Then one day, he was able to shift his wrist.
He would have whooped for joy if he had the strength.
A week later, his left arm had shrunk enough for him to slip free of its binding. He passed out from the exertion—and it took another couple of days for him to undo himself from the hell that had been his chair.
Samuel tumbled to the ground, free at last, almost three months to the day he was supposed to be executed; the day the purple light came.
It took a few days for him to crawl out of the ruined execution chamber.
He was unable to get to his feet; his body had atrophied so much. Five days PC—Post Chair, as he came to think of it—he found a can of creamed corn that had rolled under a cabinet in the empty kitchen. Hours later, when he finally forced it open, he gobbled it down like an elixir, and promptly regurgitated it all over himself. The next morning, he got enough into his system to resume his slow steady crawl across the prison grounds.
As he took in his surroundings, Samuel thought about giving up again. He’d hoped that once free, he might find another prisoner—someone else trapped. Samuel had visions of rescuing him and making their way into what was clearly a changed world.
But he never saw anyone.
The prison was just a larger version of the chamber—ripped apart, deserted, an empty shell.
Samuel considered rolling over and letting himself boil to death beneath the hot noon sun. Then he realized he’d come this far and might as well die trying to keep going.
He collapsed a few yards short of the prison gates.
It had been close to four months since they’d shaved his head and brought him into the chamber to die.
Now, he laid face up, staring into the blazing sun. His blond hair had grown out above his bony shoulders; his belly was distended. Samuel couldn’t believe he had been through this much only to melt under a desert sky.
His eyes were closed when he heard something creak.
Samuel felt the heat from the sun abate and realized he was in someone’s shadow.
He managed to open his eyes and looked up to see his brother standing above him.
“Samuel,” said his brother.
He leaned down and picked Samuel up in his arms.
“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again,” whispered Samuel.
His brother laughed.
Samuel would have too. But he passed out instead.
23
Like most dreams, it was a mishmash.
Joad listened intently as Laura recounted all she remembered of the brother’s nightmare. There was a dead woman in a house, and policemen bursting through the door. Garbled conversations followed that Laura couldn’t really unscramble, so Joad had trouble making sense of them. Most of the dream had taken place with one brother, the blond bulkish one, strapped into what must have been an electric chair for an interminable amount of time. It must have been his dream Laura had tapped into, as he had been by himself most the time. Whether it was the brother recalling actual events or a figment of a sleeping imagination, Joad couldn’t say for certain. But if forced to pick, he went with real. Laura’s mention of the purple light was the clincher.
If there was a one thing the Remaining didn’t forget—himself included—it was where they were on The Seventh Day. Joad’s own experience ran like a continuous loop in his head, even all these years later.
The most troubling aspect was what it said about the brothers.
When Laura was finished, he asked the question preying on him. “Have you ever experienced dreams of someone who had passed on?”
“I don’t think so.” The girl thought some, then shivered. “This means they’re not dead, right?”
Joad was sorely tempted to lie. But he found himself unable to, seeing as how he’d been thinking that exact same thing.
Joad looked into the darkness, back in the direction of the crater, where the brothers had been buried under a mound of dirt. Off in the distance, Joad heard the soft but threatening roll of thunder.
He tried to convince himself it was only a night breeze churning. But he didn’t give the thought much credence. He turned back to face the questioning girl and knew it was impossible to quell her fears.
“Try and get some sleep. I think we should get moving as soon as dawn breaks.”
The mountain of dirt was dappled with blotches of moonlight that reflected off the metal of the spaceship. The bright patches seemed to shift and roll across the piled earth, the effect courtesy of shadows from gathering clouds directly above. Thunder rumbled and increased in volume with each successive roll. Then, a resounding crack reverberated through the air, followed by the skies brightening with lightning flashes.
The heavens opened up soon after.
Sheets of rain poured from above. It wasn’t your normal storm, the typical desert monsoon that appeared from nowhere. This was a concentrated rush; to the unknowing eye it would seem as if a waterfall had materialized in a cloud and streamed down onto one particular spot.
Like a mound of lunar-colored dirt, a burial ground for brothers formed by the Gift of a man who could manipulate mechanical objects.
The dirt quickly became mud. Within minutes, the mound had washed away into a dark brown stream hurtling toward the crater.
From this river of mud came an unholy scream, a primeval roar of pain and anguish.
And indescribable anger.
The cries crescendoed and were followed by the sound of something erupting.
The moonlight poked through the cloud and landed on the dark river, just as a mud-caked pair of arms rose from its depths, clutching for life.
It could have been seven years ago.
There was Primo, standing over him, at the moment Secundo was ready to slip into unconsciousness for perhaps the final time. But his eldest brother wasn’t allowing it. He had risen from the muddied waters to pull Secundo to safety, the same way he’d appeared in the nick of time at the prison gates. Back when Secundo was a convicted murderer named Samuel who had been granted the ultimate stay of execution.
Strange. He’d just been dreaming of his time in the electric chair where he had been condemned to die twice.
Secundo had been trapped beneath the dirt but managed to use his brute strength, the Gift that had materialized shortly after his emergence from prison, to clear an airway in the mound. It had been impossible, even with his abnormal abilities, to do any more; the packed weight from Fixer’s avalanche was too great. Secundo had calmed himself to breathe normally, but whether it was from a lack of air or simply plain exhaustion, he had eventually fallen asleep and his mind began reliving the painful days beyond the Purple. Perhaps this was the ironic way he finally moved on: escaping the electric chair, only to run out of air and die dreaming of it.
But Primo let it be known he had other ideas.
Once free, his brother told Secundo he’d panicked when the dirt buried him underground. But his Gift immediately kicked into gear to protect him. It might have been anger, or just plain fear. But every time he felt himself about to be squashed beneath the mound’s weight, massive wind gusts kept death at bay. The way Primo described it, it sounded like one of those force fields he’d seen in old sci-fi movies. Primo had carved out a resting place, a safe haven amidst the dirt with just enough air to keep him alive. He said it had sapped almost all his strength, but eventually the gap between himself and the dirt widened, enough for one last effort that unleashed the thunderstorm that saved their lives.
But, unfortunately, not Trey’s.
As dawn broke, Secundo helped Primo bury their brother. It had been a grisly undertaking, gathering up the split halves of his body, digging a hole in the muddied ground with their hands, then placing Trey into the earth in pieces. Primo had wailed each time they threw soil back on Trey, and Secundo felt tears streaming down his face as well.
Finally, the grim task done, they sat beside each other in silence, their bodies caked in mud and the blood of their fall
en sibling.
“I’m not turning back,” Primo finally said.
“I know.”
His older brother glanced at the muddy river from which they had narrowly escaped. “There’s a reason we didn’t die there.”
Secundo nodded. “Your Gift. It saved us.”
“No. It’s more than that.” Primo turned back to face him. “I think it’s this man. Joad. We’re not done with him. Not by a long stretch.”
Secundo found that a bit dubious. “You sound like this has all been mapped out. Like someone has a master plan.”
“They just might.”
Secundo was speechless. He wondered if Primo had been knocked off his rocker by the lack of oxygen beneath the avalanche. He was about to tell him so when Primo kept talking.
His brother finally told Secundo how he found him in the prison seven years before.
And a whole lot more.
By the time Primo was done, Secundo was on the destiny train as well.
Fixer rolled over just past dawn, half-awake, thinking he heard his name being called.
He straightened up and looked around. Joad and Laura were on one side of the burnt-out campfire, their backs to one another, fast asleep. Sayers snored loudly across from them.
Must’ve been his imagination, thought Fixer. The morning breeze playing tricks. Since everyone was still grabbing shut-eye, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to get a few more winks himself.
No sooner did he place his head down on the bedroll than he heard it again.
“Fixer.”
That was definitely odd. It was barely a whisper, but this time he realized it wasn’t exactly audible. It felt like it was inside his head. That was enough to sit up again and take another look.
The morning gloam had created all kind of shadows. Purple and orange fringed; they resembled the fire embers that had died hours before. Again, Fixer didn’t see anything.
But he got the eerie impression he was being watched.
A part of him, the sensible part, wanted to lie back down and forget about it.
It was overruled by curiosity, and something else gnawing away inside him (the same place that damn voice was coming from) to get up off his ass and go take a peek.
Fixer thought about waking Joad, but decided against it. He could only imagine the look he’d get once it proved to be nothing. So he silently got to his feet, left the campsite, and walked west.
Why west, he couldn’t quite explain. But that’s where he felt a presence. Something looking at them.
He had gone maybe one hundred yards when he detected movement. It was more than a breeze ruffling the trees. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a person. Fixer might still be half-asleep, but he’d certainly notice a Remaining on the open spaces in front of him.
So, he was completely surprised when he saw the dog.
A dog unlike any he’d ever encountered.
A husky. At least it looked like one. But Fixer couldn’t recall ever seeing one with bright red fur. Or quite as large—it looked like it had been living on a healthy dose of steroids, which Fixer knew was impossible because The Strangers had scooped up all the medicine before they vacated the planet.
But there it was, a gargantuan red-haired husky. Staring him straight in the face.
Fixer stood dead still, ready to beat a hasty retreat should the creature pounce. But the dog just continued looking at him, cocking its oversized head as if to engage in a conversation. Fixer found that quite bizarre, but nothing compared to what happened next.
“Come with me.”
He was definitely going bonkers.
That was the same voice; the one he thought he’d heard calling his name. The one he felt coming from inside his own head. But this time, it seemed to be emanating from the dog.
Okay. He must still be dreaming and this was his sleeping brain’s way of trying to tell him something.
“Come with me.”
This time, the dog turned and started to walk away.
Sure, I’m game, thought Fixer. This should be a really doozy when he woke up and told Joad and the others about his wacko dream. Maybe they could tell him what the hell all this meant.
The husky continued walking west.
Fixer tossed one glance over his shoulder to check on the campsite, but he’d wandered far enough away that it was nowhere in sight.
So, wanting to know how this dream turned out, Fixer followed the husky.
About an hour later, he’d begun to doubt the whole dream thing.
His feet were hurting, actually bleeding. He was also damn tired. Could he really be walking across the cragged plains up high in the Fields, following a red-haired husky? He tried pinching himself, which did nothing except make him yelp loud enough for the dog to turn and stare at him.
It had this annoyed look in its eyes, which Fixer noticed for the first time were different colors. One was bright blue, the other an emerald green. Fixer couldn’t believe it. How could a dog look annoyed?
The same way it spoke and told you to follow it, stupid.
Enough, thought Fixer, as the dog rounded the corner of a jutting rock formation.
“I’m not doing this anymore,” muttered Fixer.
He made up his mind to head back to the campsite.
But first, he was going to grab the dog and haul it back with him. If this were indeed real, then at least Laura would get a new pet. If not, well, it’d be a dream he’d be happy to forget.
He walked around the rocks, but the dog was nowhere to be seen.
Primo and Secundo were there instead.
Suddenly, everything became extremely real.
Fixer turned to run.
The brothers were on him in a matter of seconds.
EPISODE 5
24
There were a ton of reasons not to chase after Fixer. Joad had no qualms about listing them for Sayers and Laura.
To begin with, they had no idea where the hell he went. Laura thought it couldn’t have been far; all four horses were still around the campsite. Maybe so, Joad had replied, but Fixer had been missing for the better half of a day. If he were just going to wander, he would’ve shown back up by now.
Which led to his second thought. Perhaps Fixer had discovered a better option to riding with the three of them.
“A better option?” scoffed Sayers. The doctor wiped his nose. It had been running since he woke up that morning; a cold seemed to be in the offing. “Out here in the Fields? Where no one in their right mind ever goes?”
Joad didn’t disagree. The odds of Fixer going off with someone else were about as good as surviving The Seventh Day—which, according to Joad’s calculations, was in the vicinity of 10,000 to 1. This brought him to a more logical though unfortunate conclusion. “Which means he’s likely somewhere not by choice.”
Laura caught the look in Joad’s eyes. “The brothers?”
“Good chance.”
“Wait a second,” said Sayers. He sneezed and wiped his nose again. “Was I imagining things or didn’t I see them buried in an avalanche?”
“Yes. That’s what you saw.”
“No one could survive that.”
“No one ordinary,” Laura whispered.
Joad could tell that Laura wasn’t ready to explain what she’d seen in Secundo’s dreams. He was pretty certain it’d make Sayers’s head explode. He tried to help the idea along.
“We only saw the one brother’s body. Trey’s. We didn’t hang around long afterwards.”
“Still …” Sayers started to protest. But Joad could see that just broaching the idea of the brothers’ resurrection had sunk the doctor’s assuredness. Joad motioned back toward the crater, miles away.
“I guess you missed the thunder rumbling in the middle of the night?”
“I thought it was a passing shower …”
“… that never reached here? Even though the breeze blew in this direction?”
Sayers lowered his head. “Jesus.” He stifled another
sneeze. “You actually think they have him?”
“We should consider the possibility.”
Joad offered up the rest of his reasons for going about their business. If the brothers had Fixer, they more than likely had left for parts unknown. Even if they were venturing back toward The Flats, they had a huge head start and could have gone in a ton of different directions. Joad wouldn’t know where to begin.
There was a more realistic scenario—Fixer was already dead. Primo held Fixer responsible for the events leading to Quattro’s death. And Fixer had used his Gift to send Trey to his Maker in identical halves. Once Primo had Fixer in his clutches, Joad thought he would extract his revenge quickly. He only hoped it immediate and painless.
But Joad feared that was wishful thinking.
Presented with this theory, Sayers shook his increasingly clogged head. Joad thought Sayers was already condemning Fixer to the grave. But then, Laura offered up a different opinion.
“If that were true, wouldn’t they already be coming after us?”
Joad saw some validity in this. The two men who had incurred most of the brothers’ wrath were sitting around the remnants of the campfire. Joad glanced at Sayers, then back at Laura.
“Maybe not you in particular. But I see your point.”
“Then, we still have time to go after him,” Laura said.
Again, Joad considered all the reasons not to do so. Not knowing where to start the search. The fact the brothers could be long gone. Even the self-serving idea that Joad valued his own neck and nothing good could come from trying to find the man.
But he didn’t get a chance to express any of it.
The girl turned her trump card.
“You owe him, you know.”
“Is that so?” Joad said, even as he realized he’d played right into her hands.
“We all do. If it weren’t for Fixer, they would have killed all of us. He saved our lives back at the crater.”
Joad knew she was right.
That didn’t mean he had to like it.
Joad rode back to the crater alone.
Sayers wasn’t too gung-ho on taking up the hunt for the missing man. Whether due to the bad blood that still existed between Doc and Fixer, or because Sayers was coming down with something, Joad couldn’t say. He suspected the latter. Seeing that Sayers looked the worse for wear, Joad thought the man would be more hindrance than help.
The Seventh Day Page 18
