bill, shoved the pistol into his gut. "Where's Loretta?"
Bill Bill stammered something, stuttering as Everard jabbed him with the barrel.
Everard's elderly neighbor started to cry. "I'm sorry."
"You damn well should be sorry."
"I'm sorry. Sorry sorry sorry," repeated Bill Bill, voice lined with confusion.
A sour smell hit Everard's nostrils. The front of Bill Bill's britches were wet.
"Oh geez." Everard stood Bill Bill up straight by his shoulders. "He undid all his denials on you. Everything keeping your mind intact."
Bill Bill must have challenged Mr. President, and received as a reward the senility life had been trying to give him for years.
Bowman leaped at Stirling, tackling the Minuteman to the ground with the force of a truck.
"Come sit over here." Everard tried to guide Bill Bill off to the side, but he jerked away. "Alright, try to stay out of the way."
Bill Bill wandered away, hugging himself and scratching his arms.
Bowman flung a barrage of razor blades at Meredith. She ducked but caught one across her ear. Blood poured down her neck.
Everard denied Bowman's balance. He stumbled, and Howser punched him in the mouth.
Bowman crumpled, dazed.
Everard turned to face the suit. "What do you think is happening here? You think Mr. President's scaring off all the factions who won't si
de with you?"
Bowman looked up and another stream of razor blades appeared, fewer than before, to shoot at Everard. He denied their trajectory.
"You're running out of juice. Where's Loretta? Where's Mr. President?"
Bowman flicked his lighter and pulled out a stack of hundreds. He snarled as Everard denied the flame, denied his grip on the lighter. "You can't stop it now. The national factions might as well already be gone."
"What did he tell you?" Everard kicked the lighter out of his reach. "He'd decided to side with a bunch of hedonistic parasites?"
"He wants to rebuild from the ashes of your factions. If he thinks that's the best way to gain power against us, let him think it." Bowman sat up.
"Didn't you feel that last boom?" Everard kicked him in the ribs. "Stay on the ground, you stupid piece of shit. He's not just after the national factions. The booms are targeting every single person in D.C."
"You're wrong."
"I don't have time to argue with you." Everard pointed to the imitation Washington Monument. "I'm going to walk up those stairs and stop Mr. President. What's he got waiting for me?"
"He doesn't need anything. He'll kill you with a thought."
"Yeah, we'll see." Everard turned to Meredith, Stirling, and Howser. "I'm going up. If Bowman moves an inch, put a bullet in his head."
"We're coming with you," said Meredith.
"I don't even know if I can stop him from stopping my own heart. Let alone yours."
"Someone needs help up there," said Stirling. "We're going."
"I don't think I can stop him from killing you as soon as he knows you're there," said Everard.
"We understand," said Meredith. "But we're Minutemen. If we ignore someone who needs help out of fear, what good are we?"
Howser stepped on Bowman's ankle. It snapped. "I'll keep an eye on this handsome little fella."
Bowman groaned.
"Okay," said Everard. "Let's go."
They walked inside.
Chapter Forty-Four
Everard had only been in the original Washington Monument once, a decade ago, but this was different.
Inside the lobby, two rows of statues loomed over Everard and the Minutemen. Each one was of George Washington, one hand on a cane, the other propped up on a pillar.
"Feels like they're watching us," said Meredith.
Stirling grunted agreement.
They walked between the identical rows, toward the elevator door at the far end. In the wall above was a carving of Mr. President's profile.
"We're not taking the elevator," said Everard.
"It's five hundred feet up," said Stirling.
"And that's assuming space isn't stretched here," said Meredith.
"No elevators," said Everard. To either side of the elevator were simple wooden doors. Everard opened one.
The stairwell both had walls and didn't. Everard saw the mortar and uneven stone around the worn, spiral staircase. And he also saw outside. Blurred versions of Howser and Bowman fought on the green.
Everard resisted the urge to go back to help Howser. He didn't even know if what he was seeing was real.
He started up the stairs. Above, in their present-and-not state, Everard saw the bottom of the steps. He looked up to see the translucent spiral stairs branch into several staircases. Another three stories up, each branched again, then continued that pattern. The single staircase became a sapling of stairs as it ascended, then a shady oak, then an infinite canopy of winding steps that blocked out the night sky.
"Which one goes to the top?" asked Meredith.
"Only one way to find out." Everard jogged up the steps. He paused at each branch, trying to keep as close to the center as he could. His heart pounded and his lungs burned, but he kept pushing himself.
The howls and roars of the battling monsters shook the tower.
"Do you think pulling it out of its nook damaged the integrity?" asked Stirling.
"I couldn't tell you about the structural integrity of impossible buildings," said Everard.
Something moved on a nearby staircase.
"Did you see that?" asked Meredith.
"Keep going," said Everard.
"Mr. President could have made this tower, but he couldn't make a nook," said Stirling. "Something may have already been living here."
"Makes me want to get up there even faster," said Everard.
The top floor of the Monument neared. Its floor was opaque. Twenty staircase merged into one to lead into the room. A thousand others spiraled on into the clouds.
Everard adjusted his grip on the flintlock. "You guys ready? I know you know this guy but don't hesitate. As long as he's alive, he's stopping me from destroying the machines. Kill him quick, or the booms kill everyone in the city."
Meredith adjusted her grip on her tomahawk. "We're not turning back now. Whoever needs help is in there."
They leapt up the last few stairs and through the doorway.
Pistol raised, Everard fired as soon as he saw Mr. President.
The old man stood in the corner of the observation room, watching over the city.
The blast from the pistol disappeared before hitting him.
Meredith reared back to throw her tomahawk and promptly dropped it. She and Stirling unloaded their clips at Mr. President, but the rounds smashed into the stone wall behind him.
Everard felt Mr. President's denials dart out through a thin fog.
Mr. President turned toward them. He still had the same tired lines on his face, his expression was still that of a concerned grandfather. "You Minutemen, you've fought on the side of the Fathers, so I'm giving you this chance. Walk away, and let me return this city to their original vision."
"Where's Loretta?" demanded Everard.
A howling gust of wind and the battle cries of monsters almost drowned Mr. President's voice. "She's currently unable to join us."
Stirling charged Mr. President, a heavy knife flashing towards the old man's throat.
Everard felt a swell of energy. He tried to meet the denial with his own, but Mr. President's twisted around it. The Minuteman dropped to the floor, lifeless.
Meredith ran to her friend's side, but the man was already dead. "Why? If everyone dies in the city, they'll say it was a terrorist attack, and things will go right on the way they were. You're insane."
She reached for a pistol on her ankle, and that energy swelled out from Mr. President again.
This time, Everard was ready. He anticipated Mr. President's feint, their wills clashed head on. The old man's was weaker than Everard's, but it attacked into his with precise jabs, breaking through until it pushed Everard's will back into him.
Everard staggered backward as Meredith collapsed. Mr. President caught himself on the wall.
"They only wanted to help," said Everard.
"It's a tragedy, for which I deserve no forgiveness," agreed Mr. President.
"You're as senile as Bill Bill." Everard took in his surroundings. The room was bare stone floors and walls, with a small window on each side that let in the only light. Colonial clothes and modern underclothes lay strewn across the floor.
Minnie's naked body lay unmoving. Everard guessed the Inc liaison had realized that Mr. President intended to kill more than the small groups he'd promised, and after Mr. President dealt with it, Minnie herself wasn't onboard with the mass murder either.
"I'm perfectly aware of what I'm doing. I couldn't very well deceive the CEO if I wasn't still thinking at my fullest capacities." Mr. President adjusted his blue coat. "This city's needed cleansing for decades. You agree with me, I can see it. That's why you've always stayed out of sight of the government."
"Do you honestly believe that?" If Everard could raise the pistol, pull the trigger, and deny Mr President's denial, then maybe he could stop him. He needed to keep him distracted, though. "You know why I do what I do? So psychopath, would-be dictators like you will leave me the fuck alone. Actually, so everyone will leave me the f
uck alone. You're nothing but another angry old man afraid of rap music and the Internet. And you're-"
Everard raised the flintlock mid-sentence. He pulled the trigger, launched a wave of determination against the old man's denial. Mr. President dismantled the wave in an instant. The blast smashed into the wall behind him.
Mr. President caught his breath. "It's so much easier when there are no distractions."
The gun slipped out of Everard's fingers. The denial had come so quickly Everard didn't have a chance to fight it.
A roar of creaking metal and shattering glass from a few blocks away.
"Sounds like our guests are getting rowdy." Mr. President walked toward Everard, arms open for an embrace. "Everard. I'm looking past your stubbornness to ask that you look past my own flaws. I need your help."
"Fuck you." He eyed the Minutemen's weapons. "You're going to kill half a million people. A couple of them I kinda like."
Another boom rocked the city, shook the Monument. Everard fell to his knees, clutched at his gut. Agony filled him, drowned every thought.
Everard took back control of his body, pushing away the fading pain shared by everyone in the city.
Mr. President stood over him, a twisted version of the George Washington statues in the foyer five hundred feet below. "I was worried you'd be selfish. That's why I prepared some motivation for you."
Mr. President gestured toward a stone wall, which became transparent. Further up, the canopy of stairs contained another walled room.
Abby sat against a wall, blindfolded. She cradled Liz, cooing comforts.
Everard screamed their names. He let loose a barrage of desperate attacks against Mr. President. The old man deflected them all. Everard charged, ready to pound his face into a pulp. His feet went out from under him.
"If you hurt them, I'll kill you."
"You don't possess the capacity."
Everard yelled for Abby again. They couldn't hear him. Stone, stairs, and an insane old man formed an impassable breach between them.
"Help rebuild the city, Everard. Our holy Founding Fathers built this country on the rebelliousness that only you and I possess. Protect those you love."
