Mom, do we have any other choice?
Olga looked hard at her son and called him by the name she had given him. Romeo, this thing could kill all of us. I want to help this man, but you have to understand that the parasite could be capable of infesting anyone in contact. God knows what it is. It may not even be of terrestrial origin. This could be an alien life-form. Theres no telling what it might do.
Oh, oh, help me, Big Bill moaned. Oh, help me. Oh, help me! he shrieked, then subsided in sobs.
Jobs said, Yago has that sword thing the Riders threw to Errol. May be better than a scalpel. Quicker, anyway. In and out fast.
Olga shook her head. Someone would have to sew up the arteries in his leg or hed just bleed to death. Someone would have to get in there and do that, with all the risk involved.
I can do that, a voice said.
Jobs was startled to see Violet Blake. He hadnt noticed her joining them.
My . . . my dad died from this, Miss Blake said, assuming that clarified her motive.
You could end up going the same way, Olga said harshly.
Ill hold him down, MoSteel volunteered.
We dont have any thread, Jobs pointed out. But we might be able to use optic cable to tie off the arteries.
Look, this is not the time or the place for self-sacrifice, Olga argued. That man is probably going to die anyway, no matter what.
Well have to get the sword from Yago, Jobs said. Ms. Gonzalez, that would be better coming from you. Being an adult. We just need to borrow it. And some more light from the fire.
Olga Gonzalez hesitated. I cant endanger all of us. I cant endanger my son.
Hey, danger is my middle name, MoSteel said, trying to josh her along.
Jobs could see she was hardening in her opposition. He knew what he felt and what he wanted to say, but putting it into words defeated him. He said, Ms. Gonzalez, this is . . . We are all thats left of the human race. We have to act like humans. Right?
We have to survive, Olga said with finality.
No, we dont, Violet Blake said. We dont have to survive, we have to be worthy of survival. I know youre a biologist and maybe you see survival in purely evolutionary terms, but weve evolved beyond being just another bunch of primates, havent we? Isnt human culture, human morality part of our evolution? Isnt it part of what defines us as a species? If we give that up and start behaving like savages and survive by being savages, have we saved human life or just devolved into some lesser species?
Jobs stared at her openmouthed. He was struck by intense jealousy, an out-of-place emotion, surely, but undeniable just the same. Hed have given anything to be able to speak that way. He noticed MoSteel grinning at him.
Maybe I should be reading more, Jobs muttered under his breath.
MoSteel took his mothers hand and held it gently. Mom, youve never been able to stop me from doing stupid, dangerous stuff that was just about me squeezing the A gland. Now Im trying to do whats right. Dont stop me now.
Okay, honey, she said quietly. Okay. Ill get the sword, or whatever it is.
When she was gone Jobs said, That was a pretty good speech, Miss Blake.
Thank you. She knelt beside Big Bill and used the lacy sleeve of her dress to mop sweat from his brow. Were going to try to help you, Mr. Weir.
The only response was a bellow of pain, a noise so loud that Violet jumped back.
Jobs saw the worm. Or one of the worms, if there were several. It was half out of one hole and digging its way back into untouched flesh. Like a dolphin going in and out of the waves.
Its fine to be noble, Jobs said to MoSteel, but if that thing gets me . . . dont let me live.
Dont think about it, Duck. The Reaper can smell fear. He laughed and patted Jobs on the back. You have to put your brain into some other place. Stay happy and the Reaper cant find you.
Despite himself Jobs laughed. You just make this stuff up to fit the occasion, dont you?
Pretty much.
So youre scared?
Migo, I am seriously scared.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN ILL COUNT TO TEN SO YOULL KNOW WHEN ITS HAPPENING.
Jobs heard heated words coming from the main camp. Burroways loud, grating tone. Wylson Lefkowitz-Blake sounding imperious, but less sure of herself than before. Olga demanding.
In a moment, though, Olga returned carrying the sword. For the first time Jobs looked closely at it. It was curved, almost a scythe. It was perhaps three feet long, very broad, the inside edge was ornate, decorated with cutouts and filigree. There was what might be writing all over the blade. The hilt was never meant for a human hand; it had a clumsy angle in the middle and was too short overall.
Heres our scalpel, Olga said dryly. The edge seems quite sharp. I suggest the cut be made about eight inches above the knee. That wont leave him much of a leg, but we have to remove all the affected portion of the limb. Theres no point doing this unless we do it right. She took a deep breath. I dont know that I have the strength to handle this thing, or the eye-hand coordination.
I can do it, Jobs said.
Olga nodded. Okay. Romeo? Take Mr. Weirs shoulders, hold him down, dont let him jerk free. Ill try to hold his other leg, Ill sit on it, I guess. Miss Blake, you stand ready with the thread. Jobs, you know what to do.
When MoSteel and his mother were in place, Violet Blake spoke to Big Bill. Mr. Weir, were going to amputate your leg and try to save you. Ill count to ten so youll know when its happening. She turned away and mouthed the words On three to Jobs.
He understood. Big Bill would think he had another seven seconds before he needed to panic or try to break free.
One . . . Violet said.
Jobs felt an urgent need to throw up. Later, he told himself. Throw up later.
Two . . .
Jobs raised the sword.
Three . . .
Jobs took careful aim and brought the sword down with all his might.
Jobs breathed.
MoSteel stood up and kicked the detached limb away.
Violet Blake moved in to begin suturing the wound. Then she began to scream. She leaped to her feet. She held her right hand out before her, screaming at it.
Jobs saw the worm as it drilled its way down into her index finger. MoSteel bounded across the prostrate man and grabbed Violets wrist. He closed his strong hand around her fingers, leaving only the index finger extended.
Jobs! he yelled.
Jobs swung the sword on pure reflex. The blade stopped less than an inch from MoSteels face.
MoSteel hauled Violet back and threw her violently into the grass. Jobs yanked Olga to her feet and dragged her away.
Big Bill cried piteously, quietly, Oh, god, oh, god, its still here. I can feel it. I can feel it, just before he lost consciousness.
Olga snatched a branch from the fire and blew out the flame leaving only an ember at the tip. She told her son, Hold her hand. Hold it still, and quickly pressed the coal-hot tip to the stump of Violet Blakes finger.
Violet screamed and fainted, and Jobs missed catching her. She slumped to the ground.
Back away, back away, Jobs yelled.
They dragged Violet with them, dragged her through the grass and stopped only when they were twenty yards from the hysterical, now-awake Bill Weir.
And then, from the main camp came a new sound, like nothing Jobs had ever heard, a collective moan, a cry of fear and disbelief.
Outlined against the fire a dark form seemed to float through the air. Human? No human moved like that.
And yet with growing dread Jobs realized that he recognized the form, knew what face he would see when at last the shape was close enough.
Billy Weir floated, moved without benefit of muscles, simply floated through the air. He still stared, blank, as though blind, still showed no expression on his vacant face.
He floated with his limbs all limp, with his head upraised, till he was above Big Bill.
Big Bill was shrieking now, shrieking like a lunatic thing, his voice no lo
nger human.
And it seemed to Jobs as though a shadow extended down from Billy Weir to his adoptive father. The shadow enveloped them both. For a heartbeat Big Bill was silent. And then Billy Weir screamed.
Jobs thought at first it was Big Bill again, but no, this voice was different, raw, hoarse, but at least an octave higher, a young voice screaming in pain.
Then silence.
Billy Weir sagged, fell to the ground.
Jobs ran back to him, ran and grabbed his nerveless arms and pulled him away, dragging him back from Big Bill.
He stopped, panting, shaking.
Big Bill was silent. And Jobs knew the man was dead.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN TENS ONLY A MAGIC NUMBER IF YOU GOT TEN FINGERS.
We have to get out of here, right now, Olga said. Those things could be capable of moving across the ground. Once theyre done with Mr. Weir . . .
Violet Blake heard the words but as if from far away. The pain in her hand was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She would not have believed that a single finger could possibly cause so much agony.
She held her wounded hand with her free hand, using tattered, decaying bits of her dress as a bandage. The blood wouldnt stop. But there was no way to tie a tourniquet, the finger had been lopped off right at the base.
She would have liked to try and sew up whatever vein was producing the endless flow of blood, but she knew she didnt have the nerve for that. The cauterization had been only partly successful.
There was no one to help her. They had dragged the once more prostrate Billy Weir back toward the fire, but theyd been stopped by a solid front presented by Yago, D-Caf, Anamull, Burroway, and the psychiatrist, T.R.
Wylson says youre quarantined, Yago said. The worms could be in you.
Violet wanted to scream at him. But the truth was, her mother and the others had been right, the fearful ones, the safe ones, theyd been right and she and her idealistic compatriots had been dangerously wrong. And now even her own mother believed she was contagious.
The point is we all have to get out of this area, Olga said through gritted teeth.
Suddenly you discover prudence, Burroway drawled. A little late, I should say.
Olga erupted. Were not asking to mingle with you people, were saying, move. Move! Move now! You want to play gotcha? Do it later.
That seemed to get through. It got through to Violet. She could swear she felt the worms crawling up her legs. She had seen the one in her finger. She had seen it and felt it and known the terror and the pain of it.
Burroway, having gotten off his snide remark, seemed unsure how to proceed. It was Violets mother who made the call. Okay, we move out. We follow the river.
We should go back to the ship, Jobs said. There are more Wakers there.
And maybe more worms, Burroway argued.
We cant just go off and disappear and leave those people, Jobs argued. Not to mention the ship. Theres a lot of useful things there still. We need tools. We need to make weapons. We need to figure out what happened to all those people who just disappeared. And we have to be there to help the Wakers.
Violet sensed a desperation in Jobss voice. Of course: He was a techie, leaving the only technology in sight to head out into the wild.
Forget them, Yago snapped. Or else you go back, Jobs. You want to be Joe Responsible, you go. But leave the sword with us.
Olga put her hand on Jobss shoulder. Theyre right: We have to get out of this area. We know nothing about these worms. We dont know how they move, how they reproduce. They could be on the ship. They could be all around us soon. We dont know if these are even true parasites: They could be predators. They could hunt us.
Violet let loose a small sob that went unnoticed. There was a battle in her mind between pain and fear, and in that battle fellow-feeling, compassion, concern were all just minor players. She wanted to run away. And more, she wanted to be somewhere else. Back in the world, back on Earth, back in a place where there were doctors and the smell of disinfectant and bright, clean stainless steel gleaming under fluorescent lights.
Suddenly she felt weak. Her knees buckled. She caught herself, terrified of letting any part of her touch the dark ground that in her imagination teemed with the killer worms.
MoSteel was at her side in a flash. He caught her around the waist, very chastely, and held her up.
Strap it up, Miss B., I know it hurts. With pain and all you have to kind of ride right into it. Dont fight it, dont try and look away. You go right straight into the pain. Eat it up, make it yours.
Violet blinked, not understanding the words, but appreciating the tone and the sense that someone was helping her.
MoSteel stood close, put his face right into her field of vision. Dont run from pain. You have to be like,Bring it on. Show me what you got.
Violet nodded. Defiance, is that what he meant? She felt a little stronger and MoSteel, evidently sensing this, let her go.
Jobs yelled across the distance to his little brother, telling him to be good and careful and listen to 2Face and do whatever she said.
It was an interesting note, Violet thought. Jobs trusted 2Face to watch over his brother. Not one of the adults.
The group, two groups, actually, were moving now. The bulk of Wakers carrying whatever branches they could rescue from the fire. A shifting mass of fireflies in the darkness.
Violets group followed at a distance. She noticed that Jobs had retained the alien weapon. And they had their own burning brands that cast almost no meaningful light and indeed seemed only to deepen the impenetrable blackness.
They marched through the knee-high grass, fugitives again, running again. Leaving behind the shuttle, their only physical connection with the world, with their world.
Jobs and MoSteel were carrying Billy Weir by his hands and legs, like a sack of grain.
Violet wondered whether it had been a dream, an illusion. The sight of the boy floating in the air, rising above his doomed father, a black energy flowing from the boy to the man. Big Bills sudden silence. Billy Weirs anguished cry.
The nights could be twenty hours long, Jobs was saying. We dont know when the sun will come up. Or if it will come up. Or if there is a sun.
The main group was pulling ahead. They were unencumbered by the need to carry anyone. They had more light.
What are we doing? Violet wondered. She was surprised to hear her own voice. She hadnt meant to speak.
Were running away, MoSteel said cheerfully. We are hightailing it. We are preboarding. Click on the X.
No. I mean, what are we doing? Violet repeated. What are we going to do? In this place, this planet? Those Riders, the worms, someone taking the bodies, someone taking the eight people who might have been alive. All we do is react.
Your mother seems to have a plan, Olga muttered.
Violet doubted that but didnt say anything. She doubted anyone had a real idea of what they were doing. And her entire hand hurt. And she was in no mood to just run and be terrified and be shoved this way and that.
We need to figure it out, Jobs said.
It took Violet a while to realize he was reacting, belatedly, to what she had said.
Figure what out?
Were getting jerked around, Jobs said. We fly for five-hundred years, end up here, and all thats happening is were getting jerked around.
You assume theres some consciousness behind all of this? Olga said. That may be a mistake. People look at nature and assume there is intentionality. They used to think the sun was carried through the sky by a god in a flying chariot. Order does not necessarily imply conscious design.
Isnt that what you used to tell your students? MoSteel teased his mother.
She laughed, a melancholy sound, but welcome in the darkness. Straight out of my intro to biology class at Cal State Monterey. Then, in a more somber voice, All a trillion miles away.
You may be right, Ms. Gonzalez, Jobs said.
But you dont think so? When Jobs didnt answer, she said
, Me, neither.
The eight disappeared, Jobs said without explanation. Ten percent of the Eighty.
A message? Olga wondered.
I need to rest, Jobs said. He and MoSteel knelt to gently deposit Billy Weir on the ground. Jobs shook his arms, trying to get the cramps out.
Its a base-ten message, MoSteel said. I mean, ten percent, right? If someones picked ten percent as some magic number, why is that? Tens only a magic number if you got ten fingers. Otherwise, why not six or two or twenty-nine?
Im in base nine now, Violet snapped. Then, the absurdity of it struck her and she laughed.
Maybe its intentional. Maybe its partly intentional, partly accidental, coincidence, Olga mused.
Violet said, If youre all right, then someone wants us away from the shuttle. They took the bodies away because they figured out that we were tied to them. They took the eight, the ten percent, that was to say, Follow us. Follow us away from the shuttle.
And leave the other five Wakers behind? MoSteel wondered.
Violet shrugged. Maybe they didnt expect us to leave so soon. Maybe they didnt know wed panic and run.
Jobs grunted and knelt down to pick up Billy Weirs feet again. I guess we sent a lousy message, then: Push us and we run away.
Violet could see that the main group, marked only by the ever-smaller points of light from their torches, was pulling steadily away.
By daybreak, if day ever did break, they might be miles away.
Her finger hurt. Well, what was left of it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH US?
Billy Weir knew he was being carried. He felt as if he was flying. Skimming low like a jet coming in under the radar. Fast. Moving so fast, no time to even look, no time to really see. Just a blur of darkened colors.
He felt hands wrapped around his ankles, hands around his wrists, he felt the strain of his weight. From time to time he heard the buzz of talk, and when he tried very hard he could pick out a word here or there, no context, just words. And he couldnt even be sure of those.
The sky was different. He could see the sky. They were carrying him faceup and he could see the sky. Not a sky. No, not a real sky, that was obvious. He could see what were supposed to be stars, what was supposed to be a moon, but of course they were no such thing. And beyond the illusion? Could he force his mind through the illusion, see what was real?
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