Hot bile rushed in her throat. Drake was still speaking but she didn't need to hear any more. It was her husband and it wasn't true, but in that moment buffeted by those waves of hot and cold, it felt possible. It was undeniable that Amo had killed thousands of the Ocean then written it into his comic, not like any normal human. Any normal human would try their best every day to forget, but he'd made sure everyone knew what he'd done, like a boast. He'd killed Masako and never tried to deny it, and who was to say now if he'd made the right decision, because were the demons even really real?
She'd seen them, she was certain. One had grasped her round the chest. But then they'd always been in motion, running away, and she'd never seen one clearly. There'd been explosions, and the pain in the chest, and she'd believed for so long it was a demon, but was it? Amo had filled up Julio's pit with cement, claiming the demon body of Cerulean was buried within, but how could she know? She'd never seen it. How could she really know?
Uncertainty rose in her like vertigo. She'd scorned Alan and Witzgenstein at every stage, had stood by Anna and Amo when others expressed their doubts, and together they'd raised him back up to be a figurehead. But what if…
"…and this flag?" Drake yelled. Lara jerked and turned. He was holding the New World flag Amo had made above his head, the pale blue with white stars. "What kind of person makes their own flag? What was wrong with the Stars and Stripes? You're Americans, from the US of A, why would he cast out that great, proud flag? I know I would never try to replace the Union Jack, the flag of the United Kingdom. That's my country still. I'm a guest here, but I don't think our countries are so different in that regard. We're proud of our heritage, but Amo had you worshipping at the feet of this false idol."
He pumped his fist with the flag in it.
"What kind of people are you, to allow this to go on? Worse still, I know there've been others! I've already met them, Witzgenstein and those others in the Willamette Valley, Oregon. Amo banished her and her people for ever daring to question his rule, for trying to show you the truth about his character, and perhaps they were lucky to be banished and not executed. But already she's agreed to join us! Your Janine Witzgenstein sees the wisdom in the First Law. She understands that a few dead was a small price to pay for the chance to free you from Amo's authoritarian, murderous rule. Her people are coming here to join us, and together we will retake this world, and leave Amo behind, rotting in a cell with only his memories of glory, murder and gore to give him solace!"
Someone in the crowd of kneeling people shouted a response. At first Lara thought it was a heckle denouncing Drake, but when the next one came she realized the truth.
"Kill him!"
Her eyes were swimming with pain and confusion, so she couldn't see who it was, but it sounded like Greg. Greg who was quiet and decent. Greg who'd always helped her wash up whenever he came in to the John Harrison. Greg who used to watch her kids.
Greg. And Drake was turning him.
"Witzgenstein tried to tell you the truth but you wouldn't listen!" Drake went on. "So now I'm here, to make you listen. To make you see, before it's too late. You've all been brainwashed, sucked into a cult of personality run by an incredibly powerful manipulator, serving only to soothe his raging ego. God knows what endgame he had in mind for you all, when you finally uncovered the truth, but considering his fascination with suicide I wouldn't rule out a mass Kool-Aid ceremony that left you all twitching and dead. Is it any wonder he invented fictional demons to keep you all in line? Is it any wonder Julio broke ranks, so broken as he was by Amo's meaningless rule?"
Lara almost gasped. He was heaping everything on Amo, far more than Witzgenstein had ever dared. And it was working, or beginning to. Even Lara was no longer so certain about some things, not about his role in Maine or with Masako, perhaps not even Julio. She'd never seen the pit with her own eyes, so how could she know? So much of it she'd taken on faith, and the waves of heat and cold muddled everything, made her mind slow and unclear, while the assault of his voice hammered the message in relentlessly.
Then abruptly, like the eye of a storm passing over, he grew quiet. He lowered the flag in his fist.
"Witzgenstein believes in the First Law. She's a decent Biblical woman, and she believes. I'm no religious man, but I believe in its truth too, just as my people do. And do you know why? Whether you think God exists or not, whether you think demons are real or not, you can't deny that those ancient peoples understood the world perfectly; far better than any of us today. It wasn't an arms race or a technology race back then, when the world was empty. It was a population race. If you couldn't outnumber the other; it didn't matter if he was your enemy or not, weapons and technology didn't matter; you would die. Not today perhaps, not even tomorrow, but generationally. Your people would be pushed under the tide of bodies and smothered underfoot."
He gazed. He waited. "Do you really think it's different now? Do you really think the people in those other bunkers, where your Anna is now, another mass murderer right there, do you believe they're going to join together with you in peaceful harmony if they ever rise up from below ground? After what you've done to them? After the way you held a gun to their head for your 'treaty', after you slaughtered their people in Maine? Do you think they're going to distinguish between you and Amo, when you've followed his lead for all this time? Do you really think one fake flag touting unity can undo twelve years of death and misery, for all of which they're going to lay the blame squarely on you?"
He held the flag up again.
"Face the truth, New Los Angeles! We hate the other at the best of times, those who are different to us. You know it. I know it. Right now I'm the other to you, and you're biased to hate me. You're biased to blame me for those deaths, even though it's truly Amo's fault, because where are the demons? Where are they? He lied to you in everything! Whenever he was threatened, he claimed an emergency and made you run. He kept you afraid! He never showed you the whole truth, never let you see behind the curtain, and so you were controlled like sheep. It's that lie, that deep programming that keeps you blind to the truth of the First Law, blind to the righteous way my people live, before you've even had a chance to see them in action. You don't know us but you judge us! We were attacked by Amo! He came to my family with seven guns pointed at my children, and you're surprised I defended myself? Defended my children? You need to open your eyes!"
He sucked in a breath. "Your precious zombies are gone. Your demons never existed, and your leader Amo was never what he claimed to be. You are alone in the world now, just as much as I am, as my people are, and I'm telling you this truth now, which you don't want to hear but you must. Thanks to Amo's original sin, thanks to the infection he began and the war he started in Maine, none of us will stand a chance if the bunkers ever get out. If your Anna finds a cure, I swear they will wipe us off the map like manifest destiny, just because they can, and because of what we've done, and because we're different. We're the other to them, you must see that, and when you see that, you'll see that the First Law is the only thing that'll save us. We're trapped in a population race for who inherits the Earth, and I'll give you a clue, it's not the goddamn meek. It's the guy who fucked everything in sight!"
Lara jolted at his language like a blow. For the last few minutes it felt like she'd been in some kind of fugue, channeling Drake's words as if they were her own thoughts. Before she'd looked out and seen scared people, but now she also saw angry people. She saw confusion and shock.
And she felt it herself. Who was Amo? Who was to say what the truth was anymore? Where was he to fight back? His absence rang like an admission of guilt.
"So I have to do this to you," said Drake, as if he was saddened by a prospect that lay ahead. "I have to do this for your own good. You understand the Law, now. You know why you're locked in your RVs, until you can finally shake off your shackles and see the truth; that I am doing this for your very survival. For our survival. You know now that I will never hurt you again. I will neve
r rape you. I will never lie to you. I will protect you to my dying breath, and in return I ask only one thing. I ask that you open your eyes. See your essential role in this new world. See that I need your help so we can all survive. See all that, then do your duty as Americans and fellow survivors."
He held up the blue and white flag, for all to see. "For that we need a new beginning. We need to cleanse the slate, start afresh with each other, end the corruption and wash away the propaganda. And it starts here."
He produced a lighter and sparked it. He held it to the flag, which lit at once in a flash. Drake held it as it burned, and walked down off the stage and slowly down to the heap before the people. In that heap was everything they'd spent so long making; a culture, a system of beliefs, a way of being.
Drake didn't cry out in pain as the flag blazed. He looked strong, and who was Lara to say what was right or wrong? How could she know, when the heat and cold rushing off him was so strong, so persuasive, so powerful.
He reached the heap and stood there a moment longer, standing with his arm aloft like the Statue of Liberty welcoming in the ragged and poor. He was a master of this performance, she saw that, even as the effect of his performance worked on her. He looked strong. He looked clean and righteous. And he pointed into the audience.
"You."
Greg's eyes flared wide and white. He was instantly terrified. His mouth opened then closed, and Lara saw. The final stroke.
"I heard you," Drake said. "I see strength in you. You do it."
Greg licked his lips. He shuffled, and those nearest to him swayed away. This was the moment. Flames licked up the flag, reaching Drake's hand, but he didn't flinch.
"I know you're afraid," Drake said, soothing but loud enough for everyone to hear. "You're all afraid, you're confused, but I need you to trust me. Trust me this one time, and everything will get better. There'll be no more lies. No more cruelty. We'll all live in peace together. You can do it."
Greg took a step. The children in the front row edged away. Greg took another, then another more firmly, and Drake held the burning flag to him, now a sheet of flame. Greg stood there, staring at it, then snatched it from Drake and hurled it.
It flew. It hit the gasoline-soaked heap, and the heap went up like the blast of that RV. In the sudden light it cast Drake looked like a man worth following to the end. Greg dropped to his knees and sobbed.
Drake put a hand on his shoulder as the fire bloomed and grew. He stood by the fire despite the sharp blaze of heat, and he looked into every person's eyes there, one by one.
"I need you," he said, over the crackling of the flames as their comics and movies and old hope died. "I need you all."
Tears broke down Lara's cheeks. She didn't know, anymore. She just didn't know.
11. SACRAMENTO
After a time he rolled her away.
Behind her the people of New LA remained, staring into the flames in the heat of another California day. She wanted to stay, to see the last of her life bake down to ashes, but Drake controlled the chair and Drake decided.
Together they rolled in silence over the courtyard, toward the Theater's glass doors.
"You're crying," he said, as a child held the doors open for them. The smoke faded inside, replaced by the familiar old popcorn smell of the Theater. Red carpets embroidered with swirling gold dragons stretched ahead, to meet cream walls with reflective golden vines that crept up toward ceilings with beautiful, wheel-like light shades. She'd been coming here every day for years, but today it felt like a new world.
The chair stopped as the door closed behind them. Drake came around and knelt before her, his big bearded face filling her vision.
"I wanted you to see that."
She looked away. He didn't move.
"Wait. You didn't believe me, did you?" There was something like wonder in his tone.
She blinked more tears, squeezing her eyes shut tight.
"Oh, Lara," Drake said, with a kind of gentle pity. "Oh, I didn't expect that. That would be too cruel. You are sick, aren't you? Yes, the comics burned. Yes, Witzgenstein is coming, and I know that's hard to take, but did Amo really kill those people in Maine?"
His voice wormed through the fog. She looked back to where his face was waiting.
"No. Lara. The Amo I've met could never have done it. I just said that for the masses." He gestured back through the glass. "To make it easier for them. People don't like to be traitors, especially to a good man. But to a bad one? It puts them on the right side of history. That's what it was for, not to do this to you. I'm not trying to hurt you."
Lara couldn't think anymore. The waves rising off him were too much. The layers to all the things he said made it feel like she couldn't breathe. "You mean…"
"That he didn't kill them. Of course not. Your husband is not a serial killer. I said I wouldn't lie to you, Lara, and I meant it."
He smiled. Her head spun. She had the horrible feeling he was going to reach out and rub the tears from her cheeks. She knew she wouldn't have the strength to stop him. She knew, perhaps at some terrified, panicking level, that she might even welcome it.
"I've been honest with you," he said. "Now I want honesty in return." Then he reached out over her lap. She watched his large hand stretch toward her body like it was happening to someone else. Then it touched, his palm against her stomach, and the freezing, burning shock was instant. It crackled up and down her spine, but only for a moment, as he drew his hand away. The sensation faded, leaving her gasping.
Drake rolled his fingers in the air, watching them, then looked at her. "What is this feeling, Lara?"
She stared at him. She didn't know. She couldn't think.
"I know you're struggling," he said. "I can see that. But I think I deserve an answer. What was that?"
"I-" she began, but her voice betrayed her. Her tongue felt like a foreign body in her mouth, unwilling to comply, but the power in his touch filled her still. It was harder to think, harder to refuse. "I don't know."
He studied her. He nodded. "No. What do you guess?"
She tried to take control. Her legs trembled still. Large parts of her mind were fogged and hazy with the waves, with the lies and the truth melding into one, but she tried. He was asking for her help, and she didn't want to help him, but she didn't know. She couldn't see if there was even a choice. She'd heard them cheering, as he decried Amo. The tide was turning already, and he'd killed five people already. Her children had been in the front row, and what was the benefit to defy him now.
"It's how I felt," she began, forcing control over her voice, "when the demon grabbed me." It hurt to speak but she kept on. "It's the feeling they bring."
"Demons?"
She made herself look at him. Into his eyes. She'd felt him then, she'd seen him, a demon in the body of a man. Nothing made sense.
"You pointed at me," he said, and smiled. "Yesterday, you pointed at me, and you screamed 'demon'. What does that mean?"
She shuddered. She couldn't control her body or her mind. "Wh-what do you care? You d-don't believe."
He smiled. "Don't I? Come, Lara, because of what I said out there? I've already told you that was for them. The evidence of demons is plain. Plus, we saw one."
Lara blinked. "What?"
Drake's smile became a grin. "You're surprised. Yes. In Bulgaria, on the move. We were always on the move, unlike you. We never settled, though now I see the benefits. It came at us while we were in motion, took one of our RVs off the road like a charging bull, and nothing we fired at it slowed it. I lost a breeding pair and four children to it."
Lara watched him, wrong-footed again. Everything he said seemed designed to keep her reeling, off-balance, unable to respond. The weight of it was piling up around her like a multiple car-crash. A breeding pair? A demon?
"But I found replacements. I've got you now, don't I?"
He put his hand on her stomach again, palm flat to the smooth muscle, and the shock coursed through her again. This time
he didn't let go. Her breath rattled and she kicked feebly in the chair. In the darkness behind her eyes she saw the great white eye open over New LA. She saw Cerulean on his knees with his arms spread to the sky, his head teetering from his neck by a shred of skin. She saw Drake's lips curl and heard him grunt, and long moments passed with them locked together and trembling as one.
Then the charge ebbed, slow at first but growing faster, until at last it was gone. Still he held his hand on her stomach a moment longer, proving some kind of point, before pulling it away.
He let out a breath. "Quite a ride."
Stray convulsions made her muscles fire like aftershocks. "Don't t-touch me," she whispered.
"Don't touch you," Drake repeated slowly. He rolled the words round his mouth like a fine wine. He rocked back on his heels. "All right."
He rose and moved round to the wheelchair's handles, then began pushing her again, over the carpet. They passed by the old ticket kiosks and on down the broad corridor leading to screens 5-10. At the door to screen 6 he stopped.
Once they'd used it as an emergency medical bay. He pushed her through the swing door and in. It was dark and mostly empty beyond, the walls lined with barren metal shelving units, all emptied now in advance of the move, though a single ceiling spotlight had been switched on at the front, illuminating an area cleared of seats and shelves. There was a blocky black radio receiver on a desk, and sitting beside it on a bare wooden chair, was Amo.
She gasped. He was naked. His arms were pinioned behind his back and a strip of gray duct tape covered his mouth. His eyes were blackened and red. His nose looked crumpled and crusted. His body was dark with angry black bruises and old blood.
Beside him stood a large man wearing bloodied white gloves.
Amo saw her and his eyes widened. Fear, perhaps, or anger, or some kind of hope. The force of that gaze hit Lara like a physical blow, worse than the fire, worse even than the RV explosion. This was her Amo, hurting and humiliated. This was the man she'd loved and doubted and been willing to die for. His skin looked hammered and raw. In the chair he looked so fragile.
Zombie Ocean (Book 6): The Laws Page 24
