Zig Zag

by Jose Carlos Somoza

  She couldn't see anything strange. Just shadows. But Elisa felt increasingly apprehensive.

  Over the past ten years, she'd grown used to that feeling; it had marked her, as though each night she survived branded her skin with a red-hot poker.

  She was sure of it. He was in there.

  She felt him so close, so near her body, that for a split second she actually reproached herself for not being prepared to receive him. Fear sat like a rock in her chest. She stood, stumbled, and felt her hair stand on end.

  And then it was over. She thought she could hear shouting—Carter's voice—and footsteps running through the barracks, but there was no one in the control room.

  When she turned her head, she saw her friend standing before her, behind the computer, illuminated in its glow. Her naked body looked rubbery, sticky, like an unfinished sculpture, just a clump of shapeless, ordinary clay. The only distinguishable feature was her mouth, which was huge, black, and dislocated. Elisa's whole hand would have fit between those jaws, even with her fingers spread wide. She had no idea how she even recognized her.

  And then Jacqueline Clissot began to disintegrate before her eyes.

  32

  THE pain was unbearable. She woke, and moaned. She'd been laying facedown on dust-covered box springs with no mattress, and the hard wires had left grooves on her face. She couldn't remember where she was or what she was doing there, and staring up at faces without features and shiny eyes didn't help. A pair of hands yanked her up mercilessly. She asked to go to the bathroom, but only when she spoke in English did they stop tugging her in one direction and start shoving her the opposite way. After a brief, unpleasant visit to the toilet (no paper, no water), she felt able to at least walk on her own. But the hands (masked soldiers, she could see them now) grabbed her by the arms once more.

  HARRISON had never liked islands.

  A lot of mistakes had been made on those lumps of land, geological glitches just sitting there waiting for man's exploitation. Those lonely gardens, hidden from the eyes of the gods, were ideal for breaking rules, transgressing norms, and offending creation. Eve was the first to blame. But now it was time to pay for that ancient crime. Eve, Jacqueline Clissot: it didn't really make a difference. The serpent had turned into a dragon.

  It was almost nine in the morning on Sunday, March 15, and a heavy sheet of rain still fell on the damn island. The palm trees lining the beach quivered like feather dusters held by an uptight servant. The heat and humidity got into Harrison's nose, and one of the first orders he'd given had been to turn on the air-conditioning. He'd catch cold, of course, because his clothes were still drenched from their landing eight hours earlier, but that was the least of his worries.

  Staring out at that setting, hands in his pockets, thinking about islands, sins, and dead Eves, Harrison said, "The two men who went into the screening room had to be sedated. They're tough soldiers, they've seen it all... So why is this so out of the ordinary, Professor?" He turned to Blanes, who sat at the dusty table. His head still bowed, he hadn't touched the water Harrison had brought him. "It's more than a mutilated corpse, isn't it? More than dried blood on the walls and ceiling..."

  "It's the Impact," Blanes said in the blank, empty voice he'd used to respond to all of the previous questions. "Zig Zag's crimes are like images from the past. They produce Impact."

  For a second, all Harrison did was nod. "I see." He left his post by the window and paced the dining room again. "And that... can ... transform people?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well..." Harrison moved only those muscles absolutely required to engage his voice. His face was like a powdered mask. "Can it make people do, or think, strange things?"

  "I suppose so. In some way, Zig Zag's conscience contaminates all of us, because it becomes intertwined with our present..."

  Contaminates us. Harrison didn't want to look at Elisa sitting there, panting like a wild animal, her sweaty shirt plastered to her torso, shorts cut off almost at the crotch, tan skin glistening with an oily slick of perspiration, jet-black hair tangled.

  He didn't want to look at her, because he didn't want to lose control. It was very simple. If he looked at her too long, or long enough, he'd do something. Anything. And he didn't want to do anything. At least not yet. He had to be prudent.

  As long as the professor was still useful to him, he'd keep his cool.

  "Let's go over the story again, Professor." He rubbed his eyes. "From the top. You were alone in the screening room..."

  "I'd fallen asleep, but the sparks woke me up. They were shooting out of all of the plugs and sockets: the console, the light switches ... And it was happening in the labs, too..."

  "Did you see it in the kitchen?" Harrison leaned out the door and made a face at the burned smell. "The insulation is singed, and the cords are completely scorched. How could that have happened?"

  "Zig Zag did it. This is something new. He must have ... learned how to suck energy even from components that aren't plugged in."

  Harrison stroked his chin as he gazed at the scientist. He needed a shave. A nice shower to bring him back from the dead. A long sleep in a decent bed. But he wasn't going to get any of that.

  "Go on, Professor."

  The wasp. The main thing is to kill that wasp buzzing in your thoughts.

  "I could see by the light of the sparks ... I don't know how I even knew that thing was Jacqueline... I vomited. And then I began to shout."

  The dining-room door opened, interrupting them. Victor walked in, escorted by a soldier. He was as dirty as everyone else, bare-chested, with his shirt tied around his waist. His face was swollen with lack of sleep and the two or three smacks Carter had dealt him. Just the sight of him made Harrison slightly nauseous: his sickly pallor, lack of chest hair, old-fashioned glasses ... Everything about him made Harrison think of maggots, or gangly tadpoles. And to top it all off, he'd pissed in his pants when he walked into the screening room. You could see the wet spot spread down his inner pant leg. Harrison smiled, determined to put up with Mr. Maggot.

  "Have a nice rest, Professor?" Lopera nodded as he took a seat. Harrison noted that the woman looked at him with concern. How could she be friends with that pathetic idiot? Maybe she should be there when he's killed. Maybe the slut should watch him die. He filed that idea away to discuss with Jurgens later and concentrated on Blanes for the time being. "Where were we? So ... you saw Clissot's remains, and then what happened?"

  "It went dark. But I knew he'd struck again." He stopped, and stressed his next words. "And then I saw him."

  "Who?"

  "Ric Valente."

  The monotonous sound of rainfall accentuated the silence.

  "How did you recognize him, if it was dark?"

  "I saw him," Blanes repeated. "It was like he glowed. He was standing in front of me in the screening room, covered in blood. He ran out the door before Carter and Professor Lopera got back."

  "Did you see him, too?" Harrison said in Victor's general direction.

  "No..." Victor was groggy. "But I don't think I could have really focused on anything at the time..."

  "What about you, Professor?" he asked, not looking at Elisa. "You were still in the control room, weren't you? You'd fainted. Did you see Valente?"

  She didn't even look up.

  Harrison was afraid. Not because he thought she might do something to him, but because of all the things he wanted to do to her. All the things he would do to her, in good time. Contemplating the body he would play so many unknown games with alarmed him. After a pause, he took a breath and expelled it in the form of words.

  "You don't know. No reply ... Fine. Be that as it may, my men will find him. He can't get off the island, no matter where he is." He turned back to his new best friend, Blanes. "Do you think Valente is Zig Zag?"

  "I'm sure of it."

  "So where has he been all these years?"

  "I don't know. I'd have to look into that."

  "I'd like to
know, Professor. Know how he did it, he or his 'double' or 'splinter' or whatever you call it... how he managed to kill off so many of you. I want to know his secret. Got it? When I was a kid, one of my teachers used to answer my questions by saying, 'Don't look for the cause; the effect is good enough,' But now the 'effect' is in the next room and it's a little hard to figure out." Though he was smiling, Harrison winced like he was in pain. "It's an 'effect' that gives you goose blimps. You wonder what Mr. Valente must have been thinking, to be able to do all that to another human being ... I need some sort of report. After all, this project is as much ours as it is yours."

  "And I'll need some time and some peace and quiet to be able to look into all this," Blanes replied.

  "You'll get it."

  Elisa stared at Blanes, dumbfounded. She opened her mouth for almost the first time since the seemingly endless interrogation had begun.

  "Are you insane? Estas loco?" she asked in Spanish. "You're going to help them?"

  Harrison butted in before he could respond.

  "Estas loco?" he imitated with a mediocre accent and fake humorous tone. "We're all 'loco,' Professor. All of us."

  He leaned over her. Now he could look at her, and he fully intended to enjoy it: she was so beautiful, so sexy—despite smelling like sweat and filth and being totally disheveled—it gave him the chills. He improvised a little speech to take full advantage of the seconds he stared at her, putting on a stern fatherly voice as if speaking to his favorite, spoiled daughter.

  "But some people's insanity revolves around making sure others can rest easy at night. We live in a dangerous world, a world where terrorists strike without showing their faces: surprise attacks, like Zig Zag. We can't let... what happened tonight be used by the wrong people—"

  "You're not the right people," Elisa spat harshly, holding his gaze.

  Harrison froze midsentence, his mouth hanging open. Then, almost sweetly, he added, "That may be, but there are some a lot worse than me."

  "Possibly, but they're under your command."

  "Elisa..." Blanes cut in.

  "Oh, don't worry." Harrison was acting like an adult intent on proving a child's words would never hurt him. "The professor and I have had a... special... relationship for years now ... We're well acquainted." He moved away and closed his eyes. For a second, the sound of the rain on the window made him think of spilled blood. He spread his arms. "I imagine you're all tired and hungry. You can have something to eat now and then rest, if you like. My men will comb the island inch by inch. We'll find Valente, if he's here ... if he's findable." He snickered. Then he looked at Blanes like a salesman eyeing up a very select customer. "If you give us a report on everything that's happened, Professor, we'll overlook all your other mistakes. I know why you came back here, and why you ran away. I understand ... Eagle Group won't press charges. In fact, you won't even be arrested. Try to relax, take a little walk... if you feel like it, in this weather. Tomorrow, a scientific delegation will arrive, and once you give them your findings we'll all be able to go home."

  "What about Carter?" Blanes asked before Harrison left.

  "I'm afraid things won't go quite so smoothly for him." The Eagle Group badge on Harrison's rain-soaked, brushed-cotton jacket glistened. "But his final destiny is out of my hands. Mr. Carter will be charged, among other things, with having been paid for services not rendered."

  "He was just trying to protect himself... and us."

  "I'll try to balance the scales when he goes to trial, Professor, but that's all I can promise you."

  Harrison gave a quick nod and the two soldiers followed him out. When the door closed, Elisa brushed the hair from her face and glared at Blanes.

  "You're going to give them a report?" she exploded. "Don't you see what they're doing? They're going to turn Zig Zag into the weapon of the century! Soldiers killing enemies from another time and all that!" She got up and banged her fists on the table. "Is that all Jacqueline's death is good for? A fucking report?"

  "Calm down, Elisa." Blanes seemed genuinely taken aback by her rage.

  "That son of a bitch is tickled pink thinking about the damn report he's going to hand over to the scientific delegation tomorrow! Disgusting pervert! Sicko. And that sick fucker is who you're going to help?" She fell back into her chair, crying, and buried her face in her hands.

  "I think you're exaggerating, Elisa." He got up and went into the kitchen. "They want answers, of course, but they do have a right, you know."

  Elisa's crying tapered off. Suddenly she was too tired, even for that.

  "You're acting like Eagle is a group of paid assassins," Blanes called from the kitchen. "Don't blow everything all out of proportion." He paused and then added, in a different tone, "Harrison's right. The sockets are burned and the power cords are totally stripped; it's unbelievable. Anyone want cookies or mineral water?" He walked back in with a plastic bottle and a paper napkin and stood at the window as he munched.

  "I have no intention of collaborating with those scumbags, David," Elisa said curtly. "You do whatever you want, but I'm not going to say a word." She snatched a cookie and scarfed it down in two bites. God, she was starving. Then she took another one, and another. She swallowed big chunks, almost without chewing. Then she looked down and saw the napkin Blanes had just placed on the table. He'd scribbled on it, in all caps: Might Be Bugged. Exit I x I. Meet in Old Garrison.

  IT was still raining, though less intensely. But she felt so sticky and disgusting, all covered in sweat and grime, that she appreciated the clean shower. Taking off her shoes and socks, Elisa wandered down the sand like someone who'd just decided to go for a lonely stroll. She glanced around and saw no sign of Harrison or his men. Then she froze.

  A few feet away, the chair sat on the sand.

  She recognized it immediately. Black leather seat, metal legs on wheels. On the right side of the chair back, a long, oval slash ran almost halfway across the backrest. Two of the four legs were missing and one of the armrests was encrusted with metal shavings, shimmering like jewels. That chair would have collapsed, if it were just an ordinary chair.

  But it was no ordinary chair. The rain had not soaked it, didn't even splash it. No drops of water ricocheted off its surface, though they didn't seem to float through it like a hologram, either. The raindrops were like silver needles shooting down from the heavens: they plunged into the seat and disappeared, only to reappear beneath it and sink into the sand.

  Elisa stared, fascinated. She'd seen this chair for the first time when Harrison had been grilling them; it was wound around his legs like a silent cat. He'd walked right through it, the way the rain passed through it now. She'd noticed that one of the soldiers was fidgeting with his computer watch during its entire appearance; no doubt it had stopped keeping time.

  She counted to five, and then it disappeared. Elisa wished she had the time (and desire) to study splits. They were one of the most incredible findings in the history of science. She could almost sympathize with Marini, Craig, and Ric, though it was too late to forgive them.

  When the chair disappeared, she turned and went through the barbed-wire fence.

  She shivered, thinking that Zig Zag wasn't much different from that chair: a sporadic apparition, the result of the algebraic sum of two different times. But Zig Zag had willpower. And his will was to torture and kill them. There were three victims left (four, if you counted Ric), and then his will would be done, unless they stopped him first. They had to do something. Fast.

  All that was left of the old garrison and warehouse were a couple of charred, blackened walls piled with rubble. Some seemed to have collapsed recently, no doubt in the monsoon winds. Most of the old metal and debris had been blown to the north end, leaving an empty space in the middle packed with hard ground—maybe due to the heat of the explosion—though shrubs had already sprung up in several spots.

  She decided to wait by the walls. She left her shoes on the ground, untied the knot in her T-shirt, and ran her
fingers through her hair. More than clean it, the rain had clumped it together. She tilted her head back to let the rainwater wash down her face. The downpour was dying off and the sun had started to burn through the sky's thinnest clouds.

  Blanes showed up a second later. They spoke very little, as if they'd just bumped into each other coincidentally. Five minutes went by, and then Victor appeared. Elisa felt awful when she saw the state he was in: pale, slovenly, unshaven, his curly hair all clumped and matted. Still, he gave her a feeble smile.

  Blanes looked around. She did the same. To the north, beyond the station, were palm trees, a gray sea, and a vast expanse of sand; to the south, four military helicopters on the landing pad, at the edge of the jungle. There didn't seem to be anyone around, though she could hear the sounds of birds and human voices in the distance. Soldiers.

  "We're safe here," Blanes said.

  They exchanged glances, and suddenly Elisa couldn't take it anymore. She threw herself into his arms and held his stout body, grateful to feel his hands on her back.

  They both cried, though very differently from how they'd wept up until then, with no noise, no tears. When she thought of her dead friend, Elisa clung to one obsessive thought. Jacqueline, poor thing, it was quick, wasn't it? Yes, it must have been, there wasn't enough energy to ... But she realized that who they were really feeling sorry for was themselves: they were lost, broken by the anguish of inevitable condemnation.

  She saw Victor draw near, visibly shaken, and drew him into her embrace, resting her chin on his bony, rain-soaked shoulder.

  "I'm so sorry," he whimpered. "Please forgive me ... I'm the one who..."

  "No, Victor," Blanes touched his cheek. "You didn't do anything wrong. The laptop had nothing to do with it. He used potential energy, and he took it from everything. This is the first time he's done that. There was no way to defend ourselves against that."

  When Elisa could tell that Victor had started to relax, she pulled away and kissed him on the forehead. She wanted to kiss, to hug, to love. She wanted to be loved, and consoled, and comforted. But for now, she'd have to postpone those desires and concentrate on the task at hand. After Jacqueline, she'd sworn she would get rid of Zig Zag, even if it cost her life. Eliminate him. Disconnect him. Kill him. Annihilate him. Snuff him out. Fuck him up. She wasn't sure what expression to use: maybe all of them.