One afternoon, Ayers noticed something on one of the archived surveillance tapes. He called Kyle up from the kitchen area and after he watched the grainy footage three times, Kyle yelled for Allaire. “I think we got it.”
Allaire quickly came downstairs to the tech platform and joined them. “When? Where are they?”
“I saw them enter the factory in 2016,” Kyle answered. “But, my father, he was young. About my age.”
Allaire looked like she was trying to work out the logic in her mind. “Ayers probably wanted to get to Sillow before you ever told him about time weaving.”
Kyle considered what Allaire had said. The first time he ever went through a silk blot was to go visit Sillow in Flemming in 1998, when Kyle asked him to intervene in the bus crash sixteen years later. Kyle had gone back to a time before his own birth to make sure he didn’t see a younger version of himself, which Kyle knew now would have disastrous results.
But, before 1998, Sillow didn’t know anything about time weaving, or the bus crash. He looked young enough in the footage that he might not even know Kyle’s mother yet. And, Kyle knew, this was a period of Sillow’s life where he was still “playing the angles”—living in the margins of the law. It made sense that this was the version of Sillow who Ayers would be most able to convince to follow him.
Kyle went downstairs and started packing a bag—a few bottles of water for the trip through the tunnel, and some energy bars with expiration dates in 2055. It was time to go now. For a brief moment, he looked around. He’d needed this time here. He felt invested in the Seres’ home base now. After all, the Silo was as much of a home as he might ever expect to have.
Young Ayers stood in the kitchen, juggling three rubber knives in front of him, laser focused on the task.
“Is there any party trick you can’t do?” Allaire asked him, swiping one of the knives out of the air.
“What’s a party like?” Ayers asked.
Allaire just rolled her eyes. “Like I would know . . . Grab some food and water. Let’s go.”
“Mr. Kyle, what are you going to do to him?” Young Ayers asked.
Kyle pulled out a silk blot. He wanted to be honest with the kid, but he just didn’t know enough to say anything confidently. None of them understood what nevering really meant. “We need to get my father away from Ayers,” Kyle said. “That’s as far as my plan goes for now.”
CHAPTER 7
November 30, 2016
* * *
Forty-four years earlier
They rushed through the tunnel and reached the rung labeled 2016, exiting the silk blot on the same day Kyle had seen on the surveillance video. The tunnel was louder than normal again, this time with a distant clanging sound at their backs during the entire journey.
“I’m kind of jealous that you always come out of the tunnel on the day you need to,” Allaire said to Kyle as the three of them walked from the future site of the Silo to the factory. “I’ve had to wait around for a few months sometimes, or go in and out of the tunnel, over and over again, hoping I got closer.”
“You, my dear, are not a Sere,” Kyle said with a smile.
As they walked, Young Ayers went to town on his Rubik’s Cube, twisting and turning so much it seemed impossible that there was a real method to what he was doing. But, by the time they reached the factory building, he’d nearly turned a jumbled cube into a finished puzzle.
As they approached the entrance to the building, Kyle glanced at Allaire and they shared a nervous look.
“He should wait out here,” she said, gesturing toward the boy. She mimicked a head exploding with her hands. “In case the other Ayers is up there.”
“But they’ve been together before,” Kyle said. “In the same apartment.”
“He always blindfolded me when we were in the same place,” Young Ayers answered without looking up from his Rubik’s Cube. “And I was never allowed out of my room when he was around . . . That’s how he kept me safe.”
“Alright then,” Kyle answered. “You’re gonna stay outside.”
“When we get up there,” Allaire started, “you get your father out of there and into your silk blot. I’ll keep Ayers occupied.”
Kyle shook his head. “We don’t know what nevering’s done to him, though. He could be stronger now. He could kill you. We need to face him together. Give ourselves the best chance.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Allaire said. “I can take care of myself. I’ve got a blot, so I’ll meet you back at the Silo in 2060. Same day we just left.”
“No,” Kyle said. “What if something goes wrong? What if . . . I don’t know . . . the timestream gets messed up and there is no 2060 anymore? No, we can’t split up. We both get out of there, or neither of us do.”
Allaire shook her head at him. “You need to own this.”
“Own what?” he asked.
“That you’re the special one,” she answered. “That your life matters more than mine—”
“Allaire . . . That’s not—” Kyle said.
“Listen,” she said. “I helped the Seres keep their precious bloodline going when most of them didn’t give two shits about me. Now, the man I love is a Sere, and I need you to let me do what I’ve always done: protect the bloodline.”
“Bullshit. We need to get in there,” Kyle said. “And we don’t get back into that silk blot until you, me, the kid, and my father go in together.”
With that exchange still hanging in the air, they were off, while Young Ayers waited behind two dumpsters in the alley next to the factory.
Allaire and Kyle took the stairs up to the fifth floor of the factory and stood for a second catching their breath just outside a heavy metal door to the side of the elevator bank.
Kyle put his ear to the door, but it was too thick to hear anything. “What do you think they’re doing in there?” he whispered.
Allaire shrugged and pulled her blade out of its holster. “Ready to find out?”
Kyle nodded, pulling Allaire’s spare karambit from his pocket. He wondered whether there was any point. If Ayers really couldn’t be killed, they’d have to find a different solution. Still, it felt better to hold a weapon.
Kyle turned the knob and quietly opened the door. They tiptoed through the elevator bank and peeked around a wall. They had a clear view but were still out of sight.
They saw two hospital beds set up under bright lights. Ayers sat on the side of one of the beds, his arm hooked up to an IV. Kyle could see his eyes darting all over the place, even as he sat completely still and quiet. In the other bed, Kyle saw a man laying flat on his back, also attached to an IV, with an anesthesia mask over his face. He assumed this was Sillow. Yalé wore medical scrubs and a surgical mask, and stood over Sillow, doing something to his arm. Kyle wasn’t close enough to see exactly what was happening.
Yalé’s intentions had always been a mystery to Kyle, but ever since he sent his assistant, Samyra, to try to kill Kyle and Allaire, he was aware that Yalé was not an ally to them.
“We have to get in there,” Kyle whispered. He wondered if the Seres would even need Sillow after whatever procedure allowed Ayers to never. What if they discarded him like they’d been so willing to discard other people? Kyle wondered.
They stayed low and managed to make it most of the way into the room before Ayers saw them. “Uncle,” he said weakly. “Uncle!”
Yalé didn’t even look up from working on Sillow’s arm. “This was inevitable, Ayers. You knew that.”
Ayers looked at them and slid off the hospital bed to his feet. He looked wobbly.
“Ayers, sit please,” Yalé said. “The anesthetic hasn’t worn off yet . . . ”
Kyle saw an uneasy look in Ayers’s eyes for the first time. He looked at Allaire and froze.
Yalé looked at Kyle and Allaire now. “I’ll be with you in a moment. I’m just finishing stitching up your father, Kyle.”
Ayers just stood there, looking uneasy and glassy-eyed. “I need to go.�
��
“You have no reason to rush,” Yalé said to him, calm as ever.
Allaire started toward Ayers with fire in her eyes. She raised her karambit in the air. Ayers stumbled as he moved backward on the tile floor, still unsteady on his feet.
Yalé pulled his surgical mask down and held his hand up, stepping into Allaire’s path with an irritated look on his face. “Please, stop this nonsense.”
Allaire paused for a moment, then raised her arm to push Yalé out of the way.
Yalé gently pushed her back, keeping his hand up, signaling her to stay back for a moment. He picked up a scalpel from the metal tray next to Sillow’s hospital bed and turned toward Ayers. Just as a look of shock registered on Ayers’s face, Yalé began stabbing Ayers over and over. There was no passion in the overhand strikes, just a business-like determination and enough effort to pierce the skin a least an inch each time. Yalé then plunged the scalpel into Ayers’s gut several times. Each time Ayers reflexively jumped back, Yalé grabbed him by the shirt and moved him closer. “Stand still, please.”
Then, Yalé poked three holes into Ayers’s neck, including one directly into his jugular vein.
The attack was so brutal that Kyle couldn’t help but cringe. For good measure, Yalé finished with two more overhand strikes, gouging Ayers directly in his eyes before roughly pulling out the scalpel.
Other than a stunned look, Ayers stood unfazed during the entire thing. There was no blood. He didn’t seem to be in any pain. Yalé tossed the scalpel back onto the tray and lifted his surgical mask over his face again, turning back to Sillow, still asleep in the hospital bed. “Like I said, there’s no rush Ayers. They can’t hurt you.” Yalé made a point of looking Allaire straight in the eyes for a few seconds before going back to work on Sillow.
“Why are you doing this, Yalé?” Allaire called out to him.
Yalé ignored her. As Kyle stepped closer, he could see that Yalé was stitching together a three- to four-inch gash in Sillow’s forearm. There were silkworms crawling on the wound and intermingling themselves in the thread. Kyle moved even closer and saw that Yalé was even stitching some silkworms inside of the skin as he closed it up.
Ayers touched some of the places where Yalé had cut him and smiled. Kyle watched as the holes quickly closed up. As they healed, each hole had a slight shine to it—the same cloudy shimmer as a silk blot. Ayers held his hand out to Allaire, offering a handshake. “Wanna be friends?”
Allaire looked at him with a combination of fire and devastation. “Fuck you.”
Ayers pointed at her and laughed. “You’ve got no sense of humor. You never have . . . But seriously, I hope you can find something else to do with your life now, instead of chasing me around like a stalker.”
Allaire walked a little closer to Ayers, but Kyle could see she was keeping her distance. No sense getting close enough to him that he could try to kill her. Even though he still looked subdued by the anesthetic, he had gotten spryer in just the few minutes they’d been there.
“I’m going to lock you up somewhere for the rest of eternity,” Allaire said. “And every time I come to see you, I’m just gonna laugh, and you’re going to beg me to figure out a way to undo all of this so you can just fucking die. That’s a promise.”
“If I want to die,” Ayers said, “that’ll be my decision . . . ”
Kyle wondered what Ayers meant by that, since Yalé had just shown them that Ayers was now completely impervious to being hurt or killed.
“Kyle,” Ayers said. “Please talk some sense into her. I bear no grudges. We part ways now, and you don’t have to look over your shoulders or anything. You have my word . . . I may have won, but I’m not pushing my luck. I want to leave well enough alone and I want peace.”
“You really want peace?” Kyle said. “Then prove it, and come with us.”
Ayers rolled his eyes. He looked over at Yalé now. “Uncle, how much longer until this guy’s ready to go?”
Yalé didn’t look up from his stitching work on Sillow’s arm. “Just go, Ayers. You don’t need him anymore.”
“I don’t need him,” Ayers said. “But I want him. It’s lonely in the tunnel and Uncle Sillow is quite a funny guy. Plus, he’s a Sere, just like you and me.”
“Not like you,” Yalé said, tying up Sillow’s final stitch. He pulled his gloves off and his mask down. “He’s a second son, like me. Tainted.”
Kyle remembered Allaire explaining to him that, in Sere tradition, there could not be a second heir to the Sere bloodline. “You’re not taking him anywhere, Ayers,” Kyle said.
“This guy on the table, he doesn’t even know you,” Ayers said. “He’s not your father yet.”
“But he will be,” Kyle said. “And you’re not touching him.”
Ayers smiled and shrugged. “Could’ve been you, Kyle. You were my first choice.”
“Like you said, you won,” Kyle answered. “You got what you wanted. Now, leave him out of this.”
“This isn’t just about me, Kyle,” Ayers said. “This is about them. This is about those like-minded individuals I find out there who just like to watch things go ‘boom!’ I think Sillow could’ve been one of those people before he got the run-of-the-mill wife, a kid, and that sad job changing bedpans at the hospital. This young Sillow’s got that fighting spirit I like.”
Kyle shook his head. He felt like he knew Sillow’s heart enough to know that could never happen.
“Think what you want,” Ayers said. “I’ve seen what the power of no consequences can do to someone’s moral compass. It’s a beautiful thing . . . See, Kyle, here’s what Allaire could never understand: I’m in on the joke. Here’s this ancient family, with this huge secret, and I’m born to be its caretaker. Except, I don’t want to play by someone else’s rules . . . And now, I don’t have to. We don’t need another Sere heir, because I’ll be around forever. As long as this world exists, at least. Is he ready yet, uncle?”
Yalé turned a few dials on the machine attached to the anesthesia mask, and pulled out Sillow’s IV. “He’ll be fine now, as long as he rests in the tunnel.”
Ayers grabbed a silk blot that was hanging on a chair between the two hospital beds and walked over to Sillow. Allaire grabbed Ayers from behind, trying to pull him backward, but he landed a hard elbow to the bridge of her nose to send her backward, stunned. Kyle came at Ayers now and punched him in the face. Unfazed, Ayers pushed him away and down to the ground with a hand to the chest.
Ayers stood over Kyle and shook his head. “You had your chance. Now stay the fuck away, or next time, I won’t leave you alive.”
By the time Kyle stood up, Ayers had stretched his silk blot almost completely over Sillow. Kyle could only watch as Sillow’s face—younger than Kyle had ever seen in the flesh—disappeared under the blot.
Ayers made a mock salute to Allaire and Kyle, and then pulled the silk blot toward himself. “Have a swell time watching the world burn, assholes. I’m out.”
CHAPTER 8
November 30, 2016
* * *
Moments later
“Let me get out of these scrubs before you kill me, please,” Yalé said to Kyle and Allaire.
Kyle looked at Allaire. He had a feeling her verdict would be in line with Yalé’s thinking.
“We’re not here to kill you,” Kyle said before Allaire could try to convince him otherwise.
“That’s genuinely surprising,” Yalé said, pulling off the scrubs covering a brown three-piece suit. “I’ve tried to kill you, and I couldn’t possibly think of a reason for you to keep me alive—at least not one that I could suggest with a straight face.”
Kyle sat on the edge of one of the hospital beds. He was exhausted after getting so little sleep over the past week. “I know Ayers doesn’t see it that way, but for me, it’s an honor to find out that I’m part of this tradition. I’m going to do better with this gift. Better than him . . . And better than you.”
Yalé looked irritated. “
Don’t compare yourself to him. You’re the son of a second son. I don’t think that’s ever happened inside of our bloodline before. You’re entitled to nothing.”
“No matter what you say, I’m not going to kill you, Yalé,” Kyle said. “You might not have always used this gift we have for the right reasons, but I intend to.”
“What gives you the right to question me?” Yalé asked, his usual calm starting to break.
Allaire took a deep breath and looked at Kyle. “You heard him admit he tried to kill us, right?”
Kyle nodded. “We’re not—”
“Okay,” Allaire said. “Okay . . . ”
Yalé shook his head, and just stood there, looking irritated.
“I’m honored to be a Sere,” Kyle said. “Even if you and I don’t see eye to eye.”
“You don’t understand, son of a second son. You might have Sere blood, but you don’t know what that really means. She doesn’t either,” he said, pointing dismissively at Allaire. “This? All of this? It’s not a gift. It’s a curse.”
“What does that mean, Yalé?” Kyle said.
Yalé shook his head. “It means that we’re holding the keys to the end of the world, and it’s only a matter of time until someone drives us right off that cliff. We watch that day come closer and closer, and yet generation after generation, we make the same mistakes. We all learn, sooner or later, that things are better off when we stay out of the tunnel. But, no one’s been able to resist the temptation that comes with the ability to time weave, and no one will.”
“Why are you helping Ayers?” Kyle asked.
Yalé smiled and shook his head. “Because he’s the rightful Sere heir, and like you, I’m just a second son. Anything he does is better than the best thing I’ll ever do. Or you’ll ever do.”
Rebel Revealed Page 4
