Twinmaker

by Williams, Sean

  She slung the pack over her shoulder, threw the empty mug and box into a bin, took one last look around her to make sure Dylan Linwood really wasn’t still following her, and set off.

  [27]

  * * *

  ONE HOUR LATER, after a lonely walk under stars as crisp and cool as a cosmic chandelier, Clair strode up to the safe house door and waited. She didn’t need to knock. She knew Ray or someone else would be watching.

  The door opened after thirty seconds. Gemma stepped out. The door closed behind her and clicked shut.

  “We didn’t expect to see you again,” Gemma said. Her face was unreadable in the darkness. There was no porch light.

  “I didn’t expect to see you, either.” Clair held the pistol at her side, not hidden but not aimed at anyone either. A bluff like Gemma’s had been. This time, Gemma appeared to be unarmed.

  “You should have told me,” Clair said.

  “About what?”

  “About Dylan Linwood.”

  Gemma looked surprised but unrepentant. “You’ve seen him, then?”

  “He tried to kill me.”

  Gemma nodded and said, “We couldn’t tell you about that. You wouldn’t have believed us.”

  “How long have you known he was a traitor? And how on earth did he survive that explosion?”

  That earned her a long, measuring stare.

  “You’d better come inside. Your boyfriend is making my life a living hell.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said again.

  Gemma knocked on the door, a quick rat-a-tat, and it opened. Clair’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Ray looked pissed off. Clair didn’t care.

  “I’ll be out of touch for a bit,” Clair told “q.” She squeezed the pistol grip tightly, feeling as though she were leaping off a high dive. Gemma followed her into the house, too close for comfort, but no one tried to search or disarm her. No one said anything. All the menus in her night-darkened lenses were dead.

  She found Zep in the living room, sitting on the couch, with wrists and ankles secured by plastic ties. Jesse sat next to him, not tied but not exactly one with his captors, either. Big-Ears stood over them both with his arms folded. Arabelle, in her wheelchair, blocked the door to the back of the house, long-fingered hands resting loosely in her lap.

  “Clair!” Zep tried to get up, but his bindings prevented him. Seeping blood had stained the bandage around his thigh bright red. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come back.”

  “I didn’t have to,” she said. “I’m here of my own free will, and I’m not making any demands, either. That counts for something, doesn’t it?” She said that to the woman in the wheelchair.

  “Perhaps it does,” said Arabelle.

  “Why are you here?” asked Jesse, looking up at her with eyes wide through his thick hair.

  “I haven’t worked everything out, but I know one thing,” she said, figuring there was nothing to be gained by prevaricating. “Neither VIA nor the peacekeepers blew up your house. It was these guys. That’s why Gemma appeared so soon after the explosion. That’s why she was surprised to see you. Your father was the target, and we were almost collateral damage.”

  Jesse looked at Gemma and Arabelle in turn, then back at Clair. His expression was furious.

  “It’s not true,” he said to her. “Why are you lying to me? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

  “What Clair says is true, Jesse,” Arabelle said. “I’m sorry.”

  “When your father didn’t call in on schedule,” Gemma said, “we knew he’d been compromised, and we acted immediately to neutralize the threat.”

  “Compromised?” Jesse’s head swung back and forth. Clair wanted to grab him and make him be still. “You blew up our house!”

  “The charges were laid years ago,” said Ray. “I helped Dylan put them in place myself, but we never thought we’d need them.”

  “He would never have done anything to hurt you,” said Jesse, face turning pink. “You murdered him.”

  “If we were murderers,” said Arabelle, “you would already be dead.”

  Zep was nodding grimly. “Yeah, right. We’re witnesses. So why are you sitting around talking to us?”

  “They don’t know what to do with us,” said Clair.

  “That’s true,” said Arabelle. “We can’t let you go without exposing you to grave danger.”

  “She’s already run into him,” Gemma said.

  The members of WHOLE shifted uneasily.

  “Run into who?” asked Jesse.

  “Let’s talk about that later,” said Arabelle firmly. She was probably thinking the same thing as Clair. Was it better for Jesse to know that his father wasn’t the man he believed in or to remember a lie?

  “For now, why don’t you tell us what you want, Clair?” Arabelle said.

  This was it. Everything she had pondered in the long walk to the safe house came down to this moment. They were seven people lumped together in a way none of them would have chosen. But that was the way it was, and she had to work with it.

  “We need to leave,” Clair told them. “It’s not safe here.”

  Gemma shook her head. “The Faraday cage—”

  “Is part of the problem. When enough people disappear into a blank spot, you know something secret’s going on in there. Remember the phone call before? That was from someone who worked it out. Someone I know. If she can do it, so can the bad guys.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Ray. “You’re trying to flush us into the open.”

  “Really?” she said. “Well, feel free to sit here and see what happens. I’m leaving now, and I’m taking Zep with me. Come along if you want. It’s your decision.”

  “You want them to come with us now?” asked Zep in disbelief. His wounded leg was jiggling as though his muscular tension simply couldn’t be contained.

  “Yes,” she said. “Improvement has to be more than just sucking in people like Libby, or else why would someone kill to keep it a secret? I want to know everything. These guys can help. No one else can.”

  “Peacekeepers—”

  “I tried calling them before.” She outlined what had happened to her in Maine, carefully avoiding naming Dylan Linwood to spare them getting mired down in Jesse’s protests again. “If it was just one crazy guy with a gun, maybe they could help, but we don’t really know what happened back there. He definitely talked to someone else. Maybe my call was intercepted; maybe the PKs set me up. Until we know exactly what we’re dealing with, we can’t risk talking to anyone.”

  Clair tried to radiate self-assurance, but the pistol was heavy in her hand, and she was afraid everyone could tell it was only for show. Who was she to tell a bunch of adults what to do?

  “She’s right,” said Arabelle, easing her wheelchair through the doorway. “You need us, and we need you. If you can bring your friend Libby around, Clair . . . if we can prove that she’s been altered illegally, particularly in the wake of that video stream . . . then that’s a big step forward.”

  “But we don’t have forever to get her on board,” said Gemma. “The clock is ticking.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Zep.

  “People affected by Improvement rarely live longer than a week.”

  Clair stared at her, struck to the pit of her stomach with a new fear.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Improvement doesn’t affect everyone, otherwise there’d be dead kids everywhere. Those who do show the symptoms last seven days, maybe eight. Never nine.”

  “What are the symptoms?”

  “Headache, erratic behavior . . . I’m guessing you already know, otherwise why would you be so worried about your friend?”

  “Shit,” said Zep, looking as aghast as Clair felt.

  Libby had used Improvement two days ago. How many days did that leave her? Five or six?

  “Cut the boy’s feet free,” said Arabelle. “Raymond, call and give the code to move out. Clai
r and the others will come with us.”

  Ray vanished into the hallway while Big-Ears sliced Zep’s ties with a pocket blade and helped him to his feet.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” said Jesse, red-faced and teary eyed. He was obviously struggling to take it all in. “You killed my father.”

  “Do you really want to stay here and take your chances with the PKs?” asked Gemma. “You’ll be guilty by association.”

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  “That doesn’t matter. You’re one of us now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell us where,” Clair said.

  “Escalon. We have a cache there. Once we’re away from here, we’ll have more options.”

  “Like what?” asked Clair.

  “I’ll tell you,” Gemma said, “if you tell me who your hacker friend is.”

  “Uh, that’s harder than you think.”

  “Well, the same goes for us.”

  Clair looked at Zep, who shrugged.

  “All right,” she said. “That far. Then we talk again.”

  “Agreed,” said Arabelle.

  “I haven’t agreed to anything,” said Jesse.

  “You’re not staying behind.” There was steel in the crippled woman’s voice. “I won’t let you.”

  “Why not?” he asked her, fists balling in frustration. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  The phone’s shrill ring cut the argument short. Ray called Clair’s name from the hallway in puzzlement.

  “It’s that friend of yours again. Says it’s urgent.”

  Clair squeezed past Arabelle and took the phone from him while everyone watched her. “Hello?”

  “Surveillance has changed in your vicinity,” said the voice of “q,” sounding faintly tinny.

  “What kind of change?”

  “All EITS drones within camera range have been detoured along alternate routes. Not only that, but crowd-sourcing allocations for the surrounding area have been reduced to zero, so the drones are flying on internal reckoning only.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that the Manteca Municipal Authority is effectively unmonitored for two blocks around you, and the blind spot is widening.”

  Clair bit her lip. “Someone’s up to something, and they don’t want to be seen doing it. Any sign of him?”

  “None, but I too am blinded by the lack of data. I can’t tell you anything until I can hack into a satellite or something.”

  “Okay. Thanks for letting us know. We’re heading out now.”

  “Be careful, Clair.”

  “I will.”

  [28]

  * * *

  CLAIR PUT THE handset back in its cradle and hurried back to the living room. Zep was waiting for her, looking

  rumpled and rubbing his chafed wrists, but at least he was free. Jesse had gone reluctantly with Gemma, Big-Ears, and Arabelle to the back of the house. Only Ray remained, back at his post by the front door.

  Zep limped across the room and took Clair into his arms.

  “My hero,” he said.

  “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Me too, frankly.”

  Her laugh was choked, but she told herself that was because he stank of stale sweat and tension. She leaned into him, grateful for his solidity and unafraid for once if anyone saw it. What happens behind a Faraday shield, she thought, stays behind a Faraday shield.

  “You haven’t hit on me once today,” she said.

  “I’m not the one with the gun in my pocket, in case you’d forgotten.”

  She laughed and held him more tightly still.

  “Don’t tell me you’re disappointed,” he said.

  “Can I be honest?” she said. “I’ve been chased around the world and shot at. My parents were threatened. Libby might have brain damage. You’re hurt. I can’t even think about anything else at the moment.”

  “Maybe when this is over—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Why not? I mean it.”

  He brushed an errant curl from her forehead. She kept her cheek pressed against his chest, suppressing a sudden gulp of emotion.

  “I just don’t get you, Zep. Why would you ever choose me over Libby?”

  “Are you really asking that?”

  She shrugged, not sure what she wanted him to say.

  “Libby could never do what you just did,” he said. “You faced up to a pack of terrorists and got them to do what you wanted. You know how to figure things out. You can handle yourself. And you know what’s right, too, or else we’d have had this conversation weeks ago.”

  She looked up at him, not sure she’d heard him correctly. “Really?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Hell yes. You’re fine as limes, girl. Too good for me, if you really want to know the truth. Look at how I sat there like a useless lump while you did all the negotiating.”

  “Don’t,” she said, not wanting to hear him put himself down.

  “See? You’re always saying that.”

  She pulled out of his arms, although doing so betrayed every muscle in her body.

  The phone shrilled once more, then went silent.

  “That’s the signal,” said Ray, joining them. “Come on.”

  They followed him up the hallway.

  “Just tell me,” said Zep, “who is this friend of yours who keeps on calling? None of your usual troop could hack their way out of a paper bag. Well, maybe Ronnie, but—”

  “Quiet,” said Gemma. She was peering through the curtains at the rear of the house.

  Big-Ears had his hand on the latch of the door that led out into the yard.

  “I’ll tell you later, Zep,” Clair whispered to him. Of the rest, she asked, “What are you waiting for?”

  “Our ride,” Gemma said.

  Clair couldn’t see anything remotely mobile past Gemma’s head. The yard was long and narrow. It was crowded with ornamental fruit trees and flower beds, creating an irregular canopy through which a redbrick path meandered. The path terminated in a gate. Beyond the gate was a lane of some kind—a relic of the original urban layout, back when there were roads for cars to drive on.

  The phone rang a second time, and Big-Ears opened the door.

  Now Clair could see it, after a fashion. There was something in the lane, hulking low and silent. Whatever it was, the starlight didn’t seem to touch it. It had edges but no visible sides, just an outline. It wasn’t even a silhouette. On the other side of the lane was a tree, and Clair could clearly see its trunk though the thing that stood between it and her.

  Big-Ears edged out into the yard, followed by Gemma. Ray indicated that Clair, Zep, and Jesse should go next, with him and Arabelle bringing up the rear. Clair lined up with the rest, glad that someone else was making the decisions. Jesse didn’t protest, perhaps feeling the same way.

  The air was fresh and lively, scented with the sea and late-flowering plants. The only sound was the whining of Arabelle’s chair and the rustling of leaves. It was so dark under the arbor that Clair could barely see Gemma’s back. Patches winked to life in her lenses, but she had more important things to concentrate on just then, such as putting one foot in front of the other and not tripping over the edge of a loose brick.

  The shots took her completely by surprise.

  The first dropped Big-Ears like something had reached up from the shadowy ground and pulled him down. One moment he was in the lead, waving with a cupped hand for them to hurry, the next he was gone.

  The second shot might have been an echo but for the way Gemma jerked. The bullet struck her right shoulder and buried deep, gifting her with all its considerable momentum. She spun 180 degrees to face Clair, fumbled for something at her waist, and then she, too, fell to the ground.

  Clair was already ducking into the shadows and raising the pistol she didn’t know how to use. People were shouting. She didn’t hear the words. Two more shots cracked the night, and this time she saw th
e muzzle flashes, bright-yellow flames that came and went faster than lightning. The shooter was on the roof of the safe house, aiming down along the yard. A bullet whizzed over her head; then Zep was on her, pushing her down, under cover.

  Ray was returning fire from her right. Clair rolled over under Zep’s protective weight, planted her elbows on the ground, and braced the pistol in both hands. She had seen plenty of movies. Aim and pull the trigger—what could be easier?

  Chances were, she told herself, that she wouldn’t hit anyone anyway. But she had to try before someone else was shot.

  More muzzle flashes from above. The shooter had moved. She adjusted her aim and pulled the trigger. The pistol boomed much louder than she had expected, and the kick was like catching a ball from a great height, hard on both her wrists. She fired a second time, and then red crosshairs appeared in her vision with an arrow pointing left. She shifted the pistol and the arrow shifted with it. When it was centered on the crosshairs, she fired again and kept firing until the magazine was exhausted and her hands had lost all feeling.

  Ringing silence fell. Ray darted out of the shadows and scrambled onto the fence and from there to the roof. No one fired at him. A spotlight flared behind her, casting the scene into crisp black-and-white relief.

  There was a body sprawled against the gutter; it had slid there and gotten stuck, leaving a red smear in its wake. Ray approached warily and shoved it with the sole of his boot.

  The body tumbled off the roof, hit the ground, and sprawled faceup in the glare. The shooter had been hit in the stomach and throat. His flesh was ripped and bruised.

  Did I do that? It seemed incredible to Clair. Out of panic and darkness had come this unexpected reality, sickening her to the stomach.

  There was worse to come. It was Dylan Linwood’s battered face that stared back at her, a single bloodred eye gaping like something from an Edgar Allan Poe story. She knew that it would haunt her dreams forever.

  The cry Jesse emitted was all pain and surprise. Even through Clair’s gunshot-deadened ears, she could hear the depths of his hurt. Ray dropped down next to the body and did his best to keep him away.