Rumi's Field (None So Blind Book 2)

by Timothy Scott Bennett

  And yet, as bad as it had been, as bad as it still was, it was not the Zombie Apocalypse people had feared for so long. At least not yet. The Raging Hordes did not wander far from home, the mass violence played out fairly swiftly, and for every moment of horror or loss there was a moment of compassion or love. And while much of that arose from what Keeley insisted was "the basic goodness of human beings," at least part of it was due to Linda Travis's inspired leadership, no matter what her detractors might claim. In her announcement just a couple of hours ago now, Linda, her Linda, her Cornfed, had mentioned "mistakes," but Keeley didn't buy it. Linda had acted impeccably throughout, doing her best with what she had, and doing much more than any of her detractors ever managed. Over and over, she had called her people to step into their "best selves," and over and over they had responded in kind, drawing on reserves of grace and resilience many had never dreamt they had. While most Americans had now lost their jobs, their homes, their cars, and their sense of what it all meant, and while most Americans had now lost someone they loved to disease, famine, cold, heat, or violence, they had not yet, as a people, lost their humanity.

  The path continued into a small grove of trees and Keeley sighed with relief. There were no leaves yet. It was anybody's guess which trees here had survived the winter and would see leaves again this spring. But the shade from the trunks and branches cut the sun's direct effects to something that felt almost pleasant. In the distance Chapin barked. Keeley turned to watch him approach. He'd apparently made his way down to the river, as his black and white coat was soaked. Chapin came to a stop in the midst of them and shook, sending three Secret Service agents into a backward scramble. Keeley laughed and Chapin barked again.

  "You guys up for a beer or three?" Keeley asked her escort as they brushed at the spatters of water and mud on their expensive suits.

  "Ma'am?" answered the senior agent with a raised eyebrow. The other two flashed brief, guilty smiles. Keeley smiled back. It was clear, without actually saying it out loud, that if Keeley somehow managed to lead them to a bar or tavern, they'd somehow manage to swallow something cold and wet, and it could hardly be their fault if all there was to drink had some alcohol in it. Keeley nodded decisively and turned back northward, motioning Chapin to heel. She frequented a place still open up on Child Street, tucked into the ground floor of one of the newer, so-called “sustainable,” mixed-use high-rises that had come to Augusta on the heels of the President's move. The place was dark and tiny, but the home-brew was plentiful and cold and Stills, bless his heart, would no doubt have some special treat squirreled away for her. Last week it had been a full package of Oreos. Oreos! Keeley grinned at the thought of it.

  Stepping out from under the trees, Keeley glanced up at the sky. The Grid was not visible during the day, of course, but she knew it was still in place, as it had been since before the Crash. She had no idea what that rat-bastard Spud was planning up there, but her gut told her that he was not to be trusted. Maybe he was on their side. Maybe not. Nobody had seen him for a couple of years now. But Keeley was not going to assume anything. If he was on her side, the least he could do was say so.

  The senior agent ranged out ahead of her and for a moment Keeley considered having one of the three take Chapin back home. But that was a stupid idea. Having promised the agents cold beer, it would be unfair to send one of them off on an extra long walk in this heat. Besides, Chapin loved Stills almost as much as she did. And there was always a bowl of relatively fresh water on the sidewalk in front of his place. She cut across Capitol Street, crossed a parking lot in the shade of an abandoned apartment building, turned left onto Child Street, and headed toward Greensward Commons.

  With two exceptions, the Commons was devoid of renters. The first exception was Stills' little pub, where they would soon quench their thirsts. The second was Augusta's last open franchise restaurant, a Burger Hut, which sold tiny cheeseburgers and “hut fries” and Cokes to those who needed a serving of nostalgia badly enough that they were willing to overlook the questionable provenance of its “don’t ask, don’t tell” ingredients. Burger Hut had survived the Crash by virtue of its government and military contracts. They were now one of the three major suppliers of foodstuffs to the shelters on the East Coast and across most of the South. That made them one of the major recipients of the fading productivity of the global-industrial food machine, as that machine - beset with extreme weather and changing climates; interruptions to power and fuel supplies; shortages, diseases, delays, and breakdowns – slowly and fitfully ground down to a halt. All of which meant that Burger Hut meals, though suspect in terms of healthfulness, were at least fairly consistent in taste and availability. Able to deliver, at least to some folks’ minds, on its advertised promise of “good food now,” the Capitol City Burger Hut was one of the busiest restaurants in town.

  Which was good for Stills, as the heavy traffic meant more customers for him. Which was then good for Keeley, because she was feeling so much stress from Linda's abduction that she thought she might scream. She needed a break. A short one, at least. A couple of beers. Perhaps a shot of something stronger, depending on what Stills had in stock. Maybe she'd get one of the agents to actually say something interesting about themselves, which was always fun. Some of those guys had seen much more of the outside world than she had. And just the chance to sit in the cool dark of the pub and put her feet up for a while…

  But then it was back to work. Those bastards, and she wished with all of heart she knew which bastards, had stolen her President right out from under her nose. She did not intend to let them get away with it. She had phone calls to make and emails to write and arms to twist and favors to call in. She had legislators to herd and the Cabinet to steer in an attempt to forge some major show of support for their President, and to hopefully force a breach in the wall of secrecy and silence that had been built around her. She'd go visit Stan at the State House and see what news he had. Together they would review and revise their tactics and strategies in their ongoing fight to regain free access to their Commander-in-Chief.

  And then, home. She made a mental note to find a peace offering for Mary on her way back. Maybe some bulbs for her garden. Easy enough to dig some up from one of the dozens of abandoned plots she would pass on her way.

  The thought of Mary brought heaviness to Keeley’s throat and heart. Mary was her love. Her salvation. Her companion. Her hope. Mary had taken up a space in her heart where Pooch had once dwelt. And Mary needed her, and that was a precious thing.

  Keeley’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of a distant shout. The agents around her sprang into formation, their assault rifles at the ready. Ahead, in front of the Burger Hut, a small crowd had formed. And there on the sidewalk lay a woman.

  1.7

  "You following?" asked Colonel Aidan McAfee, pushing through the door. He pulled his reading glasses from his jacket pocket as he walked across the underground lab.

  "I'm on it," said Paul DuPont, his eyes on his qputer display. He exhaled heavily.

  The Colonel grabbed an office chair and pulled it around to face the screen. He sat next to his Chief Tech and started to read.

  "It's the older one," said DuPont. “According to the login.”

  "The boy?"

  "No. The older girl. Emily." DuPont stared at McAfee for a moment, one eyebrow raised, then turned his attention back to the chat page. Words scrolled down the screen in front of them. DuPont reached out and, with a swipe of his hand in the air, increased the magnification so that the Colonel could more easily read. The Colonel grunted his appreciation.

  "Just pleasantries so far," said the Colonel.

  "Yep.”

  "Does the Pres really call them 'kiddoes'?"

  DuPont spoke without taking his eyes off the screen. "Pretty much from the beginning," he replied. "It's a casual term of affection used to dispel the Presidential aura and create a bond. Useful in such stepparent-child relationships as we have here." He turned and stared at th
e Colonel with a bored, blank expression, then returned to his computer.

  “Right,” said McAfee. He eyed his Chief Tech - a slight, cardigan-wearing, bookish type who appeared to be in his thirties - with a mixture of fearful respect and the desire to share his wisdom and experience. The Tech was a DuPont, after all, but he was also young and cocky. "You don't overuse it, do you?"

  DuPont glanced at the Colonel like one might regard a screaming child. "No, Sir," he said. He looked again at his screen.

  McAfee nodded toward DuPont’s qputer, one of new Tech-X models that only Family members owned. "So, didn't they already chat today?"

  "We anticipated a second attempt, given the televised announcement. Probably just congratulatory. We granted an exception to the rules on those grounds. And Dr. Conklin thought it would give us some useful feedback. This is the first chat with full AI, Sir," DuPont explained, glancing at the Colonel. He lifted his hands and held them in front of his face. "Look ma, no hands."

  McAfee watched the screen. "Chatty little thing, isn't she?"

  "The recognition software indicates that both the boy and the younger girl have also chimed in with greetings," said DuPont, pointing to the sidebar on the screen.

  The Colonel grunted his understanding. "Is the Presidential response time too quick?" he asked, gesturing toward the screen. "I mean... the back and forth is faster than I'd expected. She's not taking any time to think. Shouldn't -?"

  "You don't chat online, do you Sir?" asked the Chief Tech, a touch of impatience in his voice.

  McAfee cleared his throat. "No, uh... I haven't really. Much."

  DuPont nodded toward the screen. "This is how quickly it moves along," he said. "It's how most - " DuPont stopped for a moment and simply watched as the conversation flowed before him. "Hold on a second," he said.

  "What?" asked the Colonel, trying to keep up.

  "No," said DuPont, his voice almost a whisper. He glanced quickly at the Colonel before scrolling the conversation back up a bit with a wave of his hand. He read through a second time. "I... I can't believe it," he finally said.

  "What?" repeated McAfee. He focused on the screen. The kids were asking her about a mole.

  "Her responses!" said DuPont with exasperation, pushing his chair back and shaking his head in disbelief. "They're all over the place, Colonel. Look." He pointed at the screen. "Denial. Then confusion. Then two different explanations!" He reached over to a second screen and pulled up a headshot of the President, then opened a second window and scrolled to an image from the President's announcement earlier in the day. He studied the two faces side by side, then returned to the chatscreen. "Facial Modeling is gonna shit," he said, taking control of the interaction. He typed furiously for a moment, then pushed away his keyboard and stood. He looked down at the Colonel. "I told them it was too soon," he said, a thunderhead of frustration clouding his face. He hurried out the door.

  Colonel McAfee studied the screen, reading through the chat once more. Only slowly did he realize what had just happened.

  1.8

  "Can you save this, Ness?" asked Mary, setting the tray of food on the stainless steel countertop. The kitchen was hot and smelled of chocolate cake.

  Goodness Gracious Abernathy pulled her head out of the oven and grinned. "Did Ms. Keeley stand you up again, sweet pea?" she asked, brushing flour from her apron as she slammed the oven door. She crossed the room with arms open and wrapped Mary in her embrace. At four-feet-eleven and chicken-bones thin, it seemed as though Ness's hugs should feel like those of a child. But it was always Mary who felt comforted and engulfed. Ness's field was huge and hearty and full of good cheer. And the woman knew how to hug.

  Mary buried her nose in Ness's short, gray hair. "She never… showed up," whispered Mary, her voice on the edge of tears. "I got... scared."

  Ness pulled away to examine Mary's face. "Then you were right to come here, love. The kitchen's just the place for scared people. Always has been, always will be." The older woman - she called herself ancient but she looked about sixty - snatched up the tray and headed toward the refrigerator. With a quick efficiency of movement, she emptied the contents onto a lower shelf and closed the door. "It'll be here when you want it," Ness announced with a decisive nod. "You need to know that, in case the good Lord decides to take me away before your darling returns." Ness made her way to the sink, plunged her hands in the wash water, and started to scrub.

  Mary let her eyes lose focus and regarded Ness’s field. She saw no intimations of the older woman's imminent demise. “You’re not… going to die any time soon, Ness,” she said at last. “I feel confused when you say things like that.”

  Ness turned, saw Mary’s frail, hunched form, and sighed her empathy. “I’m sorry, sweet-pea,” she said, wiping at her face with wet fingers. “I think it's something my mother used to say and it got stuck in my brain. But I’m not really planning on going anywhere any time soon, s'far's I know. I’ll try to remember and keep my big mouth shut.”

  Mary started toward the oven to see what was baking, then stopped abruptly, as if she'd hit an invisible wall. “The kids!” she cried, glancing up at the ceiling. Mary turned and ran from the kitchen, leaving Ness without another word. Ness grabbed a towel to dry her hands and followed.

  Down the hallway Mary ran, through the double doors and the dining hall, into the grand foyer and toward the stairs. She took the steps two at a time, forgetting her dizziness, forgetting her last fall, forgetting the elevator that would have taken her up more safely. She rounded the landing and headed up to the third floor, no thought in her mind but that the kids were in danger. Danger!

  She pushed through the door and hurried toward the private rooms, past the door to her and Keeley's apartment, past Ness's door, past Ben's old room, and into the Family Suite. She headed straight to Emily's bedroom, knowing without knowing how that all three of the children were there. Emily's door was open and Mary dashed in. Iain, Emily, and Grace, sitting side by side in front of Emily's desktop computer, looked up in surprise as she slid to a halt before them.

  Mary's gut clenched with horror. There was something wrong. Something in the air around them. A darkness. A tendril. A reaching out. A grabbing. And in Emily's field, images of fire and pain and Grace screaming and Iain falling, falling. "You can't!" cried Mary. "You can not!" But the dizziness was already sweeping her away. She did not notice when Ness and Cole came running up behind her. And she did not feel a thing when her head hit the hardwood floor.

  1.9

  "Linda?" The voice was far away but distinct, riding above the background static like a boat on a choppy sea. The space around her was darkness.

  "Yes?" answered Linda. She thought it was her father, come to wake her for school. But why did he speak with a British accent? And why was it so dark? "Daddy?" she asked.

  "No doubt you will require a few moments to gather yourself, Madam," said the voice, drawing closer. "Please understand that this is normal, and that you have not been harmed."

  Linda tried to raise a hand to rub her eyes but found that she could not. She felt neither numb nor strapped down. There was simply no response from her body. The sensation was vaguely familiar. Something to do with space ships. She realized that she was not a schoolgirl but the President of the United States. Her last memory was of being strapped to a hospital bed by doctors in protective suits, with bright lights overhead.

  "Do you know who I am?" asked the voice after a moment.

  At the question, Linda knew that she did. A bolt of fear crackled through her veins. "The Fisherman," she said, her voice dry with disuse. It had been almost three years since she'd heard his voice, but this was that man. It was not just the accent. There was a confidence in that voice that demanded her attention. It was a voice that resonated with the surety of control.

  "I'm glad to finally meet you face to face, Madam President, though I'm not sure that particular phrase precisely captures the full reality of our situation here." The voice had moved
from her right side to her left, as though the Fisherman was walking around her. But she heard no footsteps and felt no air movement. She couldn't even tell if she was standing or lying down.

  "The connections between your mind and your body have been rerouted, Madam President," said the Fisherman. "You'll understand why soon enough. It will be much safer this way.

  "It was you..."

  "... who saved you, yes." interrupted the Fisherman. "And you can be happy I intervened, Madam President. You should otherwise be quite dead by now, I'm afraid, and no one the wiser." The voice had moved down near Linda's feet, telling her that she was either lying down or that she was now standing on the Fisherman's chest. She went with lying down as the correct answer.

  "Where am I?" she asked. She knew that information was key right now.

  "Well, that's the most exciting part of it!" replied the Fisherman. His voice trembled with laughter and surprise. "If you will permit me to restore your visuals..."

  The darkness around her began to melt away, filling her eyes with a swirling brightness, yellows and reds and browns and pinks and grays that spun and floated in front of her like dancers. Slowly the images resolved themselves to something she could understand. She was lying on her back in what appeared to be a glass coffin, her head tilted to the right. Before her stretched a desolate landscape, a desiccated plain of sand and dust and rocks and boulders. And in the far distance, a mountainous mesa rose up to the sky.