FROM AWAY ~ BOOK FIVE

by Mackey Jr. , Deke

  “It was some eerie, too. She wasn’t movin’ at all, just... Standing there.” Burl took a drink. A long one. The others let him take the time. Waited patiently for him to continue. “Felt like I coulda just tapped her on the shoulder, and she’d’ve woke up, y’know?”

  That night, Scooter’s had been closed to the public. Reserved for friends and family of Elizabeth Hubert. Filled with members of the Watch. There to pay tribute to their fallen comrade and get right shit-faced in her honor.

  “She’d just stopped there. Halfway between Bell Three and the Reef. Must’ve just run out of air, I guess. With those weighted boots holdin’ her down. Buoyancy keepin’ her up. Just standing there, waitin’ for me to come get her.”

  “Goddamn.” Roscoe slammed down his empty glass. “Won’t catch me goin’ out like that. It came down to it, I’d just kick off them weighted boots. Make for the open air. Boom. Blaze of glory.”

  “Y’can go up in flames, or y’can go down in flames, but if ye’re already goin’...” The rest of the bar chimed in with Burl: “Make sure there’s flames!” They lift glasses as one. Throw them all back in a collective chug.

  “T’wasn’t who our Libby was, though, was it?” Martin reached for the nearest pitcher. Drained it into his own glass. “Down-to-earth Islander, through-n’-through. Wasn’t naught flashy to her. Nare was she lookin’ fer attention nor special treatment. Pure and simple: She showed up and she did the job. Watchin’ the water fifteen faithful years for all our sakes, and we were lucky to have her. No sir, we won’t soon see her like again.” He hoisted his glass. “To Libby!”

  “Libby!” The bar chorused back. “Hear, hear!”

  Glasses clinked. Emptied.

  All but one. Held to the table. Neither rising nor clinking. Still filled to the brim from its first pouring. The boy’s.

  At seventeen, he was still too young to be present in the bar at all. Special dispensation had been made. She had been his partner, after all. But he’d stayed out of the way. Sat off to one side. Listening in. Knotting up more and more tightly as the night wore on. Eaten away by his own guilt. Unable to stomach their utter lack of it.

  “What the fuck is happening here?” Loud. Aggressive. Biting into the bar’s ambient hum. The shout turned heads. Halted conversation. Everyone sensing a conflict in the offing. Knowing a good fight was just what any memorial needed to exorcise the remaining haints and round the edges off properly.

  “Ren...” Martin stood up. ‘Should we be gettin’ ya home, then?”

  “Somebody grab ‘way the lad’s tumbler. He looks ‘bout half-cut!” Burl laughed. “Not used to the drink, eh, b’y?” The bar joined in. Chortling at the boy’s youth and low capacity.

  Ren laughed too. Harsh and mirthless. The sound killing everyone else’s fun. “Far from it. Having long ago seen what jackasses it makes of the rest of you, I’d never touch the stuff.” He shoved the glass. It slid across the table toward Burl. Sloshing over the lip, but ultimately remaining upright. “No, no, I’m just wondering: With all these fond reminiscences and what-a-great-gal-she-was stories... Am I the only one here who remembers that we’re the ones who just sent Libby to her death?”

  “Hold-hold on, now.” Roscoe waved his hand. Started to get to his feet. “There’s no call for--”

  “Just try and tell me she’d be alive, if not for all this Circle bullshit.” The boy stood. Stepped away from the table. The crowd parted. Pushed back from him. Avoiding possible contagion. “But you can’t, can you?”

  For a long moment, Scooter’s was silenced.

  “She broke the Circle, b’y.” Martin’s voice was calm. A warning clear in the tone if not the words. “Knew what’d happen if she did.”

  “Dad...” The boy refused to be cautioned. “You can’t possibly have your head so far up your ass as to think what went on out there was anything like justice.”

  The crowd gasped in response to the boy’s gall. Then, quieted at the hand raised by his father. “Losin’ yer partner... It’ll put any man through the wringer. But the rules we have... The vows we make... Ya gotta understand, there’s reasons fer ‘em all. And if there nare were consequences to--”

  The boy shook his head. “I know you’re not saying you think the punishment suited the so-called crime. Because all Libby was, was open with the people she loved. All she ever was, was honest.” He looked across the faces of his co-workers. Not bothering to hide his disgust. “That’s more than I can say for any of you.”

  Ambient murmuring resumed as he trudged toward the door, but no one leapt up to address the boy directly. Benefit of the doubt given to the dead woman’s former partner. He couldn’t mean what he said. Wouldn’t do to hold it against him. It was only the pressure of the day. Given time and space, he’d surely come to his senses.

  He looked back once more before exiting. Addressed the room: “And it doesn’t matter whether she just faded away or blew herself up. What matters is she’s gone... And that she’s gone because of us.”

  ~

  Circling above. Watching. No sign of the man. They’d trailed the scent of him. Through the seaweed. Up to the freighter, where he’d seemingly disappeared. His path obscured by the overbearing scent of iron corroding.

  Now, they scan the wreck from overhead. Alert to the slightest movement. Finally rewarded with: Bubbles.

  A hatch on the main deck swings open. Silver globes burst forth. Escaping with them? The man. Hurtling upward. Toward the open air above.

  As one, the pack turns. Thrashes through the water. Each gilly racing to be first to reach him. To taste him. Talons outstretched. Jaws agape. Teeth bared.

  They converge on the man halfway to the surface. Just as the dive suit explodes. The blast taking every one of them with him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “I’ve done all I could. To keep it up.” Dawn’s great-grandfather shrugs. Moves out of her way. Lets her look around the house he believes they once shared. Proud and ashamed in equal measure.

  It’s not in great shape, but - unlike the rest of Adderpool - neither is it crumbling. Some care has gone into its upkeep over the years. There have been leaks, but they’ve been patched. Broken windows may not have been replaced, but the holes have been covered over. As a result: The house provides a small measure of relief from the damp chill otherwise permeating the town.

  “It’s not what it was, but I--”

  “No, no...” Dawn takes it all in. “It’s obvious how hard you’ve worked.”

  He looks at his shoes. “Passed the days.”

  She glances back at him. “To be honest? I’m not sure I remember much, anyway.”

  In fact: She remembers nothing, herself. Having never set foot in the house before. But her grandmother - the real Madeline - told stories. Of her hometown’s occupation. The kindness of some guards. The cruelty of others. She’d lied about where it had all happened. And why. Transposed the town into war-torn Europe. Matched it with supporting documentation. All of which - it was now apparent - she’d somehow faked.

  Now, Dawn superimposes the tales back onto Adderpool. Where they belong. Syncs them up with what Grampy has told her. About walling in the infected. An entire town placed under quarantine. And finally, rounding them all up. Shipping them away. For the good of the island.

  Their stories fit together uncomfortably well. A war told from opposing sides. And this is where it had all happened.

  She runs a hand up a wall. Smoothing back a strip of fallen wallpaper. “Where was, uh... Where was my hiding place?” The lynchpin of her grandmother’s stories: How she’d survived when the guards had come for them.

  Her great-grandfather’s expression is hard to read. His features so strangely misaligned. The musculature beneath operating under different rules. He maybe-frowns before walking past her. Into the kitchen. She follows.

  Cramped. Simple. Antique appliances. A counter. A backdoor, leading to a screened-in porch. Outside: A small backyard. Not far beyond that: The wall
.

  “Remember now?”

  Dawn scans the room. Attempting to guess where the secret door might be. Pointing to the only space available: Behind the formica table. He nods. Drags the furnishings aside in one sweeping movement. Unhooks something on either end of the wainscoting. Lifts the bottom half of the wall away. Slides it to the right.

  “Wow...” Dawn crouches. Peeks inside a secret room made in the unused space beneath the staircase leading to the second floor. “Can you... I still have little snatches of what happened, but... There’s a lot missing. Do you think you could... Tell me the story? Just to fill in my blanks, y’know?”

  The dull eyes blink. He licks his lips with a thick white tongue. Plops down in one of the chairs he’d moved out of the way. Letting out a wet sigh as he settles. Head bowed, he begins: “Your mother. She lost three brothers as a girl. To the influenza. So, when folks started gettin’ sick, we cut ourselves off. Shut ourselves in. She insisted on it.”

  ~

  That’s why we were late in catching it. None of us showed sign. Not ’till after the wall went up. If we’d been free to leave? Could’ve escaped it. Prob’ly. Instead? We were stuck inside with the sickness. With them. Only a matter of time before one of us caught something. Even so... Did our best to keep you clear. Hands to ourselves. Scarves over mouths. No more hugs. Or kisses. Just trying to wait it out. The Mossley mucketty-mucks said it wouldn’t be forever. They were working on a solution.

  That’s what they said.

  People we knew had it. Came on slow, but it changed ‘em. Made it so they stuck inside until dark. Only came out at all to go down to the water. Hardly seemed to even know us, anymore. Soon enough, there was more sick than well. Maybe even just us alone who didn’t have it full-on, after a while, I don’t know. By the end... Mostly, we didn’t see anyone going out at all anymore.

  Except the Watch.

  Volunteers from outside... All of ‘em wearing gas-masks. Up on the wall. Or out patrolling. Making sure nobody went over. Keeping us all from escaping the town. Sometimes they’d be coming through, and they’d ask were we okay? Was there anything they could do for us? Those were the good ones. You made friends with a few of ‘em. We didn’t mind. Gave you someone to talk to, other than Mother and me.

  But they weren’t all so agreeable...

  Once, we saw through the window: One getting angry. Yelling at a neighbor for not doing as they told him. Mr. Kellestine. So far gone by then, I’d wonder if he knew his own name. Anyway, they just laid him out. Beat that man within an inch...

  So, yeah, there were all kinds.

  Day it all ended, one came around - one of the good ones, one you’d been friendly with - he said something was coming. That we should be at the ready. His partner cut in. Said treatment was being arranged. To cure us of the plague. But it was off-island. We were all of us going to be transported there soon. For our own good. We knew better than to get excited, but still...

  It was on us by then. The plague. Caught up to your mother and me. She had the worst of it. Her voice already changed. Her body... She said she itched to go down to the water most nights. Actually scratching at herself, saying she knew deep inside that the sea was the only thing that might soothe her. Still, she was fighting. But anyone could tell: It wouldn’t be long for her, and as for myself, I knew I wouldn’t be far behind. You? You were still Madeline. Unchanged. Untouched. For all we could tell, you’d managed to dodge around it some way.

  After nightfall, we heard the shots. Coming from the water, first. Where most Adderpudlians were, probably. Looking out, we could see smoke from the fires. Hanging over Marc Houlihan’s place. Across the street. Then, more gunfire. Getting closer. And we knew - of course we knew - there was more to it than being transported off-island for the cure. Seemed maybe the Mossley mucketty-mucks had found their solution after all... A permanent one.

  You didn’t want to go in the wall. You fought us on it. Said you couldn’t believe what we were saying was true. It was too monstrous. You knew some of the Watch men, and they’d never...

  Anyway, you were still arguing over it when the knock came. It was thunder. It meant business. They shouted we should come out. So they could cure us of what ailed them. And that was the end of the discussion. I picked you up. Carried you to the kitchen. Determined to hide you away, even if I had to knock you out to do it.

  Mother went up front, meanwhile. Tried talking to them through the door.

  I just had the wall pulled back when a rap came at the kitchen window. Gas-masks looking in. We were too late. They’d seen your hidey-hole. There was no use to it. It was all over.

  But it wasn’t. They were good ones. There to help. Said they could get you out. Just you. They could maybe spirit you away. We only had to trust them. I wasn’t sure, but you knew them better. You’d talked to them before. Trusted them already. But before I could decide... Gunfire. From inside. Your mother was... She was screaming. That they were coming, and then... Another shot and she stopped.

  Your mother... She stopped screaming, then.

  ...

  So off you went, Madeline. I let them take you. And when you’d gone, I squeezed myself into the wall. Into your hole. And I pulled it closed after me and I waited.

  I heard ‘em go through. Looking for us. Shouting: That they had a list. That they knew we were in here. That they wouldn’t stop until they’d found us all.

  And for three days, they kept coming back. Hoping to dig us out. But I stayed where I was. In the wall. Where you were meant to be. Don’t know how long it was before they stopped coming. Some point they must’ve decided we were gone. Gave up.

  That’s how I survived. And as far as I knew, until I set eyes on you again, I was the only one who did. The rest of Adderpool had been obliterated. By our brothers. Our cousins. Islanders to the man. To save themselves, they’d wiped us out.

  ~

  Dawn is troubled.

  If this story is true, Grampy’s is a lie. If it’s true, he and his cronies had massacred an entire town of sick people. So, it can’t be. It isn’t. That’s all there is to it.

  “But... How did you know they weren’t there to help? Maybe they needed the guns to get people out of their homes. Onto the boats. If people didn’t want to go, maybe that’s just what it took to force them out?”

  “Might’ve been that was the plan. I don’t know. But it’s not how it turned.” He swallows loudly. Smacks his lips. “They left your mother in the front doorway. That’s where I found her... Her body.”

  Dawn’s heart falls. “That’s... I’m so sorry.”

  “Worst part is I had to leave her there. In case they came back. Couldn’t risk someone noticing she’d been moved. If they came by to check things out again.”

  “So she just...”

  “Same all over town. They’d killed off just about everyone. Left ‘em to rot. Those few that survived? Between plague and infection, none made it more than a few weeks. Then? It was just me left. And it’s been so ever since. But now, here’s you, back again. My Madeline. I dreamed of it, but I never thought I’d...” He clears his throat. From the sound of it, there’s plenty to clear. “Years since I had call to say so many words all at once.”

  His lips quiver. His glassy eyes threaten to spill. He turns away. Hiding himself. Leaving her to process the tale he’s unspooled.

  She fights it. Desperate to believe he’s lying. She’d had no call to question Grampy’s story until now. Still wants to think the best of him. Her warm and friendly grandfather. The man who’d been so accepting of her arrival on the island. Who’d embraced her into the family despite her father’s rejection. It’s so much easier to assume he’s the truthful one. That this misshapen creature before her has a malignant intent every bit as twisted as his own form.

  But his story has solidity and the tone of truth.

  “Your turn now, Madeline...” Collected, her great-grandfather turns toward her once more. “I’ve waited so long to find out: What h
appened after the Watch spirited you away?”

  “Oh! Uh...” Dawn’s stuck. Ill-prepared to continue the tale. She searches her brain. Had her grandmother even told her what happened next? She’d escaped certain death, but how did that escape connect to her subsequent freedom? “That’s a good story, but I--”

  Somewhere - far off - a bell rings. No gentle tinkling. Clamorous, like a cowbell.

  “Damn their eyes!” Dawn’s great-grandfather leaps to his feet. “They’re early!” He runs through the house.

  Dawn chases after him. “Who is?”

  “Never you mind!” He throws open a door. A staircase leading down. Into the basement. “Stay put.”

  “But--”

  He pushes her back. Slams the door behind him. Footsteps slapping down the stairs at top speed.

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” Dawn rises. Brushes herself off. “This Madeline don’t stay put.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “Where is she?” Mother Agatha storms into the infirmary.

  Three nuns in brown cloaks jump as she enters. Clear away from a bed. Revealing: The broken form of their red-headed sister. Her body still immobile. Head lolling to one side. Now, even worse for wear: Bruised and battered in the car crash. Flesh scored by airborne shards of glass. One particularly bad slice stitched shut. Starting beneath her right eye. Ending where her upper lip splits into uneven halves.

  “Grace... Oh, Grace, what have they done to you?” Mother Agatha takes her sister’s limp hand.

  “Nothing I wasn’t prepared for.” The redhead half-smirks. Its effect is less than reassuring. “Paula’s drawings... Pretty reliable, really.”

  Tears well in the elder nun’s eyes. “Your sacrifice... It won’t be forgotten.”

  “It’s all worth it, Mother. I feel... So blessed. To be part of the greater plan. To figure into Paula’s glyphs. What more could any of us wish? My life has been spent in service. And that... It’s all I ever hoped for.”