Mary was waiting.
“Still looking for some exercise?”
“God, yes.”
The night crept by. Sam couldn’t sleep. He listened as the activity below gradually subsided and the house took on the stillness of slumber. But still he was awake.
He slid out of bed, got dressed, shrugged on the big coat and crept out to the hall, then up the ladder to the attic and out onto the roof. It was beyond cold, but the crisp air that filled his lungs felt good after the stifling staleness of the house. He sat down and pulled the coat tight around him.
Carolyn Bast had the box. The box that had been in the trunk of the car the night Nathan stole it. So how did she get it? The most likely answer was that Nathan tried to sell it to her. Was he really that stupid?
Sam was pretty sure that Bast wouldn’t have just paid up and let him go. But she might have. She was pretty pragmatic. For her it was about results, not petty quarrels.
But she had the box.
He lay back, and gazed at the dark sky before slowly drifting off to sleep.
“Rob, wait!”
It was Alma’s voice. Sam sat up and looked down at the front yard. Rob was about twenty feet from the front of the house. She ran to catch up.
Sam watched as they spoke earnestly. Alma glanced back at the house for a moment, before the two of them walked away into the night.
Great.
He sat for a while, then stood up, walked back across the roof and down the ladder. The house was quiet. He stopped in front of Mary’s room, then turned away and went downstairs as quietly as he could. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be alone again.
He stopped in the kitchen and ate a bit of soup that had been left on the stove, then fastened his coat, walked out of the front door and away. The old highway wasn’t far, curling out of the city along the bay, heading south. Sam had seen it from the ruined tower, though it took longer to reach on foot than he’d anticipated.
Once there, he kept to the side of the shattered road, alert for the tell-tale sounds of other people moving in the shadows, or the rough whine of an approaching engine, none of which would bode well. Within an hour he was clear of the city and strolling along the flat expanse of landfill that had once held homes with bay views, sprawling shopping malls, and flowering parks. All that had gone, presumably in the same quake that had leveled San Francisco, so that all that remained was wasteland, hardy wetland scrub, and the fetid smell of the poisoned water.
An hour later he was tired and his lanky stride had slowed, but he still reckoned he could put a few more miles in before forward motion became impossible. And at least he was doing something. Moving.
Walking.
There had been a time when he’d walked everywhere. Those first few years on his own he must’ve trekked hundred of miles. But he’d had the car for a long time and forgotten how long it took to get anywhere on foot. The thought of Nathan’s theft brought his anger surging back and gave him a fresh leash of energy, though even that couldn’t sustain him for long.
Another couple of hours passed and the flat landfill changed to slightly rolling hills. He left the freeway briefly and made his way to the skeletal remains of a small town, optimistic of shelter. But the buildings were little more than crumbled walls or teetering frames, so he plodded back to the ribbon of road and carried on.
How many miles was it to Century City anyway? He didn’t know California well and had been drugged for the trip from Arizona. A hundred miles? Two hundred? Far enough for the climate to change pretty dramatically. Three hundred? He wondered how long it would take to walk three hundred miles.
As he walked, he thought about the look on the old monk’s face as he died on the street in Century City all those weeks ago. The expression of horror, the abject sense of failure. All apparently triggered by nothing more than the color of Sam’s eyes.
It had seemed odd then, but it was clear now.
Thirteen.
Thirteen.
That’s how many they’d made. Thirteen. Sam’s twin had died. Seven were locked up in the basement of Hermes Industries Research. That left five.
Somewhere out there were four more boys with one blue and one green eye. Maybe some were dead. Maybe they were all dead. But he couldn’t really take that chance.
Thirteen.
The number repeated in his exhausted mind until it became a meaningless sequence of sounds. He really needed somewhere to sleep.
He’d just about decided that he’d have to settle for the shelter of a bit of rubble, or dig a small trench out of sight of the road, when he saw it. The unmistakable silhouette of a building. A building with walls.
He walked faster and discovered that it was an old gas station, its pumps, doors and contents long since scavenged, but its walls and ceiling still sound. He crossed the old forecourt, pausing over the tank lids, stamping, and listening for the tell-tale tone that would indicate there was still some gas at the bottom.
He sighed and lumbered into the building. Old habits died hard. What was gas to him now?
The garage and main section were too open to feel safe, but there was a small room in the back that had probably been a storeroom.
Sam sat down and closed his eyes.
Chapter 25
SAM WOKE SHIVERING, the damp morning fog permeating his body to the bones. He was lying on the floor, facing the back wall, and he was hungry. But it wasn’t the cold, the discomfort or the lack of food that was making his pulse race.
It was the sound of someone behind him sharpening a blade.
He rolled over, slowly.
“Hey, porangi.”
Alma was sitting cross-legged on the floor near the door, her knives spread out in front of her and a whetstone in her hand as she rhythmically ran it along the blade of the one she usually kept on her hip.
“Once is lust,” she said. “Twice starts to look like a relationship.”
He stared at her. What was she talking about?
“Mary. She said you were there when she went to sleep.”
Sam sat up and watched the almost hypnotic movement of her hands.
“Everything’s too complicated,” he muttered.
“That’s usually the way of it,” said Alma.
“How’d you find me?”
“I used my incredible tracking skills.”
“You drove down the highway until you found a building you thought I might be sleeping in.”
“Yeah. Why’d you take off?”
“It was time,” said Sam, shrugging. “I was only supposed to be there one night, and…uh…”
“—You didn’t want to get involved in our arguments.”
Sam smiled.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“Don’t blame you,” she said, sheathing the knife and gathering up the others. “I’m pretty sick of it myself. I told Rob he should jettison Phil ages ago. The guy’s a walking time bomb. Sooner or later he’ll kill Rob in his sleep…or something worse, if he can think of it.”
“Are they still at the house?”
“No. Headed north. Rob won the argument. He usually does. Bethany was disappointed, though.”
“Bethany?”
“We got her out last night. Rob was going to go on his own, if you can believe that. He promised she could say good bye to you.”
Sam wished he had waited instead of jumping to yet another stupid conclusion. It would’ve been good to see her again. To thank her, even though she wouldn’t understand why.
“Did she cry when you took her away?”
“A little. She’s okay, though. Phil was bitching about it when they were packing up, but that’s just him.”
She stood up and stashed most of the other knives in various pockets.
“Come on, on your feet. We’ve got to bail.”
“What?”
“It’s only a matter of time until Hermes head office sends someone to deal with Matheson’s mess. You don’t want to be anywhere near
this city when they get here.”
Sam followed her out to the forecourt. The lid was off one of the tanks.
“They’re empty,” he said.
“I know, but you’ve got to check, right?”
She stowed the remaining knives in her saddlebags and got on the Norton, but Sam hung back.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You go back. I’d rather travel alone.”
Alma stared at him, unmoved.
“Where are you headed?”
“Out of California. Back to the Wilds.”
For a moment he thought Alma would see the lie for what it was, but she just started the engine and nodded toward the back.
“It’ll take you forever, if you don’t get killed by some gang of morons first. Hop on. I’ll take you as far as Fresno. You should be able to hitch a ride from there.”
“You want me to ride on the back of that?”
“You have a better idea?”
She was right, of course, so Sam silently cursed the loss of the GTO yet again and climbed onto the pillion. Alma revved the engine a couple of times.
“Wait!”
“What now?” she asked.
“Could you take the razor blades out of your hair?”
“Oh. Right.”
She reached up, unbraided her hair, removed the strings of blades, then rolled her hair into a knot.
“How do you avoid cutting yourself when you do that?”
“Practice. Ready now?”
“I guess.”
“Okay. I’m going to take the highway south to Pacheco Pass, then east to Los Baños and down to Fresno from there. That okay?”
“Sure. I guess.”
She nodded once, then peeled out and along the old highway at a speed that Sam was fairly sure would result in them both becoming bloody smears in the event she hit an oil patch. He held his breath and tried not to look as she careened along the road, expertly avoiding the ubiquitous potholes and cracks as the old bike ate up the miles.
After about an hour they reached the turnoff for the pass and Alma slowed down slightly as the road became little more than a winding dirt track between the hills. Sam had to admit that it was beautiful countryside, with craggy outcroppings, spreading oak trees and rolling grassland. The greenness of it all was wonderful, as if everything was new again and anything was possible.
Perhaps even a blue sky.
Then all too soon the green hills were gone, replaced by dried scrub and dust, the landscape of California’s arid central valley. Alma pulled over to the side of the road near a marshy gully that was all that remained of a once-great reservoir.
“I thought you might need a break,” she said, loosing the knot in her hair and rebraiding it. “It’s going to get hot from here on out.”
Sam climbed off, walked to the edge of the gully and waited for his body to stop vibrating.
“That is the single worst way of traveling ever,” he said, as Alma joined him. “I think my teeth have all detached from my skull.”
“Wimp,” she said, smiling.
Sam smiled briefly and wandered away toward a small copse of trees on what had probably once been the shore of the reservoir. There was a light breeze that rustled the branches, but other than that, all was silent.
He could feel Alma’s gaze boring into the back of his head, but he didn’t turn around. He just enjoyed the stillness and the quiet.
“You’re not going back to the Wilds, are you?”
She was just behind him, moving silent as a cat as always.
“I can’t.”
“Why? She’s got the box, but it’s pretty useless without a locule, so all you need to do is vanish. Game over.”
Sam shook his head, picked up a rock and hurled it out into the gully. It landed with a muddy plop somewhere in the middle of a stand of bullrushes.
“That would be fine if I was the only locule.”
“Maybe you are.”
“And maybe I’m not,” he said, turning around. “You saw the file. They made thirteen. One died, seven are locked up in HI’s basement. That leaves five. It could be that the other four are dead, or it could be that they’re alive. If even one of them is alive, you can bet that Bast will find him.”
“So you want to go back to Century City and…do what? Steal the box?”
Sam smiled.
“You do!” Alma looked at him like he was insane. “You want to steal the box!”
“It’s the only way to be sure.”
Alma looked at the ground and fingered the handle of her knife in a thoughtful manner that Sam didn’t find at all encouraging.
“Okay,” she said. “How about if I steal it? There’s no reason for you to go, and I can just walk straight in.”
“I thought you’d burned your bridges.”
“No. I just needed a break. I told them it was some traditional Maori thing. Communing with nature and the gods. That kind of nonsense.”
“And what if it’s in her safe? Or locked up somewhere else?”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“No. That’s all. Just no.”
“Why?”
“Nobody is going to die for me. Not again.”
Alma put her hands on her hips and looked him up and down.
“Very noble,” she said. “I’ve known quite a few noble people.”
“I’m not—”
“All of them are dead.”
Sam rolled his eyes. Maybe it was lack of sleep, but he suddenly felt really irritated by this girl who was always so calm, so in control, so fucking capable.
“Well, that’s helpful,” he said. “And, y’know, this isn’t your fight. It’s mine. I mean, I appreciate the help and all. But if you just drop me off at Los Baños, I’ll be fine. You can go back to Rob and get on with whatever that relationship is. ”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he snapped, wishing that he hadn’t.
She looked at him for a moment, then off across the muddy wetlands.
“Fine,” she said, her voice quiet.
She strode back to the bike, kicked the stand away and started the engine. Sam hesitated. This wasn’t what he wanted. Why didn’t he ever think before he spoke?
On the other hand, maybe it was for the best. He knew his chances would be better with Alma at his side, but the most likely result was still failure, and if that was the case he’d prefer his last thought to be of Alma free and alive and scorching across the countryside on her wretched bike.
So he didn’t say anything. He just got onto the back and let her drive him to Los Baños.
Chapter 26
LOS BAÑOS HAD ONCE BEEN A thriving town, but like most of the other central valley settlements, its population had slowly withered away in successive waves of economic collapse and natural disaster. The loss of the great canals that had fed the once-fertile farmlands was the last straw, and now the place had shrunk to a few streets of houses, bars and businesses, all barely scraping by.
Alma drove into the center of town and stopped near a huge bronze statue of a guy on a horse surrounded by cows. Sam got off the bike. He wanted to apologize, but decided not to. It would be better if she went away angry.
Except she didn’t look angry. She didn’t even look like Alma. Not the Alma he’d come to know anyway. She just looked sad.
“Thanks,” he said.
She nodded, turned the bike around and started to ride out of town.
And that was when it happened.
A massive explosion that rocked every building in the settlement and sent a column of black smoke roiling into the sky. It seemed to come from a few streets away, and was followed by a cheer and the ugly sound of jeering.
Sam didn’t hesitate, he spun around and ran toward the source of the noise.
It was further away than it had seemed, down an alley and three blocks up the next street to a large open area on the edge of town. There was a truck towing an old trailer parked next to the remains of a campfi
re. It was the trailer that was on fire, a huge hole in one side. Sam guessed that the propane tank had exploded, but he didn’t have much time to take in the scene because a crowd of locals was gathered nearby, cheering on four men who were shoving a fifth between them and kicking him when he stumbled.
Sam recognized the victim immediately.
It was Vincent.
For a split second he considered leaving the Rover to his fate, but there was something evil about a mob, something inhuman that made it impossible to just stand by and do nothing. So instead of walking away, Sam pushed his way through the crowd, shoving people aside in his effort to get through in time.
“Stop!” he yelled, pulling the first assailant aside. “Stop!”
Vincent fell to his knees and looked up, blood pouring from a split lip and a broken nose.
“Sam!” he yelled, his voice hoarse and desperate. “She’s in the trailer!”
The first man came for Sam again, grabbing at his coat, but Sam turned and delivered a right cross straight to his jaw and the guy went down like a felled tree.
“Sam!” yelled Vincent again. “It’s Cherry! She’s in the trailer!”
The flames were pouring from every window of the old trailer and the heat was beginning to melt the flimsy window frames. Surely no one could be alive inside.
“Please!” begged Vincent, as another of the men dragged him up and punched him hard in the stomach, sending the Rover to his knees once more.
Sam turned the collar of his coat up, ducked his head and ran into the trailer. The heat was almost unbearable, and thick, acrid smoke clawed at his lungs. He held his breath and dropped down low, feeling his way inside.
Just as he thought it was pointless, he felt skin—an ankle! She was lying on the floor! He grabbed both legs and pulled her toward the door, then up onto his shoulder. He jumped down just in time to see the body of one of Vincent’s attackers fly past and crash into the side of a nearby dumpster. That could only mean one thing.
He jumped down and carried Cherry a safe distance away before laying her gently on the ground and feeling for a pulse. There wasn’t one. Another body zinged by as he began CPR, willing the girl to still be alive.
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