Dominic sighed. “I’ll throw you in the Tank if you don’t shut up.”
He parked the car against one wall of the small lot. The ministry car had its lights off and was parked at the opposite end, appearing low and dark, like a predator waiting to strike from the shadows.
Dominic opened his door to get out. A cool gust of wind brushed Michael’s face, reminding him this wasn’t a dream.
It was a nightmare.
“Get out.”
Michael hesitated, and Dominic reached in to grab him.
“All right, fine!”
Michael stepped out of the car, reeling with dizziness, his legs bending like straws. The pain was coming now in flashes, worse than before.
A car door opened and clicked shut across the lot.
Michael peered into the darkness. The man who emerged from the ministry car was old and possessed a thin layer of graying hair, long and brushed back, with a face as familiar to Michael as it certainly was to everyone in the People’s Republic. It was the face of the terrorist behind the Honor Street Subway Bombing and the Targin Memorial Gas Attack, among others. He was followed by a slightly younger man wearing a baseball cap.
“I can tell by your expression that you know who I am,” Louis Blake said.
“You’re—you bombed—you’re the terrorist—”
“Nonsense.” Blake stood as still as a statue. “Government propaganda. This country is no different from any other communist dictatorship in the world’s history. It needs an enemy to keep the wheels turning, and if it doesn’t have one, it simply makes one up. You know this. You’re a smart kid.”
Michael nodded. He knew all this perfectly well. Still, the man’s face was like something out of a childhood nightmare. He associated it with smoke and screams and guns firing.
Dominic broke the silence. “Sam Weisman,” he said, smirking. “Didn’t think you’d last much longer in this place. You must be real good at kissing ass.”
Sam Weisman grinned. He was skinnier than Louis Blake, with narrower shoulders and a beak nose that gave his face a distinctly hawkish look. He had the bone structure of a rooster and wore a baseball cap with no logo or marking, which he kept lifting by the brim and adjusting over his scalp.
“We don’t have much time,” Weisman said. “There’s only so much I can lie about to those spiteful assholes I call my bosses.”
“Like this car?” Dominic said, indicating the ministry vehicle. “It’s nice.”
“Reported stolen this afternoon.” Weisman reached over and patted Dominic’s shoulder. “You look like shit, Dom. Not the pretty boy I remember at all.”
Dominic clamped a hand on the man’s arm, shaking it in obvious affection. When they were done smiling at each other, Sam Weisman focused on Michael.
“So, you’re the one we’ve been searching for all these years.”
“No time for that,” Blake said, gesturing for the two men to get on with it. “I know what happened to your mother,” he then said to Michael. “Your real mother. I tried to save her, but I failed. I made a promise to her before she died that I would look after you and keep you safe. Her greatest fear was that your episodes…” His voice trailed off.
“That people would die,” Michael said.
Blake nodded slowly. “I promised her I would keep you from becoming what they wanted you to become. A killer. But you have to let me in, Michael. You have to believe I want the best for you. That I won’t use you like they did.”
Michael sensed a blossoming of warmth in the old man’s face and chest. He could almost see it, like the ghost of a solemn red rose unfurling its petals beneath his skin. Telepathy was new to Michael, and he still didn’t understand much about its nature, but he understood what had just happened.
“You loved her.”
Blake frowned. “Come on, let’s go.”
Michael followed Blake and Dominic toward the FSD vehicle. He peeked back only once to see Sam Weisman getting into the old beater Dominic had driven here. This wasn’t their first time making a switch like this. Maybe Michael wasn’t the first telepathic murderer they had helped escape.
“Where are we going?” he asked when everyone had taken their seats. Blake slid behind the wheel while Dominic sat in the front seat, Michael in the back.
Blake started the engine, then met Michael’s gaze in the rearview mirror.
“We’re going to a place where you can leave all of your bad memories behind. A place for people like us. Telepaths. You’ll be safe there, I promise.”
Feeling somewhat relieved, Michael nodded once, gaze straying out the window to the darkened brick wall of the parking lot. Benny’s voice played in his mind, a memory of the words his brother had spoken the night they had stayed up drinking and gazing out at the spotlights and razor wire at the end of the street.
Someday, you’ll make us all proud.
Then he remembered Dominic’s words. They brought forth a rash of goose bumps that covered his entire body.
He killed them all…
Episode II
Nation of Nowhere
“The mind is its own place,
and in itself can make a heaven of hell,
a hell of heaven.”
Paradise Lost
John Milton
Chapter 1
Michael drifted in and out of sleep throughout the ride. He struggled to drink the water and eat the sugary granola bars Blake kept handing to him. While awake, he mostly kept his head against the windowpane and gazed out at the dark mountainous land.
They were past the Line, something he’d wanted all his life. Yet he didn’t care about that anymore. All he wanted now was to be safe at home with his family.
At some point, they came to a lonely old barn in the middle of a field. Dominic helped Michael out of the car, advising him to stretch his limbs while he had the opportunity. He followed these instructions, grunting as a bunch of his joints popped.
Louis Blake fiddled with the lock holding the barn doors shut, then pushed them open one after the other, motioning for Michael and Dominic to follow him into the musty darkness. He clicked on a flashlight and passed the beam over the walls, revealing a squat, rusted truck in the center that had an ample backseat.
“Here we go,” Dominic said, rapping his knuckles against the hood. “Good old Eastland transportation.”
Dominic took the front seat again while Michael slid into the back. The engine shook as it started, immediately filling the barn with diesel fumes as thick as silk.
“What is this?” Michael managed to say, coughing from the smell.
“Camouflage,” Blake said, shifting the truck into drive using an angled stick jutting out of the steering wheel’s column. “Hold on.”
The truck lurched backward out of the barn.
“What about the ministry car?” Michael said. “We just left it out there.”
Blake and Dominic glanced at each other.
“Spare parts,” Dominic said with a shrug. “Or maybe it’ll scare the crows.”
They drove through the night. Michael fell asleep, gazing up at a radiant universe of stars. He had never seen such a display. So vast and mysterious. If only he didn’t have such a pounding headache, he would have been enthralled.
It was mid-morning when he awoke with a sour taste in his mouth. Layers of sweat greased his skin, having gone stale in the heat of the sun. The air stank of cigarette smoke, and he saw why.
Louis Blake drove bent over the wheel, his eyes wide and sober as he stared at the road before him, a cigarette pinched between two of his fingers. Dominic had planted one of his black boots on the dashboard, and he was staring out the window. Michael caught a glimpse of the man’s brooding expression in the side mirror.
They drove along a road built into the side of a mountain. To their left was a jagged rock wall. Opposite that was a landscape of rolling hills and trees, all of it drowned in vibrant morning light that made the colors seem to pulse and breathe.
; Soon, they came to a deep valley between two mountains. It was closed at the other end. Blake was driving them into a box canyon, a place from which there appeared to be no exit except by the road they’d been using.
“What is this place?” Michael said.
“Oh, good.” Dominic sighed. “He’s awake.”
Blake gave Dominic an annoyed look, then glanced at Michael in the rearview mirror. “This is Gulch. Your new home.”
The truck rolled into a small town nestled amid trees and overgrowth. Most houses they passed were empty and crumbling, obviously abandoned. The blacktop had cracks and potholes that made the truck rumble and creak. There appeared to be no one living here at all.
The scenery changed dramatically. As the truck rolled along the main road toward the center of town, the buildings became clean, painted, and well kept. Fresh laundry flapped on clotheslines over yards where the grass had been cut, the weeds removed.
The truck slowed to a crawl. Blake obviously wanted Michael to take in every detail.
“This place was a silver and gold mining town back when the country was still called the United States of America. After the bombs fell, the place became a ghost town. Not even the raiders knew it existed. It was completely intact when we found it, with a power plant serviced by a waterfall and everything. It was like stumbling across a slice of heaven.” He pointed at a distant cliff. “You can see the plant right up there.”
Michael peered at it through the pitted glass. It very much resembled a country-style house. It sat on the edge of a craggy cliff with two waterfalls dropping on either side like the long white mustache of a sage.
As they drove further into town, Michael became more unsettled. He hadn’t seen any people yet.
“Everyone’s at the town meeting,” Blake said as if he had read Michael’s mind—and maybe he had. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes, then tapped one out. “Every Wednesday at eleven o’clock, right before lunch.”
“The entire town gets together? How many people live here?”
“There were 247. Now that you’re here, it’s 248.”
Blake stopped at an intersection, lit his cigarette, and then hit the gas again. Michael saw a town hall, a church, and a few stores selling fruit and vegetables. One even had defeathered chickens hanging behind the window.
They drove along a road that followed a swift-moving stream. This part of town lay in the shade of a mountainside. Across the stream, in the darkened tree boughs, young birds flitted from branch to branch, and some kind of ashy pink flower petal blew in the wind. Despite Blake’s cigarette, Michael caught the smell of water and the subtle fragrance of flowers. The breeze washing against his face refreshed him in a way that made it seem possible to forget the horrors he’d faced at the restaurant.
If only Benny could be here to see this. He ached for his older brother.
Mikey…someday, you’ll make us all proud.
He felt the skin around his eyes tighten. Dominic watched him in the side mirror.
“What?” Michael said, wiping his eyes and averting his gaze. Dominic said nothing.
“We’re almost there,” Blake said. “You’ll be able to use the bathroom, take a shower, and eat something. Arielle makes the best squirrel stew in the Eastlands.”
The truck turned onto a covered bridge that spanned the width of the stream. A sign hung on a post at the end that read Silo Street, and the wheels made rubbery thumping sounds as they drove over the wooden flooring toward a quaint neighborhood of homes.
Sunlight slanted into this part of town, illuminating the rooftops of beautiful houses like something out of a prewar children’s book. The truck stopped in front of a bungalow, complete with sloping rooftops and dormer windows, that sat nestled against the mountain slope. It stood one-and-a-half stories tall, the outer walls composed of beige and brown stones similar to the ones that made up the pathway leading up to a verandah along one side of the house.
Fascinated, Michael gaped at it. Along with the desire to become an engineer, he’d always liked the idea of being an architect. He knew enough about buildings to realize this particular one was utterly unique nowadays—a reminder of the way life had once been, before the war, when the construction of buildings was something people did with an eye toward the artistic and not simply to contain as many bodies as humanly possible to meet Party quotas.
“This is where you’ll be living,” Blake said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he were merely indicating a one-room log cabin with no windows.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nice, isn’t it? This is where the boys live. If you want to see a real treat, wait ‘til you see the girls’ house down the street. It’s a true work of art.”
They parked in front of a two-car attached garage. Michael stepped out and stretched, his lungs sucking in cool mountain air. His headache had mostly cleared.
“This is where I leave you,” Blake said. “I’ve got some things I need to take care of now that you’ve arrived. Dominic will show you to your room.”
Michael nodded once, then watched the old man get back into the car, lighting a fresh cigarette along the way.
Chapter 2
The interior of the house left Michael in a state of breathless wonder. Every piece of furniture was in its proper place to balance out the room. The carpets were free of dust and dirt and the rooms were large to the point of extravagance.
Dominic explained that the boys who lived here pooled their resources to employ a maid. There was money in Gulch, though people mostly bartered for goods and services. The boys earned their keep by bringing in wood from the surrounding forest, fixing up old buildings, and repairing whatever broken radios, appliances, and weapons the caravans brought it.
“I can fix things,” Michael assured Dominic as he followed him up a set of stairs into a cramped attic space.
“Yeah?” He didn’t seem interested.
“I used to take the recording devices out of Handy Dans, then sell them on the black market.”
Dominic stopped at the top of the stairs. Turning slowly, he glared at Michael.
“What? Why the hell would you take such a risk? What’s wrong with you?”
Michael shrugged. “My family needed the money. It’s not like I ever got caught.”
Dominic nodded almost imperceptibly, keeping his eyes trained on Michael’s. Then, without warning, the corners of his lips curled into a smile and he began to chuckle.
“We might have some use for you after all,” he said, facing forward to resume his walk.
The attic had been prepared for Michael in advance. A simple cot stood in the corner, its gray wool blanket and white sheets tucked beneath the mattress in military fashion. There was a desk, a wardrobe, and a basket, probably for dirty laundry. A shabby bookshelf was filled with old paperbacks and a set of encyclopedias showing gaps where some of the volumes were missing.
Michael’s shoes clapped against the boards as he jogged over to the books.
“No way,” he said. “These are all illegal”—he lowered his voice—“illegal books. In the People’s Republic, I mean. This is amazing.” He pulled an encyclopedia off a shelf, opened it, and smelled the pages.
Dominic shook his head. “You’ll have new clothes sent to you, along with a toothbrush, soap, and anything else you might need. There’s a convenience store in the center of town. Once you start making your own money, you’ll be able to shop there.”
Michael fell onto the cot, wincing as the springs emitted squeals of protest. He held one of the encyclopedias to his chest. Tension drained out of his shoulders like water being squeezed out of a sponge.
“So what happens now?” he asked.
Dominic studied him, the swollen spots on his face gleaming in the sunlight slanting through the only window. “You should meet the other boys. You know, get comfortable, try to fit in. Then, we’ll eat.”
He ducked under the sloped ceiling and righted an analog clock sitting on the desk, then went abo
ut setting it to the correct time.
“You’ll be expected for breakfast at six o’clock every morning. This isn’t a vacation. The other boys won’t accept you as one of their own if you start breaking the rules, so no rebellious shit, okay?”
Michael sat on the edge of the cot and wrung his hands together. “What if I just don’t fit in? I mean, I’m from the city, you know?”
Dominic opened his mouth, about to speak, when the roar of motorcycles sounded outside the house.
“Ian’s back,” he said, motioning for Michael to get off the bed and follow him. “Sounds like he brought his gang. Come on. Try to look tough.”
The roaring stopped as the boys parked the bikes. Michael could hear them laughing through the open windows as he followed Dominic into the garage, which, aside from a few stacks of boxes and scattered piles of sporting equipment, was empty. He almost bent to pick up a baseball bat, but stopped himself. Did he want to meet these guys with a potential weapon in hand? How would that be for a first impression?
Dominic flung the door open, then stepped outside. Michael winced in the sudden wash of sunlight. The first thing he noticed was the motorcycles. They looked as though they’d been worked on extensively, and Michael guessed the machines were over thirty years old.
A sudden, joyful shout grabbed his attention. One of the boys, a tall chubby one with a messy mop of blond hair, leaped toward Dominic and pulled him into a bear hug. The boy was huge—not as tall as Dominic, but maybe forty pounds heavier. At least half was muscle.
“Dom, holy shit, it’s good to see you.”
“Eli, you big teddy bear, how about letting me breathe?” Dominic worked his way out of the boy’s arms, smiling at him. Then he turned his attention to the next boy, who reminded Michael of Benny in a strange way. He was fair-haired and tall whereas Benny had been dark-featured and of average height, but they had the same con artist’s smile, that same leisurely manner of swinging their arms as they walked.
Bloodcrier: The Complete Two-Book Series Page 11
