by Peter Liney
“The moment we did, they came again, like the whole thing had been planned. They were in our homes before we knew it: everywhere, over the walls, the ceiling. I woke up to find Miriam covered from head to toe, as if they knew she was defenseless, that she was an easy target.” He paused for a moment, as if, no matter how many times he told that tale, it didn’t reduce the impact. “They were in her mouth, up her nose—anywhere they could get in . . . I’d heard her making these little noises, but I’d been so exhausted, I couldn’t wake up. I guess she’d seen them coming, crawling up the bed toward her, but hadn’t been able to do anything about it.”
There was a long pause. He looked so destroyed I leaned over and patted him on the back.
“You know what they are, don’t you?” Jimmy asked.
“Do now,” Nick replied. “She’s got one inside her, for sure. I been told there are different kinds, but they’ve all got one thing in common: in the end, Nora Jagger’s gonna control us all.”
There was a pause, and I knew I had to find out if he was aware what’d happened to George or not.
“What about your boys?” I asked.
He gave a long, haunted sigh. “We went into the forest, all of us taking it in turns to drag and push their Ma until we finally found a place to lay up. One day the boys went out hunting . . .” He stopped, and again I could see the slight oozing of a tear. “Never came back, not one of them. Some days later someone found Edward and Daniel shot dead. I don’t know what happened to George.”
I paused for a moment, everyone plainly waiting on me to speak. “I do,” I told him.
He looked at me, realized I had something to say and walked out into the yard, plainly expecting me to follow. I wasn’t sure whether it was ’cuz he wanted to be on his own to hear the news or ’cuz he didn’t want Miriam to hear in case she understood.
“I’m sorry,” I said, just in case he had any illusions about which way the conversation was gonna go, but he just beckoned for me to tell him.
I gave him the whole story—that George was killed by a rogue satellite, and why, expecting him to be devastated by the loss of his youngest and last-remaining son, but I think he’d already guessed; he just didn’t know the details.
“He was never gonna get through this,” he admitted. “The least chance of any of them.”
Without another word he returned to the porch and this time commenced on his own breakfast; his sunken cheeks, how quickly he ate, giving a fair indication of how long it was since he’d last had a good meal. Within minutes he’d cleared the plate and we were back to discussing the implants, Jimmy wondering if, as Miriam was lying stationary, he might be able to come up with some kinda shield to stop her being read or reporting. I also had to explain to Nick that Gordie and me were going into the City, and why.
“You got one, too!” he gasped, showing real concern.
“Yeah. And Thomas.”
“Jesus, no—”
“If I can get this doctor to come back with me, if he can extract them, he can fix up Miriam too.”
For the first time since I saw him struggling up the track, Nick smiled, though it looked a little awkward, like he hadn’t done it in a while. “Thanks, Clancy. That’d be great.”
We didn’t stay much longer. Gordie and me gathered up everything we needed, no one making an occasion of it, though I did take Lena into the bedroom so we could be alone for a few minutes, promising I’d return, that I’d find a way of getting that thing out of Thomas no matter what.
The irony was, the little guy’d got one of his real smiley moods on, repeatedly exploding with light and laughter as I solemnly tried to say goodbye, staring expectantly at my face as if he expected me to make him laugh at any moment. I’ll tell ya, kids got no sense of occasion.
I don’t know why exactly, but as we set out—me, Gordie and Hanna—I found myself thinking about this book I read out on the Island: Don Quixote, all about this old guy who goes a little crazy and thinks he’s one of those old-fashioned knights, setting off with his foolishly loyal sidekick—Sancho someone—to battle giants and demons and put the world to rights, but the thing is, he’s got no chance; the world’s gonna win and he’d know it if he wasn’t so soft in the head . . . D’you see where I’m going with this? I was beginning to feel a definite affinity.
If it hadn’t been for Nick’s arrival and not being able to leave as early as we’d hoped, we probably would’ve made it over the mountain that day, but as it was, and despite going as fast as we could, we were again left with that decision of whether to descend the far side in darkness or not. We talked it over and decided to give it a try, but almost immediately Gordie slipped, grabbed at Hanna, and though he saved himself, sent her tumbling down a slope. She bumped and slid her way yelping down into the blackness. Me and Gordie came scrambling after her, repeatedly threatening to also lose our balance, eventually finding her at the base of an outcrop of rock. I was worried to hell ’cuz she wasn’t moving. She had this large bruise on her forehead, and obviously a few more on her body, but she slowly got to her feet, all the way testing that everything was still working okay.
Gordie apologized, over and over, and just for a moment I thought she might lose her temper and weigh into him, but that girl’s serenity itself. We took it for a warning though, and stopped then and there so we could try to get a few hours’ sleep, knowing we were going to need them in the morning.
The last thought I had before I fell asleep was that it was just four days before Nora Jagger would take control of me, and that when I awoke, it would only be three.
The following morning we were up and on our way probably earlier than was good for us. The only method by which we could’ve descended that mountain quicker was by falling down it, and what with the lack of light and a heavy dew on the ground, we got pretty close a couple of times. Finally we found our way down to the cave, where the limo was looking just a tad older and moldier, but as usual, started first time.
I dug the lasers out of the trunk, debating for a moment and eventually pocketed one, keeping it for show. You start waving a laser around, people are seldom of a mind to ask you about the state of the power-pack, and it just might come in useful at some time.
I made a bit of an epic outta backing the limo out and down to the forest floor, leaving those two alone for a few minutes, letting them say their goodbyes any way they wished. Like I said before, it wasn’t none of my business and I didn’t want it to be either.
However deep Gordie’s feelings, his farewell was about as warm as to an ill-favored aunt with halitosis—I made more of a thing of it than he did. We stood and watched for a few moments as Hanna headed back up the mountain, all slim grace and swaying long hair, then I turned and gave him a bit of a look.
“What?” he asked, but I never replied, just shook my head and went to get in the limo, waiting for him to join me.
When we got to the main highway, just like before, the power track wouldn’t hitch up. Again I was gonna have to find gas, and this time I’d have to be a whole lot more careful about it. I tried to keep my right foot as light as a feather, to conserve what fuel we did have, but we were even shorter of time than we were of gas. I couldn’t keep my speed down, no matter how many times I reminded myself, it’d creep back up again.
I tried stopping a couple of times, approaching this old-timer on his front porch and getting a rifle pointed at me for my efforts. It didn’t leave us with too much choice other than to keep heading for the City and to pray that gas gauge was being far too pessimistic.
Finally the inevitable happened: there was no reserve, the gauge was spot-on and we coughed and spluttered to a halt. I cursed in frustration, repeatedly punching the steering wheel—we still had fifty miles to go. If we had to walk, it would take just about every minute I had before the implant was due to kick in.
The only other possibility was hitching, but neither Gordie nor me held out much hope; it wasn’t exactly a popular activity anymore, and who the hell
was gonna pick up what must’ve looked like a pair of stand-out crazies?
I felt a real strong compulsion to keep on going, to keep whittling that distance down, even if only by a mile or two, but decided it was best to stay with the limo; as if it gave us some kind of status, that people could see we were out of fuel rather than luck—though with the bullet holes, the dents, the missing fender, the dirt and mold, I’m not sure how impressive it was.
I’d just about given up hope and started to think that we might as well start walking when this guy in an old pickup pulled to a gentle halt a few yards in front of us. He was thirty, maybe, bespectacled and balding, not that friendly, but hey, he was offering us a lift, so who was complaining?
“You think the limo’s all right there?” Gordie asked, glancing back as we pulled away.
“It’s a wreck with no gas—what d’you think?” I replied, and the driver nodded repeatedly, like that was his way of laughing.
He’d introduced himself as Dan—just that, nothing else, as if it was all the information anyone could ever possibly need. In turn, we gave him our names, attempting to keep the conversation going, mentioning all sorts of stuff, but it was like trying to get into an advent calendar after your baby brother’d been playing with the glue—no matter what the subject, the door was tightly closed. In the end, we also lapsed into silence. I mean, he was taking us to the City, his driving seemed okay, who needed conversation?
When we finally peaked the last of the hills and the City loomed into view, it was like something huge and dark squatting on its haunches, getting ready to leap at us, and I wouldn’t have been in the least bit surprised if it’d been Nora Jagger either. Dan slowed for a moment, I thought to take in the view, but it was more like he was being energized in some way: he sat up straighter, took more note of what was happening, actually sped up a little as he began the many twists and curves of the descent.
Signs of Infinity began to appear almost immediately—a distant Dragonfly, a glimpse of a laser statue—and Gordie, who hadn’t been there since we escaped, immediately looked that bit on edge. However, that was as nothing compared to what was about to follow, which, I’ll tell ya, was one of the most bizarre things I’ve ever witnessed. It was such a shock it took me a while to appreciate what the hell was going on. Dan suddenly opened his mouth really wide, almost as if he didn’t have a choice about it, and started making these gurgling, guttural noises, guck-guck-guck, then ran through a whole lotta random other sounds, spilling them out as if his voice-box had been kick-started and revved as fast as it would go.
“Let me outta here,” Gordie muttered, backing away as far as he could. But just as abruptly as he’d started, Dan stopped, almost as if he’d been through some kinda checklist. There was a bit of a pause, then finally Mr. Single-Syllable spoke properly—I mean, real sentences, that made sense, not one-grunt replies. Suddenly Dan had lots to say; the only thing was, it wasn’t his voice.
“Due to the fact that there is a non-implanted person in this vehicle, I am changing my route and heading for the nearest Infinity fort.”
I turned and stared at him, spellbound by the mechanical opening and shutting of his mouth. What the hell?
It was her voice, of course: the Bitch, somehow talking to us through Dan, or more accurately, I guessed, his implant.
“The doors have been locked for your safety and security. An Infinity Dragonfly will be with you in”—he paused for a moment, as if calculating—“one minute and forty-four seconds.”
“Clancy!” Gordie cried, though he couldn’t have been any more alarmed than I was.
“Pull over,” I said to Dan, seeing a distant Dragonfly change course and start heading back in our direction. “Pull over!” I repeated, taking the lifeless laser from my pocket and holding it to his forehead.
“The harming of a fully-registered imp by a non-imp is a serious offense and punishable by death,” said the Bitch’s voice out of Dan’s flapping mouth, which, even in that moment, at least gave me the comfort of knowing I still hadn’t been keyed.
“Pull over!” I shouted, jamming the laser harder to Dan’s temple.
To be honest, it was a bit of an empty threat and he probably knew it. Not only did my laser have no power-pack, I was hardly gonna shoot him while he was negotiating the twists and turns of a hilly road. Instead, I started to wrestle with the guy, trying to get him to pull over, yanking his feet off the pedals and hitting the brake. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the Dragonfly getting nearer and Dan announced that it was one minute and three seconds away. That didn’t leave me with a great deal of choice. As he slowed to take the next hairpin bend, I yanked the wheel so that we hit the barrier side-on—trying to scrub off some speed and hopefully stop, but somewhere amongst the struggle, I lost control and the pickup flipped up and over the crash-barrier.
Don’t ask me how it happened; I’m only grateful it did. There was a bit of a shelf and then a fifty- or sixty-foot-drop beyond that crash barrier, but somehow as we sailed over it, the pickup’s cabin got caught on the rail and we ended up just hanging there upside down, still secured by our seatbelts. The windshield was partly broken, so I kicked out the rest and Gordie and me freed ourselves and scrambled out. The Bitch’s ventriloquist’s dummy was no longer spouting her words but pinned in his seat by the steering wheel, blood running from his cheek where his glasses had broken, sliding down his forehead and collecting at the top of his bald head.
As I briefly balanced on the crash-barrier, I noticed this storm drain opening below us on the shelf. We had just enough time to scramble down and get ourselves inside before the Dragonfly loomed up over the rise in front of us. We could hear the pilot hovering, I guessed trying to work out what the hell had gone on, then he started to circle, not realizing that Gordie and me had already emerged on the other side of the road and were weaving our way down through the undergrowth. By the time he started doing wider sweeps, we were well away, sticking to cover and not rejoining the highway until much further on.
The whole of the way through that scrub, all I could hear was Gordie behind me repeating, over and over, expletives of the most amazed variety. He couldn’t believe it—and, frankly, neither could I. Nora Jagger could speak through the implants! It must be some kinda automatic response, I guessed, and presumably not available with all versions—but it was still one helluva shock.
“I thought she was there!” Gordie moaned. “Then I thought it was the radio.”
I never commented, no more recovered from the experience than he was.
“Jesus, Clancy!” he suddenly exclaimed, pausing and staring after me. “Does this mean she’s gonna be able to speak through you?”
I kept moving, refusing to answer or even consider the prospect. “Let’s find the Doc, shall we?” I said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I knew it wasn’t one of the days Doctor Simon had a surgery at St. Joseph’s; he was either at Infinity or his private clinic at his home in the foothills. Bearing in mind we were on foot and that swanky enclave wasn’t that far away—not to mention that I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near Infinity if you’d paid me, the decision had more or less made itself.
It took us most of a coupla hours to get there, the size and forbidding nature of the properties growing by the suburb, security guards forever coming out to make sure we kept moving, that we didn’t end up on their patch. There was some common ground a few hundred yards down the street from the Doc’s estate and Gordie and me waited there in the bushes for that big shiny Bentley of his to come purring along.
The only problem was, it didn’t. We waited there for hour after hour, and the longer we did, the more I became aware of the seconds ticking away, that each one was progressively growing in importance. By late afternoon I was beginning to think I’d made a really bad decision, that the Doc was staying down in Infinity, or maybe even away somewhere.
Gordie was just getting going with his complaints that he was bored and hungry, starting to irri
tate the hell outta me, when the Bentley almost sneaked past us.
I jumped out into the road, praying the Doc was inside, ready to lay myself down in front of him if I had to. However, not only did the car come to an instant automatic stop, but it was the man himself at the steering-wheel.
He slid the passenger window down a few inches, a waft of expensive after-shave almost knocking me over, as usual dressed like he was about to do a cover shot for middle-aged self-satisfaction.
“Clancy. What the hell are you doing?” he asked, furtively looking all around.
“I had to see ya.”
There was a long pause while he continued to check about him, then the back door shushed open almost noiselessly and I quickly slipped inside, followed by Gordie.
I didn’t bother with fluffing up the conversation—there wasn’t time. “I gotta implant inside me,” I told him.
“Oh,” was all he said, not sounding anywhere near as concerned as you’d want your doctor to be under such circumstances.
“A weevil,” I added.
He shrugged a little helplessly. “It’s a common story, I’m afraid.”
“You got one?” Gordie challenged.
“Er . . . no.” he stuttered, sounding a little taken aback.
“So?” Gordie persisted.
“I’ve got an original—a private one.”
I didn’t know what that meant, and just at that moment, didn’t care, either. “How much d’you know much about them?”
“A fair bit.”
“Can they be removed?”
He paused for a moment, plainly not sure what to say. “Erm . . . Officially, no.”
“Unofficially?”
“Still no,” he replied, though in such a way you knew there was a story.
I turned to him, ready to hit him with my best shot. “Thomas has got one, too.”
