“Let her go,” said Nobody.
Pit Geek paid him no attention, watching the Panic instead as he stumbled back to his feet.
“Jesus, kid,” said Pit Geek. “You’re getting your ass whipped by a ghost.”
“Screw the boss,” said the Panic, staggering backwards until he came to rest against the far wall, steadying himself. His right hand slipped into his waistband and came back holding a small black pistol.
“You’re dead meat, Nobody,” he said, taking aim. He pulled the trigger.
Nobody closed his eyes as the crack of the shot deafened him. He flinched, expecting the impact. It didn’t come.
He opened his eyes.
The bullet hung in mid air before him, a silvery cylinder frozen in time.
Next to the Panic, the window crashed inward, glass shards flying around the room as a white-clad figure smashed into the scene. It was the Thrill. She spun around in the air, pointing to Pit Geek.
“Let her go!” she demanded.
Without the slightest hesitation, Pit Geek closed his mouth around Veronica’s throat. He raised his head, grinning red, as blood spurted into the air.
The pistol flew from the Panic’s hand and landed near Nobody’s feet. Rail Blade slid through the shattered window, glancing toward the Panic. The silver hood flew from his head as if jerked by an unseen hand and landed near the pistol.
Nobody dodged around the frozen bullet and reached for the gun, grabbing the hood in the same motion. He fired at Pit Geek. If the bullet struck, Pit Geek didn’t react. Tears in his eyes, Nobody leapt at the grinning bum.
“Ex—” said the Panic.
Nobody reached Pit Geek, and watched as his hands passed through him.
The room vanished.
Nobody found himself staring into a reflection of his reflection. The world had become an infinite hall of mirrors, twisting and spinning. He found himself staring at the bottom of his feet, the back of his head, into his nostrils.
Before he could comprehend what he was seeing, he landed on a rubbery, pinkish floor.
“—it,” said the Panic.
Pit Geek fell on his ass, flailing around in the same physical space as Nobody. Veronica was gone, as were the Thrill and Rail Blade. Nobody looked around, unable to figure out what was happening. He was in a pink, rubbery chamber, much smaller than Veronica’s living room. The walls were curved and roiling with a wave-like motion. Large phosphorescent patches on the floor and ceiling gave the room a dim, eerie light.
“Great,” said Pit Geek. “We’re in Baby Gun.”
“Boss?” said the Panic.
“Could the two of you have screwed that up any worse?” asked a disembodied voice. For an instant, Nobody thought it was the voice of Dr. Know. But the voice had a harder, rougher edge to it. The unseen speaker continued: “You were supposed to bring me the target, not kill him. What part of this didn’t you get?”
“He almost killed me,” said the Panic. “Besides, I don’t think the bullet hit him. I think Rail Blade stopped it just before she yanked off my hood. Why aren’t we back at the cabin?”
“I’ve had a bit of a mood swing. I’m sending Baby Gun to stomp the hell out of Jerusalem. Rail Blade used her magnetic quake to get to you so fast she’ll be too wiped out to bother us now. With her on the other side of the planet, we should have several hours to kick up a real nice war. Your powers will add to the general confusion.”
“Take over Jerusalem?” said the Panic. “Since when do we care about Jerusalem? That’s the bullshit Knowbokov’s been feeding the media.”
“That’s part of what makes this sweet. He’ll hate himself when he realizes he gave me the idea.”
“Let’s get up to the head,” the Panic said to Pit Geek. They moved to a tube at one end of the room and half-crawled, half-climbed into it, ascending its convoluted walls. Nobody followed, shoving the gun and the mask into his pocket. The tube had a peculiar smell, like a hot plastic baby doll, and had the same hard yet yielding solidity of a fully inflated waterbed. At least the dry surface provided easy traction.
After a very long climb they reached a larger chamber, in the center of which was a sickening sight. A body was suspended from the ceiling by a web of pink, worm-like cords that pulsed and writhed. The body resembled a male fetus, pale and wet, but huge, perhaps three hundred pounds.
“Yo,” said the Panic, tapping his knuckles against the fetus’s huge, distorted skull. “How ’bout a window?”
In response to the Panic’s action, the wall near Nobody began to melt and swirl, turning into a thin, smoky, mostly transparent film. Outside this window, and just above it, Baby Gun’s surreal, gun barrel face loomed. Looking down, Nobody at first thought they were still in Asheville. The landscape was mountainous. But he quickly realized the hills were covered with olive trees instead of pines. Instead of the closely packed factory houses, the city below was built of white stone, with boxlike houses stacked on top of one another and narrow streets that twisted and turned like a dusty maze. Wherever he was, the buildings were crunching to rubble beneath Baby Gun’s enormous feet. People fled in panicked streams as his huge doll limbs rose and fell.
“Jesus,” said Nobody. He was halfway around the world, trapped in the body of an enormous baby doll, and the only thing he could think about was Veronica.
Was she dead? Everything had happened so fast he couldn’t be sure. He knew she’d been bleeding. He knew there was a terrible wound to her throat. Could Amelia and Sarah save her?
He looked at Pit Geek. Veronica’s blood still stained his chin, and red smears marked the back of his hands where he had wiped his mouth.
Nobody pulled the gun from his pocket.
He had fired at Pit Geek only moments before. Had he missed? Was the gun useless in his ghost state? Or was Pit Geek just impervious to pain, and impossible to kill? He remembered his first encounter with the foul bum, and the bullet that had struck Pit Geek between the eyes. Pit Geek still had a hole there, half concealed by a crusty scab. So, even though Pit Geek was directly responsible for Veronica’s death, attacking him seemed pointless.
On the other hand, throttling the Panic had been surprisingly easy and effective, at least when he’d been wearing the silver hood.
Nobody pulled the hood from his pocket and studied it. It was made of a fine silver mesh, with the texture and thickness of nylon. Touching it made his fingers tingle.
Suddenly, a deafening roar staggered him, and the floor beneath him lurched sideways. Outside the window, a trio of fighter jets sped away from Baby Gun.
Baby Gun returned fire, with an explosive motion that knocked Nobody from his feet. Pit Geek and the Panic also were thrown to the floor. One of the jets exploded into a fireball.
“Dammit, ya weird bastard,” grumbled Pit Geek. “Give us a warning, will ya?”
“Better yet,” said the disembodied voice that Nobody had heard earlier, “Let’s get you into the action.”
Before Pit Geek and the Panic could rise, holes swirled open beneath them. Pit Geek let out a muffled curse as the floor swallowed him.
Nobody was now alone with the gigantic fetus that seemed to be the control center of Baby Gun. He wondered, was this the source of the disembodied voice? Was this strange being Rex Monday? No one really knew what the uber-terrorist looked like. Could this thing be the source of so much misery and evil? Was it responsible for Veronica’s possible death?
The hood seemed very stretchy. Nobody pulled the opening wide and slipped it over the hideous fetal head. The creature opened its eyes—huge, black circles, faintly visible through the thin silver web.
It cast its gaze upon Nobody and made a soft mewing sound as its slobbery mouth slid open. Its proportionally tiny hands clenched and unclenched, and the pink worm tubes that supported its body began to coil and kink.
Nobody placed the gun against its head, and pulled the trigger. The silver sock exploded like a paint-filled balloon. The floor began to shift. Very quickly,
the floor became the wall, and Nobody was sliding up it, the rubbery surface now slick with blood. Through the window, the buildings of old Jerusalem grew rapidly closer as Baby Gun toppled.
A shower of brick and stone burst through the thin membrane of the window, smashing into Nobody. He blacked out. He opened his eyes briefly. He could smell smoke somewhere close. He could barely breathe. He seemed caught in a sticky tangle of rubber bands. Dim firelight flickered in the distance. Far away, he heard a series of explosions. Then he lost consciousness once more.
When nobody woke, his surroundings had once again changed. He was in a soft bed, in a large room. A breeze stirred the white linen curtains by the window. He sat up, his body aching. He sported several clean, white bandages on his left arm and shoulder.
Sarah sat next to him, dozing peacefully in a large wicker chair. He reached out and touched her thigh gently. Her eyes fluttered open. Her peaceful expression turned into a slight frown.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey yourself,” she said, a bit grumpy.
“What?”
“You didn’t even leave a note.”
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry. I did leave pretty quickly.”
“And you took my favorite lighter, you bastard.”
“Sorry. You can have it back.”
Sarah held up her hand, showing him the lighter. “Found it in your pants. Dad told you about being God, didn’t he?”
Nobody sank back onto his pillow. “He actively denied the existence of God, as I remember it. He did claim to have created the world. He did admit to body snatching prisoners and turning them into memory banks for his brain. I don’t know, Sarah. These things kind of bother me.”
“I know. My father’s insane. I don’t believe he really created the world. I think he’s some kind of evolutionary next step or something, some kind of super-telepath, and he’s built this whole God fantasy to cope with it. I can’t explain how or why he has such fantastic powers, or why Amelia and I can do the things we do. But I’ve learned to deal with it, more or less. I think, I hope, that in the balance, my father does more good than harm.”
“Oh my God,” said Nobody, draping his good arm over his eyes. “Veronica’s dead, isn’t she?”
“That woman you were with? The one Pit Geek killed?”
“She is dead.”
“Yes. Who was she?”
“She used to be my wife. In another lifetime. Literally. Oh, God. She’s dead because of me.”
“No. And she’s not dead because I flew through the window and tried to use my powers on someone I suspected was immune. She’s dead because Pit Geek tore her throat out.”
“But it’s because of—”
“Don’t,” said Sarah. “Don’t go down this path. We can wonder what would have happened if we’d acted differently, but we’ll never know. Dwelling on it will make you as loony as my father.”
Nobody felt numb. He said, “She’s not the only blood on my hands. I killed that… thing. I think… I think maybe it was Rex Monday.”
“Baby Gun? He wasn’t Monday. Baby Gun was some freak who controlled silicon the way Amelia controls iron. Only he was like completely insane, and saw himself as that horrible monster, and his powers made that real. You did him and the world a huge favor by putting him out of his misery.”
“I don’t feel like I’ve done anyone any favors. Christ, I wish I’d never been born. Oh, wait. That’s right.”
“I’m glad you were born, at least once upon a time, Richard,” said Sarah.
“Richard. Richard Rogers. That name’s meaningless now. Who was Richard Rogers? Just some nobody.”
“Look,” said Sarah, rising from her chair, her voice hinting at anger. “You want to wallow in self pity? Fine. I can’t stop you. I just want to know one thing. You going to run away again?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”
Sarah turned away. She walked to the window, and said, “I understand. But, for what it’s worth, I liked having you around.”
Nobody nodded. “I liked being around you. But, please don’t take this wrong, I don’t feel terribly romantic right now. I’ve watched a woman I devoted my whole life to die and I think it’s going to take a while to get my head wrapped around that. I wish I’d met you under different circumstances.”
“Well, we get what we get. In the end everything is pointless, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun along the way.”
“I like your attitude toward life,” Nobody said. “It’s a kind of happy pessimism.”
She shrugged, grinned, and headed for the door.
“I think of it as fatalistic optimism. Look me up if you decide to stick around,” she said, pulling the door shut.
The curtains flowed inward as a cool sea breeze filled the room with fresh air. Nobody lay back and looked at the streaks of light that played against the ceiling.
“Fatalistic optimism,” he said. “Maybe things will be better when I’m dead.”
Chapter Thirteen
Trigger of the Apocalypse
Richard found Amelia in the gym again. Sweat rolled down her bare legs and arms as she ran on a treadmill. The evidence of the terrible burns she had received weeks before had vanished.
“Looks like that pink goo does pretty good work,” said Richard.
“My work gives Father frequent opportunities to expand the frontier of medical trauma treatment,” said Amelia, continuing to run.
“You saved my life, stopping that bullet,” said Richard. “Thanks. But, uh, aren’t bullets lead? How’d you grab it?”
“I’ve been practicing with bullets since I was eight,” said Amelia. “A lot of bullets these days have steel jackets, which makes it easier. The trick is to wrap all of the lead in a thin shell of iron before stopping them.”
“Good trick,” said Richard. “You just pull iron out of thin air?”
“I don’t even need air. My powers worked on the moon. It’s tough to explain, but I sense potential iron atoms in the quantum froth underlying all reality. Coaxing these atoms out where I need them to be is as easy as breathing.”
“Well, you’re better at breathing than I am, that’s for sure,” he said, watching her run. “You’re barely winded at this pace. I’d be flat on my back after thirty seconds.”
“Sarah says the woman who died was important to you,” Amelia said. “She says you blame yourself.”
“Yes.”
“Sarah probably told you it wasn’t your fault.”
Richard leaned against the doorway. “Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe she’s right.”
“Don’t listen to her,” said Amelia.
“What?”
“There are a million things you could have done differently that would have produced a different outcome. You’re right to blame yourself.”
“Christ,” said Richard, walking back toward the door, running his hands through his hair. “Is this some kind of reverse psychology? Or are you just wanting me to kill myself?”
Amelia smacked the stop button on the treadmill and stepped off, wiping sweat from her face. She walked toward him, locking her eyes on his.
“Make no mistake. I’m also to blame. Much more than you.”
“Look, now I know you’re playing head games. Sarah’s right, the one who’s really to blame is Pit Geek.”
“I could have been quicker to analyze the situation,” said Amelia. “I have a tendency to focus on weapons. I had my attention on the gun and that high-tech mask the Panic was wearing. If I could do it over, I wouldn’t just stop the bullet. I would have kept its momentum but changed its trajectory and put it straight into Pit Geek’s head.”
“I’m not sure how effective that would have been,” said Nobody. “You know what happened in Washington.”
“If it had only stunned him for half a second, I could have done something to save the woman. I could have sealed his head inside a steel mask, if I’d thought fast enough.”
Nobody shook
his head. “This is perverse. I know why I feel bad. If I hadn’t found Veronica, Rex Monday would probably never have known she was important to me. She’d still be alive. For you to blame yourself, though, is just plain unhealthy. You did save my life, after all. You can’t focus on everything at once.”
“Then I’m not trying hard enough,” said Amelia. “Every time I hesitate, people die.”
“You didn’t hesitate down in Texas. You killed that guy who said he was Monday without blinking an eye. Yet he was just a brainwashed victim. Maybe there’s something to be said for a slow approach.”
“His death is just one of hundreds I have to live with,” said Amelia. She pressed her lips together into a tight line.
“You take this stuff seriously,” said Richard.
“Unlike Sarah, I believe in my father’s mission. We can make the world a better place, if we devote our minds and bodies to the task.”
“You’re being a little unfair to Sarah,” said Richard. “She’s fighting beside you, putting her life on the line. How can you say she doesn’t take it seriously?”
“Did she tell you she thinks Father is insane?”
“Yeah. Not a bad theory.”
“But she continues to do his bidding.”
“So do you.”
“I believe him,” said Amelia. Her gray eyes continued to stare at him.
Richard turned away. The punching bag was nearby, and he jabbed out at it, not very hard, but enough so that his knuckles stung.
“Have you considered my offer to train you to fight?” asked Amelia.
“I don’t know,” he said, tapping the bag again. “I have to admit, you scare me. You might even be scarier than your old man. You’re a very angry person, Amelia.”
“Anger is a tremendous source of power,” said Amelia. “Anger, fear, guilt, shame… if you embrace these things, they can make you better. They can light a fire within you that burns away your weakness and doubt. If you feel guilty over Veronica’s death, you can push that guilt down and let it haunt you, or you can keep it always in the front of your mind. You can let it drive you to train and prepare to do the right thing the next time you’re in a tough situation.”
Modern Magic Page 223
