Angie nodded, pulling out her tablet.
It took less than a minute for the children to line up, which was a pretty good time. Estimates had suggested that even a zombie in attack mode would require at least five minutes to reach the children’s floor, and that was even if they were single-minded about scaling the outside wall. Taking the stairs or the elevator shaft would take longer.
“Randy?” Ms. Wyatt searched the room. “Randy, where are you?”
There was no answer.
“Ms. Wyatt,” Angie said, holding up her tablet. “The whole system is down. We’re cut off from Kumar and the cameras at the moment.”
“Damn. That means we lose the morning. Have you seen Randy anywhere?”
“No,” Angie answered frowning. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing him during the presentation either.”
“He’s missing. Franklin! Go and check the washroom to see if Randy’s there.”
“Yes, Ms. Wyatt.”
“Ms. Wyatt?” Sarah primly raised her hand. “Shouldn’t we be leading the line up to the cubbies?”
“In a moment, Sarah. Have you seen Randy?”
“Him? Oh, he disappeared early on in the show. Both Denise and I saw him vanish. He was all excited because Angie was here, and then all of a sudden, he left.”
“Why would he be excited to see me?” Angie asked.
“Many of the children were, dear,” Sophie answered. “You’re something of a hero to them. The same way that the adults all look to Marshal or Luca or Eric for their heroic example, the children all look at you.”
“Really?” Angie asked, looking stunned.
“Did he say where he was going, Sarah?”
“No, Ms. Wyatt.”
“Hello? Do I hear sounds of distress? Can I be of any assistance?”
Angie turned to see that God had arrived unannounced.
“Oh. Hello, God,” Sophie said, scanning the crowd again in hopes of seeing Randy. “Do you have any idea what’s going on at the moment?”
God shrugged.
“It’s happening everywhere, I’m afraid,” he answered. “I was having a chess game with Nicholas when the alarm sounded. Nick decided he would go and see if he could help Marshal and Eric reroute the local systems into a laptop, so that at least we could get our own security perimeter and surveillance back up and running. Being the delightful fellow that he is, he suggested that so long as Marshal wasn’t completely incompetent, he should be able to get it done within the half-hour. In the meantime, we’re exposed. So he left, and that’s when I remembered that you were down here with over forty children, and that you might need some help.”
“Randy’s not in the washroom, Ms. Wyatt,” Franklin reported.
“Go ahead, Ms. Wyatt,” Angie said, grabbing for her garbage dress. “I’ll find him. I’m pretty good at sneaking past the undead anyway. Just get everyone else to safety.”
Sophie bit her lip, uncertain on whether she should agree.
“I’ll help look,” God offered. “It’s a big building, and two sets of eyes are better than one.”
“No, no,” Angie said quickly. “Really, sir. I work better alone.”
“It’s God, Angie, not ‘sir’,” God chided her. “I think God is respectful enough, don’t you? And of course we’ll split up. What do they say in all those horror movies? Ah, yes. ‘We can cover more ground that way.’ Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine. Just worry about finding that boy.”
Angie opened her mouth to object, but couldn’t think of what to say.
“You’re… you’re very brave,” she stammered.
“What a lovely child you are,” God said, his eyes twinkling. “Every day, you wander through the land of nightmares all by yourself without a thought for your own well-being, but when an old fart with a nearly used-up tank of gas and missing God powers does the same, you call him brave. Hah! Not nearly so brave as you think, my dear girl!”
Sophie seemed to come to a decision.
“Be careful,” she said. “Both of you.”
She raised her hands to her mouth to shout.
“All right, children!” she called out. “That was very good. We still have three minutes. You all remember your assigned cubbies? Drill captains, make sure that everyone does. Now! Drill captains lead your lines to the elevators, and if they’re not working, then up the stairs. Everyone…. move!”
Angie threw her garbage dress over her head, shimmying so that it would slide down her shoulders and hips.
When her head popped out, God was gone, and the children were marching toward the elevators.
When T-Bone heard the alarm go off, he felt a curious sense of relief.
“Another one?” Henley complained, staring at the recently hung pig in dismay. “Don’t they realize what this does to us? I gotta have this thing sectioned by nightfall if we’re to have any decent eating off of it by tomorrow’s dinner.”
T-Bone didn’t answer, partly because Henley didn’t want him to, but mostly because he’d been consumed by thinking on possibilities since the moment Paul had left. Possibilities had proven to be a fertile ground.
For example, when T-Bone had first come to Toronto from the east coast, that had been one possibility. He knew his sister was having a rough time. She had told him as much in the single letter she’d written to him. But there had been the possibility that, if he could find her, they could have tried to look out for each other and maybe had a chance. Without mom and… and her issues, or her steady diet of drunken abusive step-dads to get in the way, they might even have succeeded. Bethany was always the only one who could keep T-Bone on the straight and narrow, while T-Bone was finally strong enough that he could have protected her from the darkness in men’s hearts. It wouldn’t have been perfect, he knew, but it possibly could have saved them both.
Possibilities.
Like, what were the possibilities that a man could know a woman, lie about knowing her later, and not have something to do with her disappearance? Long odds? Possibly.
T-Bone remembered how excited she’d been when he called her to let her know that he’d decided to come out to Toronto. No one had ever gotten excited over him before, and he had been quite unprepared for the feelings of hope and love it had awoken in him. The Bonham siblings, together again!
Yet when he arrived? Nothing. Bethany had vanished.
Bethany had been a victim her whole life, had always made bad choices, but for all that, she had street smarts. The kind of death or doom that awaited her was at the hands of someone that she trusted, an abusive boyfriend or close confidante, not some random act of life on the street. Threaten her with a knife or a fist, and she’d come up with a broken bottle in her hand every time. Not that she was ever so unaware of her surroundings that she would ever be caught in that kind of situation. Bethany had been an eternal victim, but she’d also been a survivor.
The police had found no body, and became belligerent when T-Bone pressed them, reciting to him his own criminal record over raised eyebrows. All they would tell him was that there had been no report of a missing person, no body found, and no reason to start up an investigation. None of the people who knew or worked with Bethany seemed to know anything, when they were willing to talk to T-Bone at all. She hadn’t made any sort of noise about changing cities or running off with anyone, though there was a rumor that she had or was going to have a new man in her life.
And then T-Bone’s money had run out, and he’d been forced to get that job as a house painter, just to make ends meet. Toronto had proven expensive. Then, there was that bar, and that guy who tried to force himself on T-Bone in the alley, awakening memories of his first stint in prison. Then he got the eight-year package that he’d been serving when the outbreak happened, and T-Bone had let his inner beast run free, like you had to do in prison, and all thoughts, hopes, dreams, and possibilities regarding Bethany were laid to rest forever.
Or… so it had seemed at the time.
�
�You listening?” Henley asked gruffly. “Hey! T-Bone! Wake up!”
T-Bone shook off his thought halo and looked at Henley.
“S-sorry,” he stammered, more because he couldn’t think of what else to say than out of any true sense of apology. “I’m… I’ve…”
His mouth snapped shut and he glared at the floor.
“Listen,” Henley said, and T-Bone was surprised to hear a faint hint of sympathy in his tone. “I’m… I’m sorry about what happened to your sister. It’s a shame what life does to us sometimes and… maybe I should just be grateful for my own blessings, instead of judging you for not getting yours.”
T-Bone said nothing. Shock had stolen his voice away.
“We aren’t friends,” Henley continued. “I think we both agree on that. And you still have a lot of bad shit you gotta answer for. But… well… You’re a half-decent meat-cutter, and we are both easterners, after all. You could make a hell of a butcher one day, son. It’s clear you respect the animals, which is important, or else you wouldn’t have so much trouble dealing with the slaughtering side of the business.”
T-Bone raised his head to look at him in surprise.
“It’s true,” Henley insisted. “Don’t take me as a guide. Twenty years has kind of dulled all my reverence and what not, but even I’m always sure that the death is humane. I’ve always believed it’s important for a butcher to care about the animal he’s killing, and I’m not alone. I’ve known some who even make a ritual of it, thanking the animal for its sacrifice and all that. Of course, that’s a bit too hippy for me, but I understand the motive behind it. And you? The fact that you shy away from killing the animal shows me that you might not be all bad, and that you’d make a mighty fine butcher.”
“Thanks,” T-Bone said, feeling strangely embarrassed. “I hope you don’t mind if I tell you that sounds pretty weird, Henley.”
“Well now, I guess it does,” Henley laughed. “Most people try not to think of butchery at all. And when they do, they think of an icy killing machine whose forgotten that the animals were once alive, but it just ain’t so. There’s a kind of… of pact between man and beast, or at least that’s how I like to think of it. Goes back to the dawn of time. People would be surprised at the amount of effort that goes into making sure that the animal feels no pain, or at least they did before the corporations started taking control. Then, the animals really did become nothing more than numbers on a sheet of paper, but don’t even get me started on that. If there’s one thing the apocalypse did for us, it took that kind of butchery off of the menu for good, or at least it will if I have anything to say about it.”
“Sounds good,” T-Bone said, eager to say anything that would keep him from being yelled at. “And I appreciate the compliments, even if I know they’re mostly bullshit.”
Henley stiffened, and his face went flat.
“Er… not bullshit?” T-Bone added hastily. “It’s just that… well, I am a newbie, right? You and Paul are both more experienced than I am. He didn’t looked phased when you killed the animal either. I saw him with that knife.”
Henley’s smile did not return, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
“Don’t get me started on Paul,” he snapped. “Wherever that man learned his trade, it wasn’t at any accredited butchers’ school. He’s confident and knows where to cut, but he’s sloppy. What he does ain’t proper butchery. My guess is that he learned what he knows while deer-hunting or something like that. Frankly, he gives me the creeps. You’re right. He ain’t phased by all the blood and guts, but it’s not because he’s got years of on-the-job philosophy cleaning his conscience. Never seen a man so indifferent to getting so much blood and gore on his hands and clothing, even in a job like this where it comes with the territory. With Paul, it might as well have been sawdust. Something’s wrong with that man, or I’m a flamingo.”
His eyes flickered up to sound of the lion’s roar.
“Looks like it’s not stopping,” Henley said, “which means we need to get to cover. You know where you’re going?”
“What? Oh. Yeah. The Bastards gotta report back to lock-up.”
Henley’s eyebrows rose. “Lock-up? And all of you just show up?”
T-Bone shrugged. “Where else are we supposed to go? It’s camouflaged, though not as well as the cubbies. Still, I get a whole room to myself with a bed, television, stereo and computer, my own food… it’s a fuck of a lot better than an actual prison, and probably better than I deserve. The lock is just to make sure that I don’t go sneaking around at night.”
“Hmph. Well, you’d better get to it then. Tell your Captain that I’ll need you tomorrow morning, eight am sharp. We got hams to chop, and bacon, and a couple of dozen other things.”
“Will do,” T-Bone said, tearing off his gloves and apron.
Henley turned away without another word.
T-Bone was the last Bastard to arrive, which fact the Captain was only too prepared to remind him. T-Bone’s excuse that he’d had to undress and wash off the worst of the blood and slime from his job only elicited an indignant grunt from his intrepid leader. T-Bone wasn’t sure if it was acceptance, but the man didn’t pursue the matter either. He simply held the door open for the ex-con, and then closed it behind him, locking him away.
The Captain only gave T-Bone a cursory search, patting him down. He must have been preoccupied, already wondering why the system kept crashing, and who might be responsible.
For that reason, he didn’t find the razor-sharp, cutting knife tucked into the inner side of T-Bone’s right sock. Quick frisks hardly ever looked there, and T-Bone had been frisked enough times to know it. It was awkwardly positioned if he needed to draw it quickly, but perfect if you wanted nothing more than to smuggle it past an unsuspecting guard, even one as smart as the Captain.
Because of possibilities.
T-Bone knew he was taking a huge risk, but the more he thought about it, the more he knew he would have to pursue the matter in order to be sure. Paul was lying about something, and T-Bone needed to know what it was. The knife would become a tool of that revelation.
For now, however, he needed to rest and organize his thoughts. He tore off his shirt and tossed it into a re-purposed plastic garbage bin that now served as his laundry bucket. Then, he leaned forward and clicked on the television. With the wi-fi down, there might not be any movies available, but the Playstation still had a few games.
“Your sister was beautiful, T-Bone,” said a voice from the shadowy corner not ten feet away. “I treasured her more than water in the desert, or oxygen to a drowning victim. To me, she was the epiphany I could never relinquish.”
T-Bone whirled to face the speaker.
Paul stepped forward, his taser leveled.
“What the fuck are you doing here!” T-Bone demanded.
“She’ll want to see you first,” Paul said. “It’s the least I can do for her. You’ll see. I am the devoted knight to these women, and they are, each of them, a princess of my dreams. Your sister has given me so much.”
“CAPTAIN!!!” T-Bone shouted, backing away.
The taser fired, and T-Bone became a light explosion.
“It’s better this way,” was the last thing he heard as he slumped to the ground.
Had to move fast, Paul told himself, shifting the weight of T-Bone’s body on his shoulder, as the service elevator slowly descended. There was no telling how long he might have. If this was to work, he’d have to beat the recovery, and there were too many tech-savvy people in the building to count on the system staying down forever.
Bring him to me, my knight, Bethany’s voice crooned. Let me see my brother one last time. I know what you have to do to him. But he’s my brother, which makes him your brother-in-law, in a way.
Stupid, boy! You ain’t a man!
“NO!” Paul said, straightening. “You’re not supposed to be here!”
You gonna cry about it then? S’that what you do? A Man doesn’t need to use his tears to
get what he wants. That’s women’s work, boy! You a woman?
“N-no! That’s not what I’m… I’m not crying!”
Cause you know I like women, don’t you boy?
“I’m not a woman! Fuck you, you’re dead!”
Ain’t half so dead as in your gut. Always been.
“Never!” Paul screamed. “I got rid of you! I got rid of you!”
We’re here for you, honey! came the chorus. We know you’re a man!
“Everybody quiet!” Paul thundered. “I have thinking to do! Do you want me to get caught? Everyone, shut up!”
The elevator softly jerked to a halt, and the doors slid open.
“Oh,” said Angie, blinking up at Paul. “I… I thought you’d be someone else.”
Dumbfounded, Paul just stared.
“Are you…” Angie said, eying T-Bone’s unconscious body apprehensively. “Are you… um. What… what are you doing, Paul?”
Paul shook his head to clear it.
“God damn it,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Angie. I could explain, but I’m afraid it won’t do any good. No damn good at all.”
Chapter Thirty-Four: Day 93: System Shutdown
The boy huddled under the covers in his bedroom, listening to the sounds of his father beating his mother until she screamed. It was the nightly test. How long could she hold out? How far could she provoke him?
In the blackness of his room, lit only by the faint moonlight that cascaded through the open window, the boy huddled with his stuffed animals and waited for his turn in the terrible game to arrive.
Eventually, it came, with the wafting smell of hard liquor and sweat as the door to his room swung open. There was no light from that doorway, only a darker silhouette against the shadow of the faintly, moonlit shadows.
“Yer awake, ain’t you boy?” came the low, inquiring growl. “Or should I say girl? Yer a momma’s boy, ain’t ya? Fuck.”
The boy heard the splash of liquid in a bottle as his father took another drink.
“Prob’ly listening to everything. Prob’ly heard what I was doing to yer mom near the end when she started screaming, eh? Prob’ly wished it was you I was porkin’, eh? Huh. Fucking… fucking momma’s boy. Fucking girl. Wanna be just like yer mom, don’t ya? Well, lemme tell you something, boy. Yer momma’s a sick customer. You think those screams were pain?”
From Oblivion's Ashes Page 76
