by V. E. Lemp
“Woman,” Karen said, tilting back her head to look up into Alex’s face. “But release me anyway, if you please.”
Alex kissed her on the forehead. “Very well.” His aquamarine eyes were bright with emotion. “Although it goes against my better judgment.”
“Now,” Karen said, as Alex’s expression changed.
“Later.” Alex leaned down and kissed her, full on the lips.
Karen knew she should pull away. She shouldn’t give him any hope, or any ammunition for his futile pursuit of her. But the kiss drew her in, and fogged all her thoughts. It recalled the past, when things had been simpler, when she had been blithely ignorant of all the dangers stalking her world. When she had only been required to focus on such kisses, the kind that left her breathlessly clinging to him when he finally lifted his head.
“This has to stop,” she said. Because it did. She couldn’t toy with Alex’s emotions without guilt, any more than she could betray Mark.
“Does it, my sweet? You know, I’ve decided I might be willing to share you with Mark if that was something you’d consider.”
Karen squirmed out of his hold and stepped away from him. “It isn’t, as you well know. Besides, I’m not exactly healthy enough to seriously consider such an offer at this point.”
“So—if you were well it might be a possibility?” Alex raised his eyebrows. “No, I suspect not, from that glare you’re leveling at me. Never mind. I don’t want you to change. It’s the tragedy of my situation to admire the very traits that deny me what I desire.”
“Ready to hit the road?” Mark walked into the room, suitcase in hand. His dark eyes swept over Karen and Alex. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
“No, not at all.” Karen moved close enough to hug him. “I’ll be just a minute. I don’t need much. I guess we’ll only be there for a day or so.” She headed for the bedroom, pausing at the door for a moment. “Now, no conspiring. Try to avoid hatching any plots that involve me.”
“Don’t worry,” Mark said. “I doubt Alex and I could come to an agreement on that issue.”
Karen caught sight of Alex’s unhappy face and shook her head before she entered the bedroom and closed the door.
TWENTY-TWO
Max was waiting at the door when Mark and Karen arrived at Myron’s brick townhouse in Jackson Heights. He greeted Mark with a handshake and hugged Karen before leading them inside.
“The studio’s downstairs,” he explained, opening a door hidden in the dark paneling of the hall.
Karen shot Mark a look. “Secret passages?”
“It’s an old house,” Max said as he led them down a steep stairway. “Watch your step. And your head,” he added, ducking to avoid a low beam.
“You’re taller than I am,” Mark said, “so I’ll just follow your lead.
Max glanced back over his shoulder with a grin. “Yes, I’ve learned the route the hard way.” He tapped his short black hair with one finger. “Collected a few bumps and bruises before I figured it out.”
“I bet,” Mark said, bending to avoid another beam.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs Max opened another door, and they stepped into a room that looked like nothing else in Myron’s house. Karen inhaled a sharp breath. Instead of elaborate Victorian furniture and decoration, this room was a neutral box, resembling, at first glance, the white room of Karen’s dreams. But as she glanced about she realized the room was not empty—it contained banks of audio and video equipment. A long work counter ran along one wall, just under the equipment racks. A young woman wearing bulky headphones was perched on a stool at the counter, watching a computer monitor.
“They’re here, Elena.” Max spoke loudly, making use of his resonant actor’s voice.
Elena pulled off the headphones and spun around on the stool. “Oh, hi,” she said, running one hand through her chestnut curls. “Just working on final edits. I hope your trip wasn’t too tiring.”
“No, not at all,” Mark said, although exhaustion was clearly imprinted on his face.
Max leaned his imposing frame against one of the basement’s piers and surveyed Mark and Karen. “Sorry I had to drag you up here. But I thought, for Myron’s sake, we should get this thing out there, sooner rather than later. You both look tired, though. Had any lunch?”
“No,” Mark said, as Karen approached Elena. “We drove straight through.”
“How are you?” Karen asked Elena.
Elena clasped Karen’s hand for a second. “I’m fine. Upset over Myron, of course. How’s Ariel?”
“I haven’t seen her yet, I’m afraid. But when Mark spoke with his sister she said Ariel was doing well, all things considered. Claire’s going to take Ariel to the hospital today and sit with her as long as necessary.”
“Poor kid.” Elena dipped her head for a moment, then looked up at Karen, her green eyes filled with tears. “I hope Myron makes it—he’s such a good man, and a great father.”
“Yes, he is.” Karen blinked back the dampness in her own eyes and glanced over Elena’s shoulder at the monitor, where one frame of the video was frozen on the screen—Myron’s face positioned perfectly in the frame. “So it’s all done?”
“Almost. Just a few tweaks left. Of course, once you guys view it and give your approval, I’ll still have a bit more to do.”
“Ah,” Mark said. “Working your hacker’s magic?”
“Yeah. I have it all planned out, I’ll just need to implement.” Elena rubbed at her eyes. “Excuse me, I’ve been staring at the screen too long.”
Karen, who’d seen Elena’s tears, offered her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure that’s wearing on the eyes.”
“I have a suggestion,” Max said. “Why don’t I take Karen and Mark out for a bite to eat while you finish your last touches? A little food might help them focus on the video later.”
Mark glanced at Karen. “Good idea. I don’t want Karen to go without eating for too long.”
“I’m not the one who’s been up for hours and hours. But I wouldn’t mind a little lunch, if it’s no problem.”
“No problem at all,” Max said. “There’s a diner just a few blocks away. I’ve been a steady customer there since I started my voice-over work.”
Elena wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, for some reason Max hasn’t been enthused over my diet of ramen and cold cereal.”
“Don’t you want to join us?” Karen asked.
“No, I want to finish this.” Elena turned back to the monitor and tapped on her keyboard. The static picture of Myron sprang to life as she put on her headphones.
“Elena’s totally absorbed in the project,” Max said. “I’ve never seen such dedication. Not that I’m complaining, you understand. She’s doing great work.”
“I’m sure her personal interest spurs her on,” Mark said. “Now, if you can direct us to this diner, I’d certainly appreciate it. A strong cup of coffee would go a long way toward making me feel human.”
“No problem.” Max motioned for them to follow him. “We’ll grab a bite and then you can take a good look at the video.” He led them back toward the door. “See you in a few,” he called out.
Elena waved her hand over her shoulder as they left the room.
Karen absently stirred her coffee as she listened to Max explain his work on the video. “So you believe Myron has the right stuff to get people talking and thinking?”
“Definitely,” Max said. “Wait until you see it. Especially with the addition of Dr. James’s material. Myron added a dedication to Dr. James, you know.”
Karen rubbed at her eyes again. “No, I didn’t know that.”
Mark casually laid his hand across the back of her chair. “We have to make sure his sacrifice is remembered.” He stroked her shoulder. “Now, if everyone’s finished, perhaps we should make our way back to Myron’s place. I’ll get the check.” After calling the waitress to the table, he took the bill from her hand, ignoring Max’s protests.
“It’s no use,�
� Karen told Max. “When Mark decides a thing it’s decided.”
Mark grinned. “Unless Karen overrides me.”
Max sat back in his chair, studying them. “I am happy to see the two of you together. At least something good came out of the Morpheus Project, in the end.”
“We all met one another,” Karen said. “That’s another good thing.”
“Yes, it is,” Max said with a smile.
There was a low rumble. The lights flickered and silverware rattled against the tabletop.
Karen held up her hand. “Did anyone else feel that quiver, or am I just shaky?”
“I felt something.” Mark glanced out the plate-glass window.
A sharp flash lit up the window, and all the lights in the café went dark.
“Someone hit a pole?” Max suggested, standing and peering out at the street. “Good thing we’re finished eating.”
Mark rose slowly to his feet. “Transformers are exploding blocks away.” He pointed at sparks crackling above the tops of the buildings across the street. Some cars are stalled as well.” He frowned, his brow wrinkled in concentration. “Newer models.” His voice was low, as if he were talking to himself.
The waitress appeared at the table and politely asked them to leave. “We need to close. Nothing’s working in the kitchen. Everything just went dead.” She lifted up her hands. “Like, shorted out.”
Karen glanced around the space, which was still lit up by the sunlight pouring through the windows. A din of voices filled the air as the other diners grabbed up their belongings and headed for the exit.
“We’d better get back to Myron’s place,” Max said. “Elena’s in that basement by herself. I think there’s a flashlight or two down there, but still…”
“You’re right. We need to get back as soon as possible.” Mark tossed some money on the table and grabbed Karen’s hand.
The sidewalk outside the diner was filled with people surveying the scene and voicing questions.
“No electricity for at least five blocks,” said one woman, who was holding a dog on a leash with one hand and gripping a stroller with the other. Her toddler looked about, wide-eyed. “There I was, laundry half-done, and then…nothing. Suds still in the damn machine.” She shook her head. “I wonder how long it’ll take Con Ed to fix it.”
“Forever,” a man wearing a white apron said. “Thank God for backup generators, or I’d end up tossing half my stock.”
“Have you started your generators yet?” Mark asked.
The man shook his head. “No. ’Bout to do that now.”
Mark placed his arm around Karen’s shoulders. “I’d be interested to see if they turn over.”
“What do you think is going on?” Karen glanced up into his stoic face. “Something suspicious?”
“Maybe. Max, lead the way. We need to get to Elena.”
Max nodded and took off at a fast pace, using his height and impressive physique to maneuver through the crowd. Karen and Mark followed, Mark keeping his arm around her.
A scream pierced the babble of the crowd. Karen traced the sound to an older woman standing in the middle of the street, pointing skyward. Max stopped in his tracks, causing Mark to step on his heel.
“Sorry,” Mark said, falling silent as more eyes turned upward.
To the north, toward the airport.
It wasn’t unusual to see the large, silver-bellied planes flying low overhead as they made their descent into LaGuardia, or took off for parts unknown. On her previous visit, Karen had observed that while the sound of the commercial airliners startled her, the locals were oblivious to the engine noise. But now everyone was staring into the sky, their eyes wide with disbelief and their mouths either drawn into tight lines or dropped open.
It wasn’t typical to see those same giant aircraft bobbing like broken kites, their wings dipping from side to side. Some moving far too close together, as if they’d abandoned all of their carefully rehearsed choreography and were flying blind.
“Not again,” said one strangled voice. Karen turned to see a police officer leaning on his patrol car. He frantically punched buttons on his two-way radio but only pulled up static.
“Out of the street!” Mark shouted. “Everyone out of the street. Get down!” He pulled Karen closer to the brick façade of a liquor store and forced her to the ground before crouching down beside her.
“What the hell is going on?” Max collapsed to the sidewalk on her other side.
“The planes have lost their electrical instruments and controls,” Mark spat out between gritted teeth. “If they can land, it won’t be pretty, but we better hope to God they can still land.”
“Mark, what are you talking about?” Karen leaned into him and stared up at the swath of sky visible above the street. Two planes were flying toward each other. “No, no, no.”
“EMP,” Mark said. “Electromagnetic pulse. Someone’s obviously set one off.”
“You mean a weapon?” Max’s dark eyes scanned Mark’s face, clearly hoping he would disavow this conclusion.
“Yes. A weapon.” Mark closed his eyes just as a tremendous explosion blasted the area.
The brick behind Karen’s back vibrated with the shock of the impact. She covered her ears to block the sound of metal twisting and shredding in midair. And the screams.
Mark leaned over to cover her body with his, but not before she spied a large silver object tumbling from the sky. A wing. She buried her face in Mark’s shoulder.
When he finally sat back, all Karen could see was legs. People running down the street, away from a billowing wave of smoke roaring toward them like a tsunami.
“Sit,” Mark said, looking directly into Karen’s face. “Close your eyes, drop your head, cover your mouth, do not move.”
Karen did as she was told.
A gray cloud washed over them, cloaking them with dust.
As she huddled next to Mark, Karen concentrated on slowing her racing heartbeat to match his. At first she calmed herself with the notion that though this might be the place where she died, at least it would be in Mark’s arms. But when her panic would not subside, even with her face pressed against his chest, she allowed shock to blur the sounds and smells that swirled around her. It was all too much to comprehend. Her mind veered off into strange tangents. The dust—it was thick as dry pigments before water was added to make them flow on the canvas. Choking the artist who forgot the proper ratio of liquid and stirred the pigments before they were ready for the brush. No, more like charcoal, or soft pastels, crumbling if pressed too hard against paper, and sending up little plumes of dust. Yes, think of art, of beautiful things … But it was no use, she couldn’t completely bury one terrible idea. The thought that made her shake all over—the people on those planes, in those final minutes, they had to have known …
After some indefinable time, Mark reached out to pull her to her feet, and she opened her eyes.
The street was blanketed with ash. She clung to him and futilely brushed at her hair and arms, which were covered in gray powder.
“Leave it. There’s no point.” Mark pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped the worst of the debris from his glasses. Behind him, Max stood, every part of his body covered in ash. “Do you have any kind of cloth in your purse?”
“I have a scarf.” Karen fumbled in her bag and pulled out the long piece of tie-dyed silk.
“Can you tear it? Three pieces.” Mark was glancing about, as if assessing the scene. “Good. Now give a piece to Max and me and keep one. Cover your mouth and nose. We need to keep as much of this out of our lungs as possible.”
Karen mutely handed the scraps of material to the two men. “We’re still going back to Myron’s?” she asked, before covering her face.
“Yes,” Mark said. “We have to. Perhaps it’s better there. Hard to tell. Max, do you think you can still find the house?”
Holding the material to his mouth and nose, Max nodded.
“Lead on then. If we run into
any authorities, let me do the talking.” Mark held the fabric to his face with one hand and took Karen by the elbow with the other. “Don’t look north,” he whispered in her ear as they followed Max across the ash-strewn street.
Karen tried to follow his instructions but could not resist glancing up the street. It was quite a distance away, but she could easily spy the fires raging through a huge pile of burnt and twisted metal. But the sounds, the sounds were the worst. She turned her head away and followed Max’s and Mark’s ghostly forms down a side street, praying they would find Myron’s house still standing and Elena safe.
The townhouse was far enough from the impact of the crash that only a faint drift of ash danced in the wind, soft as snow flurries. Mark and Karen followed Max into the silent house and then the dark and windowless hall. Max muttered something about the kitchen and disappeared for a moment before returning with a large flashlight and several dish towels.
“Those other booms we heard, and those vibrations, what was that?” Karen scrubbed her face with one of the towels, then stared blankly at the gray stains on the fabric.
“Other planes,” Mark said quietly. He finished wiping his face and leaned in to remove a smudge from Karen’s cheek. “An EMP set off near LaGuardia is basically a worst-case scenario.”
“Do you think that was their target?” Max fumbled for the latch to the hidden door in the paneling. “The terrorists?”
“Not convinced it was terrorists, and no, I don’t believe LaGuardia was the target.” Mark took a deep breath that made him hack into the dish towel. “Collateral damage,” he said between coughs.
“For what?” Karen asked, patting his back.
“We’ll find out downstairs, I’m afraid,” Mark said. “Go on, Max, we need to let Elena know we’re here.”
Max led the way down the stairs, shining his flashlight over the steps. He called out for Elena several times but received no answer. “Hope she didn’t leave the house.” Max pushed open the door to the basement studio.
Another beam of light shone back on them. But this was no flashlight. Karen blinked and shaded her eyes with one hand.
