by Patrick Ness
Their heads turned all at once to the sound of the gate crashing open. A thin creature appeared, walking slowly to the center of the opening. The herd pulled its circle tighter. The thin creature knelt in that strange way they had. It was carrying a long slender rod that it raised towards the herd. She realized then that the circle wouldn’t work. A bang exploded from the mouth of the rod. A great old female on her immediate right crumpled to her knees, pitching forward onto the dust, blood pouring out of a huge hole in her throat. The thin creature did something to the rod and raised it again. Two more thin creatures emerged behind him, each carrying their own rods. Her eyes narrowed.
So the time was now after all.
Without raising her head, she bellowed the loudest call she could muster and plummeted forward. The members of the herd could hear the rage in her cry, a rage that convinced away the fear that each of them felt. She charged, they followed, no hesitation.
The first thin creature looked up from his rod as the herd bore down. It staggered back, raising the rod again. An explosion sounded. A long thin scar of pain tripped burningly up her side. She ignored it and pounded forward. By the time the thin creature raised the rod once more, she was on it, thrusting her broken but still-effective horn up through the thin creature’s crossed forelegs, through the middle of its chest, and out the other side. The smell of its blood greeted her again. She tossed its body to the side in time to see the pair of thin creatures who had emerged be gored and trampled underneath the feet of the cascade of herdmembers that now poured from the opening.
She bellowed again and looked around her. The gate opened onto a small clearing bordered by another low wall. There were thin creatures everywhere, all holding larger and smaller versions of the same rods, aiming them from sites atop the wall, leaning out from behind low trees, some resting in and on top of the metal boxes they sometimes rode around in. But the herd was here, too. The herd would not divide. The herd would face this now, she knew that. If this was the end, they would not run from it. The air filled with explosions. The animals charged forward. The battle was on.
105. A Kindness.
Eugene lived in a small flat in the southeastern part of the city, and the drive to the office took him even further south. That, combined with a certain cultivated obliviousness and the ongoing distraction of driving the Bisector, had caused him to miss completely any evidence that something odd was going on in the city that morning. In fact, the first thing he noticed that indicated something might be amiss was that Jon wasn’t in the office when he arrived, which was strange because Jon, even on the days when Eugene didn’t drive him, seemed to materialize there anyway, always before Eugene arrived, no matter how early. The second strange thing was that Jon stormed in five minutes later, looking unhappy.
—You have to leave here, Eugene.
—What?
—Do you know where Jill is?
—What? Yes, I—
—Where is she?
—Back at my apartment, still sleeping. Why—
—You have to go get her, and you have to get out of the city.
—What are you talking about?
Jon grabbed his wrist and nearly dragged him into the back office. The curtains were opened onto a clear, northerly view. Clear, that is, except for giant legs of smoke that seemed to be stomping on the city.
—That’s what I’m talking about.
—What the hell—
—Rioters, or maybe that’s not even the right word. They’re too systematic to be rioters.
Eugene looked at Jon.
—Did you do this?
—Of course not. In a way. I didn’t mean for this to happen, that’s for sure.
—Was it that weird old guy?
—Yes.
A slender knife of new, white smoke rose from a location decidedly nearer to the office. Another drifted lazily up from a clock tower near City Hall.
—This can’t be one man. It’s too big. There have to be hundreds—
A flash of light, followed a second later by a rumble of the window as the sound wave of the explosion reached them.
—Fucking hell!
—I know. That’s why you have to leave.
—This is crazy. How can you tell me one guy could do all that?
—It only takes one guy to lead. If you can convince two people, they can convince two more. Two turns into four turns into eight and on and on. It snowballs.
—But this much?
—There’s this heat, for one. People get frustrated. They join in riots and mobs. It’s human nature. A lit match on fuel.
—But they live here! They must be destroying their own homes and neighborhoods.
—No one ever said it was logical. Listen, Eugene, you have to leave. Go pick up Jill and get out of the city. I’m not kidding. This is not a joke.
—But aren’t you kind of a friend of that guy? Aren’t you safe?
—When it gets to this kind of critical mass, none of that means anything. You have to go. I’m telling you for your own safety.
—What about you?
—What about me?
—Are you coming with me?
Jon looked surprised.
—I’m not sure I understand the question.
—How can you not understand the question? If I’m not safe and you say you’re not safe, then why aren’t you coming, too?
Jon considered Eugene for a moment. Eugene’s face had genuine worry written on it. He really was concerned that Jon get to safety. What a heartbreakingly pleasant surprise.
—I have to stay, Eugene. The Mayor’s in danger. I have to make sure she’s safe.
—Can’t you just call her?
—I’ve already been to see her this morning. She threw me out.
—Well, then, who gives a damn whether she’s safe or not?
—I do. One day, you’ll realize, Eugene, and I hope it’s not in too painful a manner, that when you love someone rightly, when that love is your destined love, then it’s completely irrelevant whether they love you back or not.
—Bullshit. How can you care when someone doesn’t care back?
—I’m helpless to it, Eugene. Utterly, thoroughly, completely helpless. I love Cora Trygvesdottir, and I’m incapable of stopping.
—She’s Cora Larsson now. She’s not the same person.
—Doesn’t matter.
—Yes, it does! That’s your problem, not slavery to love. You’re a slave to love that’s dead. That’s what you can’t accept.
—You don’t understand—
—Yes, I do! I understand that you’re going to try and save some woman who doesn’t give two shits about you and you’re probably going to get killed in the process. And for what? Nothing!
Another low rumble shook the window. This time they could feel it under their feet as well.
—One of the things I’ve always said I liked about you, Eugene, is your ability to surprise me, and yet knowing that, I still manage to be surprised when you do.
—Oh, here we go, off on another one of Jon Noth’s Thoughtful Tangents—
—You’re concerned about my safety.
—Of course I am.
—Why?
—What do you mean ‘why'?
—I’m just your boss, Eugene. Not your friend.
—Okay, now that hurts. If you’re not my friend, why all these nice things for me, huh? Why all the new clothes and the skin doctor and the ridiculous pay checks? Huh? Why all these dinners out and the liberal lunch hours? Why all the talking and the conversation and ‘Self-deprecation is destructive, Eugene’ and ‘How could someone as handsome as you be so shy, Eugene’ and ‘You deserve more credit than you give yourself, Eugene'? I finally accepted that you weren’t trying to get in my pants, but if that’s true, then it must be friendship, right? I’ve seen how you treat co-workers. I saw how you treated that idiot that you made run for Mayor. I was different. You treated me like—
—Like a friend, yes.
&nb
sp; —And if you’re not my friend, then why race all the way down here to warn me when you could be downtown rescuing your wannabe girlfriend?
Jon smiled, incongruously, warmly, gently. He even laughed.
—What a strange morning this has been.
—No kidding.
—You’re right, of course, Eugene. I was a fool not to see it.
—See?
—Speaking as your friend, then, I want you to leave. I want you to go pick up Jill and leave the city. That tank you drive ought to give you plenty of protection.
—What about you?
—I’ll do my best to keep myself safe. I need to do what I need to do, but you have my word as a friend that I won’t be foolish.
—Depends on your definition of foolish.
—Now, please, Eugene, you must go. I’m not kidding.
—Okay, fine, enough warming of the iceberg for today, I guess.
—I guess.
Eugene held out his hand. Jon took it in a firm shake.
—Good luck.
—And to you, Eugene.
—You’ll find me when it’s all over?
—If it’s at all possible, yes, you have my word. Now, go.
They shook again. Eugene held Jon’s gaze for another moment, then released his hand and left. He looked back once when he got to the door, but neither man said anything. Jon watched him go, the most unexpected of smiles still on his lips. And Eugene, with whom this story began, now leaves it for his own safety and to his own destiny.
106. Three.
—Really, Kevin, you must go. You have to get to safety.
—And leave you and Albert here alone? I don’t think so. Besides, this is probably the safest building in the city, right?
—I can’t guarantee that.
—Then you should leave as well.
—I have to stay. I’m the Mayor.
—And Albert?
—Albert’s my husband.
—Ah, the Mayor’s husband. Which would make me the Mayor’s what?
—Kevin, it’s because I care for you that I’m asking you to leave.
—I understand your concern, Cora, but perhaps you’ve misunderstood mine. When you asked me into your lives, I knew what I was accepting. A place at your sides. A place here. Where I’m not leaving, anymore than you would leave Albert or he would leave you. Now, when it counts, believe that. The three of us is not a made-up thing. It’s real, but it needs your faith in it to work.
Cora’s smile was anxious, worried, but a smile nonetheless.
—So be it, Kevin. So be it all.
—That’s what I like to hear.
—Now then, what’s taking the third prong in our triangle so long?
City Hall was mostly empty because of the holiday, but Cora sent home the few who had trickled in, keeping only the security detail that guarded the building twenty-four hours a day anyway. Albert had gone off to see if there was any word from them. Max and Talon had left the premises an hour before, heading for the home of a distant cousin who lived out past Hennington’s eastern border. Fires continued popping up on a vague path towards City Hall, though the progression was not often clear. Occasional pillars of smoke erupted from points to the far left and right of the main line. From the south-facing windows they could see spots of activity scattered throughout the city. They had also begun to see people filling the streets, sometimes marching in bands lighting fires, sometimes in groups running away in whatever direction they could. Sirens had been heard at last, but too few to assuage the feeling that there just weren’t enough to handle a fire that was quickly reaching apocalyptic proportions. Cora took Kevin’s hand as they watched the city burn behind the huge windows of her office.
—It’s going from bad to worse, isn’t it?
Albert burst through the office doors. He turned and bolted them shut. He spoke to Cora and Kevin while dragging a chair to bar the doors further.
—We’re in trouble.
—How bad?
—They’ve surrounded the building.
—Who are ‘they'?
—The rioters. Whoever is responsible.
—Are they breaking in?
—They’re trying.
—What about security? Can they fend them off?
Albert’s face was long and stern. He took Cora’s free hand and put an arm on Kevin, the three now a circle.
—They killed one of the guards.
—What?
—The rest were being overpowered.
—My God.
—We’re in danger. No mistake.
—Is there a way out?
—I don’t think so. I think the whole building is cut off.
—How can this be happening? And so quickly?
—And from where?
A pounding at the door interrupted them.
—Shit.
—This wing goes up an extra floor above the rest of the building. If we can get up to the top, we can get out the side windows and go across the roof. The multi-story car park is on the other side. Is that where you parked, Albert?
—Yes.
—We might have to plow our way out, which is horrible but better than walking.
There was another loud thud at the door. They could hear shouting voices, too. The pounding became rhythmic as whoever it was beyond the doors began the inexorable process of beating them down. Kevin looked at them both.
—How far up is it?
—Three floors.
—Three floors, then across the roof and down through three floors of car park?
—Yes, I know it sounds risky—
—We’ll never make it.
—We will if we leave right now.
—No, listen. You two go. I’ll stay here and try and delay the mob.
—What?! No! Kevin—
—If they think I’m the only one here, they may not chase after you. If not, I can at least give you a little more time. Now, go, both of you, go!
—What about staying by our side? Kevin—
—I love you both. I do, and maybe this is the reason I’m here. Whatever happens remember that. If I’m meant to come out of this, I will. If we’re meant to be together again, we will be. Now, go!
—No, you have to come—
—You must—
A splintering of wood cracked from the door. The frame bulged.
—If they see you, there’s no point to this. Go!
He pushed them back towards the rear exit of Cora’s office. He kissed Cora hard on the lips and did the same to Albert.
—It’s the only way. You have to go.
—Kevin—
—You know I’m right. Trust me in this as in anything. Go.
They each hung onto him, fighting the decision until it seemed inevitable.
—We love you, you know.
—I know.
Albert brought his arm around Cora, and they turned and ran up the back stairs. They were two flights up when the mob burst in and were fortunate enough not to see Kevin die, yet they each sensed in their own way what happened, and if grief and fear can co-exist in the frenzied moments of flight, then they were each at least grateful not to be carrying that double burden alone.
107. Father and Son.
Alone in the elevator as it rocketed up towards his father’s office, Thomas Banyon realized that he hadn’t been inside this building for more than five years. Such was the way life went, he thought. He didn’t know that Archie had sold Banyon Enterprises to Jon Noth, but he had long since ceased looking at the corporate offices with anything like a proprietorial eye. Luther had been the heir-apparent for so long that now, even after his death – which was a certainty after what Thomas had found out this morning – he had very little doubt that Archie would find someone else to run it. Someone besides Thomas, that is. Come to that, the old man would probably find a way to lengthen his life and run it himself.
Thomas patted the pockets of his sports jacket unsuccessfully looking for a cigarillo.
No matter, there were some in the car. His calm state of mind belied the events happening outside only because he had some wonderful other matters to occupy him. He had seen the smoke rising from the Arboretum when he left Hennington Hills that morning but had registered only the thought, Must be a fire, before pushing it aside for the more pressing matters at hand. First, a rare trip to Banyon Enterprises to tell Archie that Peter Wickham, along with Luther’s body, had been spotted by a now former employee of Paul Wadstone’s security detail who had been forced to fight his way out of a locked trunk to report the sighting, and then Thomas also wanted to break it nicely to the old man that he preferred that Archie kept away from tonight’s planned victory party when Thomas won the Mayor’s race. Sure it might be nice to have family there, but how much family was Archie really? Besides, he’d been so glum lately that he would just bring the rest of the crowd down anyway, especially after having Luther’s death confirmed.
The second and far more important matter of the morning was the imminent return of one Jacki Strell to the entertainment roster. Thomas looked at his watch as the elevator doors opened into Archie’s penthouse office. She had most likely arrived back at Hennington Hills safe and sound by now. All the more reason to keep this meeting with Archie as brief as possible. It would be good to see Jacki again. So many questions to ask, so many things to say. Thomas’ cock stirred in his pants, twisting a sprig of pubic hair painfully. He readjusted himself in the deserted reception area. Yes, it would be nice to fuck her, wouldn’t it? He let the thought run for a moment, absently caressing his crotch. Maybe things could work out between the two of them, maybe he could make her see things clearly after all. She obviously wasn’t happy or she wouldn’t have run away. Maybe he could –
He suddenly noticed how quiet the penthouse office was. It was a holiday, sure, but shouldn’t Jules have been here? Or someone, anyone? He had never known Archie to do anything without an assistant around to take care of the particulars. Come to think of it, that’s exactly what Thomas was doing in the search for Peter Wickham. Thomas smiled sourly in the vast, empty hall. Never mind. Thomas would be Mayor soon and would no longer even be his father’s lackey.
