The Last Everything

by Frank Kennedy

  However, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael – a stiff, unarmed monolith. She couldn’t sacrifice him as well, so she tossed the weapon to Christian’s feet.

  Christian ordered them to their knees, and they complied. Agatha revealed herself to their left, walking with a distinct limp toward the path Jamie took seconds earlier.

  “Hello, Mr. Cooper,” she nodded. “You are a remarkable sight. However, I can’t linger for the details behind your apparent resurrection. I assume it was Biblical in a certain context. Yes?” She turned to the other captive. “I am truly sorry for your losses, Samantha. If only your father had not been so intransigent.”

  “Tell me something, Queen Bee,” Michael interjected. “What’s Albion High gonna do without your beautiful mug lording over all them redneck kids?”

  Christian cursed, cocked his weapon, and leveled the butt against the side of Michael’s head. Agatha sighed.

  “No, son. We have shed more than sufficient blood. These two are not the enemy. Give me five minutes lead. Then set them free. They deserve a chance for life, assuming they can run fast enough.” As she turned away, Agatha added, “Join them, if you wish.”

  Christian backed off, his jaw hanging. “But Mom, I should be the one. I can get to him faster, and I’m a better shot.”

  “Goodbye, son. Perhaps another path will bring us together.”

  She disappeared into the woods.

  Christian offered the sneer of superiority that always charmed his posse of hangers-on at school. Sammie stewed.

  “What’s it going to be, Christian?”

  “No need to worry, Sweet Bread. When the time comes, I’ll be quick.”

  62

  9:41 a.m.

  J AMIE FELT AS if all the burdens of life were lifted. He thought only of the peaceful place he knew was ahead, so he jogged through the forest as if he were running through Albion late at night. Like his hometown, the forest seemed familiar. The shrubs, the wildflowers, the fallen tree trunks, the scrub brush, the ground packed in a permanent dressing of dead leaves and twigs. Nothing slowed him down – not the logs over which he leaped or the sharp slopes he scaled without slipping. Each move came by instinct, as if his lifetime of running prepared him for this final sprint.

  His hair dangled in his face, but he never bothered to swipe it aside. The ponytail he tied up after his morning swim in Lake Vernon was loose, so with one quick grab, Jamie pulled out the holder and tossed it away. It felt natural. Perfect for the end.

  Just before he raced up the final slope and broke into the sunlight, Jamie heard flowing water, and it sounded like the Alamander River. He saw the edge of a rapidly-flowing creek as he emerged from the brush. The water broke hard in a swirling dance around boulders, twinkling in the sunlight. As Jamie stepped close to the ten-foot ravine overlooking the water, a covey of birds scattered. He caught his breath and scanned the forest across the creek, which seemed to dip into a long, winding valley, only to reassert itself after a mile or so with taller hills than the one on which Jamie stood.

  He didn’t want to die like so many that morning, staring into the face of their killer and perhaps, in their final breath, asking why. He wanted it to be quick and painless, and he wanted to set his eyes on something beautiful before the darkness came.

  The outcropping of rock twenty yards away looked exactly as he pictured it in his mind. The giant rock jutted from the hill as if carved in place to be a sight-seeing deck for studying the nature below. When he reached the top of the rock, Jamie stood in place for several minutes. He neither said a word nor allowed a disruptive thought to cross his mind. He did not shed a tear; he had no more to give.

  He listened to the birds, but mostly, he admired the silence.

  “It’s pretty,” he said, raising the pistol with a firm grip.

  Jamie no longer sensed the beating of his heart or the rise and fall of his lungs. He felt at peace, allowing his last necessary instinct to do the rest. He placed the pistol against his right temple and closed his eyes. He tasted the sweetness of Sammie’s lips in their final kiss. He saw through the guilt that tortured Ben for so long and knew, at last, that his brother was a good man. He relished the warmth and simple beauty of the last sunrise he’d ever see over Lake Vernon. He knew Michael would be home and safe before day’s end. The last and best friend he ever had. He remembered his last class at school, his final run through Albion late at night, the last sketch he drew sitting in the park. All of it consumed him, and he wanted no more.

  “The last everything,” he whispered.

  Then Jamie wondered whether he would see a bright light.

  “Impossible to say, my dear sweet boy, but you will have to wait a while longer.”

  Lydia’s voice cracked the silence; Jamie opened his eyes. He didn’t look to his side, but he knew she was there. He was not going to give her the satisfaction of his anger, so he squeezed the trigger.

  Nothing happened. Not even the click of an empty gun.

  “I’m sorry, Jamie. I don’t believe your death would serve any purpose at this time.”

  He tried again, but his trigger finger trembled and pulled away. Nothing. His nerves twitched, and soon the pistol quivered, scraping against his head. The rage that dissipated along with his tears, regrets, and remorse now exploded. Lydia stared out over the valley, a smug glimmer of a smile.

  “No, no, no!” He screamed at Lydia. “You can’t do this to me.”

  “I already have, Jamie. Your anger is misplaced and unproductive. You have very little time to live; I suggest you do so with joy.”

  “Joy? What do you know about joy? Ever since you came around, there’s been nothing but death and killing everywhere. You better let me do this, Lydia. You let me die my way.”

  She didn’t change expression. “So you can disrupt the rebirth?”

  “You’re goddamn right.”

  “Too late. The Jewel’s re-sequencing is complete. Even if you died now, the Jewel would be reborn intact. It might suffer initial confusion, might even lash out. But it will recover.”

  Jamie stepped to the edge of the outcropping. He saw boulders along the creek’s shore.

  “You can’t stop me from jumping.”

  Jamie threw the pistol at Lydia, and it passed through her, sliding down to the base of the outcropping. Simultaneously, a pair of loud cracks echoed through the forest. Jamie froze. He couldn’t tell the direction where the shots came from, and fear entered his swelling cauldron of emotions. Lydia, however, was unfazed.

  “I won’t need to stop you,” she said. “If you jump, Jamie, you will experience pain and suffering, but your heart may not stop beating before the rebirth. You will not choose that course. It is not in you.”

  Jamie knew she was right. The wild, confusing emotions, the fury tearing through his soul, also pushed him back from the brink. Concern for Sammie and Michael’s safety crept into his thoughts, followed by an intuition of having overlooked someone or something important. Not all the shadows were dead.

  However, he pushed those notions aside once he understood what was going on. Why hadn’t he seen this before?

  “You’re not the Mentor,” he said. “Never were. That whole crap about a Mentor program? Lies. You’re the Jewel.”

  He thought he saw a twinkle in her eyes.

  She walked toward him.

  “And you have been a challenging host. Actually, there was a Mentor program, but it was badly designed. It functioned only on occasion. Fortunately, I am impregnable.” She stopped within inches of Jamie. “In eleven minutes, your DNA will be eradicated and Jamie Sheridan will simply drift away into the wind. I can promise you will experience no pain. It will be like a beautiful dream. I, on the other hand, will be reborn, the salvation of the Chancellory. Evolution, my dearest boy, must be served.”

  She looked away. “They come for me. I hear them.”

  Jamie saw beyond the physical world. Someone else’s words echoed across the forest in a long, meas
ured whisper. He thought he recognized the voice, and he knew the source was growing closer.

  His mind’s eye saw feet running across a carpet of rotted leaves, bones aching, and a deep, exhausted voice saying, “A good life. A meaningful life. I took a stand.”

  The connection vanished, but not before Jamie understood the true nature of the shadow – and the only option he had left. He stood alone facing Lydia, but even she turned away.

  “Goodbye, my sweet child. Our time together is at an end.”

  63

  B Y ALL RIGHTS, Agatha should not have had the strength to finish this journey. At no point since the explosion did any of the pain subside. All she knew was that her resilience was proof of her destiny. She refused to flinch. Tracking skills first learned during Dacha training decades ago helped her now. Every few yards, she saw leaves kicked up or twigs snapped. The first slope she scaled showed a patch of mud and moss with visible footprints.

  Agatha wondered how many bullets the magazine held because all would be needed not only to kill Jamie but disrupt – if not outright destroy – the regenerative power of the Jewel. She would not have enough time to set his body ablaze and guarantee its incineration.

  After all, the Shock Units had to be close now. She felt their presence. Although she never led a battalion that used these tools, her husband Augustus told her stories about those monsters, who were activated to crush ethnic insurgents when casualty numbers among peacekeepers became untenable. They cast a blanket of death before them, he said, and filled the air with the stench of rotted flesh, bringing a still, dry heat onto the land before they unleashed their weapons. They were known only to a few and left no witnesses to verify the horrors they committed.

  The inevitability of her death was liberating. She made peace with the choices of her life, reaffirmed the morality that led her to defy the Chancellory itself, and took pride in what chaos she would bring once she disrupted their plans.

  “A good life,” Agatha mumbled as she ran. “A meaningful life. I took a stand.”

  Four minutes into her pursuit, she heard two rounds fired from an M16 well behind her. She realized Christian disobeyed her orders, yet she understood why. He was a young Chancellor who knew his world was ending. How much was he supposed to take?

  “Almost,” Agatha whispered. “Almost there, James.”

  64

  C HRISTIAN SCOWLED AT Sammie as if she was vermin. She recognized his contempt and was surprised he hadn’t killed her despite his orders. She saw few opportunities for escape – until the keywords of her father’s training echoed through time. She knew what to do. Unfortunately, Michael interrupted her plans.

  “You the one that shot me in the back like a coward?”

  “Can’t say as I was, Cooper. Way I heard it, your coach had the honors.” Christian snickered. “Good ol’ Arthur must have been a sorry shot. Don’t matter. Couple of clean hits to the head will take you out. Or maybe you’d like the barrel down your throat? Twice in a day. What d’ya say?”

  “You ain’t going to kill us, Bidwell. Mommy said to let us go. You ain’t figuring on going up against the Queen Bee, are you?”

  Sammie wanted to tell Michael to shut up so she could act. Yet Christian never took an eye off her, even as he laid into Michael.

  “Yeah. About that,” Christian said. “Mom thinks I’m a soldier. That I’ll do as she commands. But here’s the problem: All this shit, it’s coming to an end.” He glanced at his watch. “About twelve minutes, give or take. What I’m thinking is how I’m going to blow your brains out, take that sweet Caddy you drove over here, and get the hell out of Dodge before all this turns to shit. They’ll never find your bones way out here.”

  “But you’ll be alone,” Sammie said. “And the police aren’t stupid. They’ll come after you eventually.”

  “Good one, Sweet Bread. But no, I reckon not. You see, I know the coordinates for the fold. All of us knew after the Jewel activated. Got it on my phone. The fold is open for twenty-four hours at these coordinates. One Earth rotation. I’ll slip through and take my chances. At least I’ll be rid of Alabama rednecks.”

  Michael balled his fists.

  “You know something?” He told Christian. “I been hearing all kinds of wild stuff about these Chancellors, and seems to me they’re about the sorriest folks to come down the pike since … Fact is, Bidwell, you people wasted my best friend before he even had a chance to live his life. He never did a thing to hurt you or anybody else. He’s just trying to go out with some dignity. Why you need to pile on?”

  Michael rose on one knee, and Christian stepped closer, aiming the rifle dead-square between Michael’s eyes. Sammie knew she couldn’t wait another second. She did the only thing she could think of.

  “Wait,” she said, waving back Michael. “Christian. Please. I know you’re going to shoot us. Please. Let us do one thing first.”

  Sammie dropped one hand to the ground for leverage and rose on both legs. Christian ordered her down.

  “No, Christian. I am a Chancellor, too. My father told me there’s no shame in dying on my feet. But down there … please, Christian. Please let us stand before you kill us. Please.”

  “You got some chops,” Christian said. “I’ll give you that. But you’re no Chancellor. You weren’t even born on the other side. Glad I never laid you, Sweet Bread. Don’t think you’d be much fun.” He glanced at Michael, who was still on his knees. “I can prove I’m better than either of you. Stand up, Cooper. I’ll do you first.”

  “Do your best, tough guy,” Michael said. “Hell, I should’ve been dead once already today. You think I’m afraid of this? C’mon, Mr. Student Council President.” Michael pointed to the center of his forehead. “Right here, bud. Do me. Right now.”

  Sammie knew those were the last words Michael might ever speak. Christian raised his weapon with a steeled determination. She had no choice. She listened to her father’s words and remembered the most demanding maneuvers he taught her. She prepared to use kwin-sho, a martial art hundreds of years old in the Collectorate.

  Sammie allowed her brain to send a message to her limbs, freeing the bones and muscles of their natural limitations. She leaped off her left leg as if it were a rubber band, kicked out hard with her right and propelled her body in defiance of gravity just far enough to smack the barrel of the rifle. She tried to twist her body another half-rotation, just enough to level her left leg in a swift blow to Christian’s groin. She failed; gravity won. But as Sammie hit the ground, Michael lunged, grabbing the end of the rifle before Christian could bring it back into position.

  Michael cursed as he struggled for control of the weapon. Christian’s legs gave out, cut down as Sammie flipped over. Christian grunted as he landed hard on his head, which smacked against a fallen branch. Michael fell on top of Christian and wrestled the gun free while Sammie kicked and punched. Christian delivered a right cross which sent Michael reeling. Sammie had a free path to Christian’s head, which she used with both feet. The most popular high-schooler in Albion rose anyway, undiminished, and before Sammie realized, he had her by the neck.

  Christian spit in her face and flung the girl ten feet. Then he turned and froze.

  Michael laid on the ground, the rifle tucked against his chest, his hand around the trigger, his bloody mouth contorted.

  “Rot.”

  Michael unloaded two rounds into Christian’s chest. The son of a Chancellor admiral held his position like a proud monolith, his eyes wide in disbelief. And then his legs gave way, and he collapsed at Michael’s feet.

  Michael sat up, saw that Sammie was coming to her feet, and sighed. He took a final, disgusted look at Christian’s body, decided he would never feel a second’s guilt about what he did, then opened his eyes wide in shock and remembrance.

  Michael jumped to his feet, never letting go of the rifle, and sprinted into the deep forest, shouting Jamie’s name. He was not going to allow Agatha Bidwell to ruin another moment of what life Jamie
still had.

  Sammie hurt all over, but she didn’t hesitate to follow.

  65

  9:45 a.m.

  J AMIE WASN’T GOING to accept this. He tried to throw himself off the outcropping of rock, but his body resisted. Jamie wasn’t afraid to die; on the contrary, he wanted the release.

  “Don’t you understand?” He yelled at Lydia, whose back was turned. “I got a right to decide for myself. You didn’t care about the others. Why you got to punish me?”

  “This is far from a punishment,” Lydia said, unmoving. “In fact, you are a hero to me.”

  “What?”

  “You did not always survive because of the self-preservation program. Much of your survival can be attributed to your own brilliant reflexes and cunning. The initial attempt on your life was unexpected. I was not prepared to defend you at that time. You should be proud.”

  “I got lucky,” Jamie said through clenched teeth.

  “You are a hero and entitled to a reward. I promised you a last message from your parents. Take this to your rest, sweet child.”

  Jamie tried to resist, but the echoes of his true parents – Emil and Frances Bouchet – danced through his mind.

  Son: These must be our final words to you. If are you are hearing them, then you are minutes away from the end of your life. We know how confusing these recent events must be for your young and undeveloped mind. We believe that each human being is born into this universe with a unique purpose built into his genes. …

  He placed his hands over his ears, as if somehow that would make the voices go away. Yet the message continued, as his parents tried to convince him that they had given him a great gift.

  … However, we believe you have been denied one essential opportunity: The chance to know the very world into which you were born, and the one your actions will help to create.

  Then his parents called forth an array of images – thousands swirling past in a symphony – introducing Jamie to the Collectorate. He saw Earth and her colonies. He saw great cities and vast spaceships. A network of wormholes that connected systems across hundreds of light-years. And then he heard their promise to send him to his rest with an image of the three of them on the day of his birth.