The Felix Chronicles: Tides of Winter

by R. T. Lowe

  Felix groaned. “If you’re a Sourceror, why wouldn’t you follow him? He’s the Chosen One. If you side with him, you’re one of the good guys. No wonder the Order’s such a circus.”

  “You know that means you’re officially the bad guy,” Allison said to him.

  “The bad guy,” Felix repeated. “I’m the bad guy.” Even though he knew The Warning wasn’t true, he found no pleasure in being the bad guy.

  “You’re Voldemort,” Allison added, and Felix caught a flicker of a smile on her lips, an indiscretion that surprised him.

  “I’d rather be Harry,” Felix replied, letting the words slip from his lips. He shouldn’t have said it, but he was tired, and even though beer didn’t affect him anymore, he felt like it was going to his head.

  Bill watched them, seemingly confused. “You’re joking about this? I just told you Lofton’s the Chosen One and you’re cracking jokes?” He scrutinized them in turn. “That’s not the reaction I was expecting.”

  Felix and Allison lowered their eyes, almost guiltily, like chattering kids reprimanded by the teacher.

  Bill looked back and forth between them, studying them, his eyes clouding with confusion. “I thought you’d, well, react a bit diff—”

  “It’s nothing,” Felix said, trying to come up with an excuse. Just yesterday they’d decided not to tell anyone The Warning was a sham, but now here they were painting themselves into a corner. “Inside joke?” he muttered weakly, realizing it came out like a question.

  “What’s going on?” Bill demanded. When no response came, his temper flared and he added angrily, “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Allison crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, observing Bill coolly. “I can’t help but think this is really ironic that I’m sitting here feeling bad about not being honest with you, when all you’ve ever done is lie to us. Seems like every day there’s a new one to add to the list. Felix asked you about what Tripoli told him—and you said you had no idea. That it was head games. Psychological warfare. You’ve lied to us so many times I’m not even sure you’ve ever been truthful.” She sighed. “I actually understand why you didn’t want Felix to know Lofton’s the Chosen One, but you still should’ve told him. He can handle it. But”—she glanced at Felix and gave him a shrug—“it doesn’t even matter anymore.”

  “Doesn’t matter?” Bill sputtered, startled. “Of course it mat—”

  “It’s a lie,” Allison interrupted. “A fabrication. The Warning isn’t a prophecy, it’s just a warning that we should never mess everything up so badly we have to choose between a fascist dictatorship or a society where individualism is so sacred we forget that our neighbors have rights too.”

  Bill’s mouth lowered for a moment. “Of course The Warning is real! If you’d read the Journal, you’d—”

  “Why didn’t Lofton kill Felix?” Allison countered, leaning over the table. “Why did he let him live? Why did he ask him to join him? Why?” She leveled her gaze at Bill and spoke slowly, as if daring him to look away. “If only the Belus can kill the Drestian then why would the Drestian ask the Belus to join him? Does that make sense to you?”

  Bill’s mouth opened then closed tight, falling again as his eyes narrowed, focusing on a spot on the wall. He turned his troubled eyes to Allison and then Felix. “Lofton could’ve been…” he cut himself off, standing abruptly and going to the sliding glass door. He turned and looked back at them for a moment, then tugged open the door and stepped outside, closing it behind him as he disappeared into the darkness.

  Felix and Allison exchanged a meaningful glance.

  Allison picked at the polish on her nails. “You think his head’s exploding?”

  “Wouldn’t yours?” Felix was sympathetic. Bill hadn’t been much older than them when he’d met Felix’s mom and discovered the Journal. The cause he had dedicated his life to was a lie.

  The door squeaked and Bill appeared, looking paler than before, haggard. “What about,” he began, his voice hitching, “what about the immaculate conc—”

  “Another lie,” Allison told him. “Felix’s mom wanted to believe in The Warning and she was very good at making other people do what she wanted.” She looked at Felix, apologizing with her eyes. “You can’t really blame her. If the Journal did to her what it did to you guys, it would be more than believable.”

  “Oh,” Bill said in a bare whisper. He went to the cabinet beside the fridge and poured himself a glass of whiskey, gulping it down in three heavy swallows. He scrubbed his hand across his mouth, leaning back against the counter. “But this… this doesn’t change anything. Not fundamentally anyway. Lofton is still who he is and he’s doing exactly what the prophecy said he’d do.”

  “He’s using the prophecy to his advantage,” Felix said. “That’s what he’s, well, yeah, that’s exactly what he’s doing.”

  Bill nodded slowly then his head gathered speed and his nods became almost frenetic. “He’s very smart.”

  “That’s what we’ve been saying,” Felix agreed.

  “But it doesn’t change anything,” Bill repeated, and poured himself another drink. “Whether The Warning’s real or if Lofton’s just using it, we can’t permit the world to be ruled by one man. It’s a trap. Can’t you see that? Mark my words, before Lofton’s finished, he’ll strip away our freedoms and our identities and make us conform to a way of life that is antithetical to human nature. We may be flawed and selfish and some of us are downright evil, but we are also capable of the most amazing acts of kindness and charity, and there is something about the human spirit that cannot—should not—be contained or governed. Maybe humanity will evolve one day to be better than it is now—or maybe it won’t. But we should get to make that choice. Not Lofton. He has no right. And we’re not alone in this anymore. We have the Order. You need to go to them and convince them that Lofton must die now. If you kill him, his entire apparatus will wither. The ERA is like a snake, and the best way to kill a serpent is to cut off its head.” He looked at Felix, pleading with his eyes. “Kill Lofton. You have to kill Lofton.”

  “What’s the hurry?” Felix replied uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. “Why don’t we just wait and see how this whole thing shakes out?”

  Bill emptied his glass. “We don’t have the luxury of time anymore. The ERA is consolidating its hold in Washington and in the states, and only a few, like Texas, are putting up a fight in the legislatures. The Numbered Ones have been spotted in eight states now and they’re sowing fear, ensuring the public stays afraid and angry at the Old Government that they think created them. Dirk Rathman just announced that the military has been charged with finding and killing the monsters, and President Kanter declared a state of emergency until further notice.” Bill smirked bitterly. “Such a charade. Each creature killed is a propaganda victory for the ERA. The longer we wait, the more entrenched the ERA will become, and then it will no longer be a snake, it will be something much more dangerous, and I’m afraid not even Lofton’s death would be able to stop it.”

  “Bill,” Felix said, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet, shooting a glance at Allison. “I get what you’re saying, and you might even be right, but I’m just not… not ready to do something like that. Lofton might be everything you say, but he’s not a mindless”—Felix struggled to find the right words—“he’s not the Faceman. He’s got a plan, and if it works, maybe we’ll all be better off. He asked me to help. There are so many people doing so many awful things to each other and Lofton’s actually going to do something about it. Why should I care if he kills off all the murderers and terrorists in the world? Wouldn’t that benefit everyone?”

  Bill looked stunned. He swallowed hard and wiped at his eyes. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. You can’t sympathize with his goals while disregarding his methods.” He drank from his glass and gave Felix a mournful look.

  “Are you seriously trying to lay a guilt trip on me?” Felix said, irritated that Bill was judging him. “
Everyone wants me to decide, to make a choice, but how can I decide anything when everyone’s trying to make up my mind for me? I feel like I’ve been manipulated so much, I don’t even know when it’s happening. You”—he pointed at Bill—“want me to kill Lofton. Lofton wants me to join him. The Order wants me to join them. The Protectors want me to join the Order so the Order and the Drestianites will kill each other off!” He was starting to feel hot. “Well you know what? Everyone can just fuck off for a while, okay? I’m staying out of it—at least until I feel like I’m thinking for myself! I’ll make a decision, but not now. That’s my decision! I’m going to class tomorrow just like everyone else. I’m tired of all this bullshit!”

  “I’m sorry, Felix,” Bill said and his expression reflected his words. “I didn’t mean that. I can only imagine how confusing all this must be for you.” He took the bottle of whiskey by the neck and headed toward the living room. “I need to think this through. Call me tomorrow.”

  Felix looked at Allison and she rose from the table. They stood in the kitchen, watching Bill as he settled into an armchair that looked out onto the street in front of the house. After a time, the silence lengthened awkwardly, and with nothing left to say, they slipped out through the back door and started for campus.

  Chapter 3

  ODYSSEY

  Carter confirmed there were no cameras in the bodega before approaching the register, setting the Dr. Pepper and the bag of beef jerky on the counter. Slapping a ten dollar bill next to the container of pepperoni sticks, he threw a glance over his shoulder to make sure he was the only customer in this shithole convenience store in this shithole town in New Hampshire. Or was it Vermont? He couldn’t swear on the state, but it was one of those two.

  The clerk opened the register and in thickly accented English said something Carter couldn’t understand. Eight ninety-nine? Eight hundred and nine? Did you like my swine? The man began to slide the bill toward him when Carter stopped its progress, pressing down on it with his pointer finger like it was a button.

  “Hold on a sec,” Carter said as the man looked over the top of his glasses, annoyed, probably thinking he was dealing with another drunk—the signage outside advertised 40 ounce malt liquor cans at the Best Price in Town. “You think I could use some eye drops?” Carter leaned over the counter and put a finger to his left eye, pointing at it. “Is there something in there, like dust or something? Feels like I got some dirt in there.”

  The man looked hard into Carter’s eyes, squinting, his dark eyes twitching back and forth as they searched for the irritants. He blinked, suddenly, and the deep espresso color of his almond shaped eyes lightened, fading to medium brown to sun-bleached sand and then they were like milk, the irises indistinguishable from the whites of his eyes, as though a pair of eggs had been jammed in his sockets.

  The clerk screamed and raked his hands manically at the air, babbling hysterically in a foreign language that Carter thought sounded like the same word repeating itself over and over.

  “Listen!” Carter shouted sharply, clutching the man firmly by his narrow shoulders. “Calm down! You’re gonna be okay! Just shut up! You hear me? Shut the fuck up!”

  The man quieted, finally, his head jerking all around.

  “You’ll be just fine again in about an hour,” Carter told him. “But only if you do exactly what I say. Got it?”

  He nodded desperately, whimpering, babbling again in his weird language.

  “You can’t move!” Carter warned him. “You’ve gotta be as still as a statue. If you move even a little bit, you’ll be blind forever, okay?”

  More desperate nodding.

  Carter smiled to himself and hopped up on the counter to filch the bills from the register, leaving the personal checks and an IOU scribbled on a post-it. He repeated the warning about not moving and counted the cash. The clerk believed him. Why wouldn’t he? He’d just gone completely blind for no apparent reason and Carter spoke with authority, like he knew what he was talking about, which he did, since he’d blinded two other people in the last two days. He hadn’t lied about the man recovering his vision in an hour, though it wouldn’t matter if he stayed motionless or not. He’d just told him that so he would stay calm while he robbed his shitty little bodega.

  Not long ago, Carter had witnessed dozens of people dying spectacularly horrible deaths after drinking from the tap, the same water Carter had been chugging that night as he bused tables at Monty’s Moosepatty Bar & Grill. The water supply in his town of Buren had been poisoned and about a third of the population was now rotting in the hard winter ground in northeastern Maine. But Carter was fine—more than fine actually. The water hadn’t even given him a belly ache. It had also opened his eyes and given him an itch. Something, he thought, was happening beneath the surface, and his uniqueness was a part of it—connected to it—and he was determined to find out what it was. Carter was certain someone out there had the answers, and wherever they might be, they sure as hell weren’t in Buren, a town that would forever be haunted by the specter of death. So Carter had left his friends, his high school and his foster mom, stolen a car and headed south, destination unknown. His road trip, however, had to be financed, and though he had nothing against working for money, stealing it was far easier.

  He finished counting the bills under the harsh glow of the buzzing fluorescents—$382—and hopped off the counter as the clanking of bells announced the arrival of someone at the front entrance. Carter glanced up to see a lanky man in a knitted hat pointing a handgun at him. Carter froze, heart quickening. Cop? he thought, then promptly changed his mind. No uniform and the clothes were grungy, like he didn’t care about hygiene, or perhaps he didn’t have enough money to wash them. His pulse slowed.

  “Give me the cash!” the man demanded shrilly, staring at the money in Carter’s hand.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding.” Carter laughed at the man.

  “Give me the fucking money!” His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale and sickly.

  “No,” Carter replied, striding toward him. “I took it fair and square, dickhead! Go steal your own money!”

  Blam! Blam! Blam!

  The first two rounds struck Carter in the chest and the third hit him on the cheek, just beside his nose. He stopped, feeling like a child had poked him. Then the lingering pressure vanished and three slugs clunked down harmlessly on the shabby linoleum tile. He put a hand to his face. No blood. No pain. He’d suspected as much. After the incident at Monty’s restaurant he’d tested himself, cutting and then stabbing his legs and arms with the biggest and sharpest knives he could find in his mom’s kitchen. He hadn’t been able to make himself bleed, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. The knives wouldn’t even stay under his skin—they always pushed back, evicting anything that punctured him. Just like the bullets.

  Carter smiled down at the flattened gray slugs and cocked an eyebrow at the strung out loser. Feathers from Carter’s down jacket wafted around him and he batted them away. He felt strong. Powerful. Nothing could hurt him. Not even bullets. You’re Superman, baby! Superman!

  The clerk stood at the register, unmoving, palms flat on the counter, whimpering loudly, wondering, no doubt, who had been shot and if he was going to be the next target.

  The man pulled the trigger. Click! Click! He looked at the gun, confused. Click! Click! Then faster: Click-Click-Click.

  Carter walked toward him. “Three bullets?” he remarked incredulously. “You sell the rest of them, you dumb crackhead?”

  Click! Click!

  Carter held out the money. “You want this?” He stopped, amused by the sudden burst of optimism flashing across the man’s wasted face. “Just do one thing for me,” he said casually and pointed under his eye. “You think I could use some eye drops? Is there something in there, like dust or something? Feels like I got some dirt in there.”

  Chapter 4

  REACTIONS

  Allison instructed Felix to turn his back to her while she changed out of Bill’s
gym shorts and 90’s style sweatshirt. She went to the closet at the foot of her bed and rifled through a dresser drawer, taking a long sleeved T-shirt from a hanger.

  “You think Caitlin’s at the library?” Felix asked, watching her from Caitlin’s mirror. It was obvious why all the kids at school were so smitten with her, though most were too intimidated to do anything about it.

  Allison slipped the T-shirt over her head and looked up at him. “Why you being such a perv? Didn’t I tell you not to look?”

  “You told me to turn around.” He smiled, keeping his eyes on her as she tugged her patterned running pants over her waist. Allison, as lean and athletic as she was, wouldn’t have looked out of place on the cover of a fitness magazine, though her body type was more like a cross country skier’s than a soccer player’s. “Get a grip,” Felix admonished her, still smiling. “Underwear’s no different than what you wear when you go swimming. And we went to the lake together like a thousand times. Didn’t you throw that line at me once?”

  Allison laughed.

  It was warm inside the dorm, and Felix knew she had opted for the long sleeved shirt to conceal the bandages on her arm. A girl down the hall had asked her about them as she was getting out of the communal showers the other day and Allison told her she had a mole removed. They’d had a good laugh at that, imagining the girl’s confusion as she contemplated the size of the mole that would require a bandage to be wrapped from wrist to elbow.

  “Maybe Caitlin’s in your room.” A small impish smile crossed Allison’s face. “You think her and Lucas will ever… you know?”

  Felix shrugged, recalling the day Caitlin had kissed Lucas, so Quinn, the tabloid reporter, could get a picture for his celebrity gossip magazine after he’d threatened to sue them for knocking him to the ground. That night, as Lucas lay in bed, he’d told Felix that Caitlin was too good for him—that she deserved better. Lucas said things for effect sometimes so he was a tough kid to read, but that night, Felix had thought he meant it.