"Ever since his rebirth he has been a presence, a dissonant hum between my ears. That hum is still there, yet it has grown so faint in the past few hours that it hovers on the edge of perception. He is severely wounded, perhaps mortally so. He is dying. "
"But he's not dead. "
The silhouette shook its head. "No. Not yet. "
Jack didn't know what more he could do. Be great if he knew someone in the Coast Guard. He could commandeer a cutter and go out in the storm with a harpoon, searching for what was left of Rasalom.
Yeah, right.
"Tell me the circumstances. "
Jack recounted the progression of events during the four fateful minutes in Nuckateague.
Glaeken shook his head. "I don't see what else you could have done. "
"I could have gotten more up close and more personal. "
"And if you had, you might not be here describing your travails. "
Jack banged the arm of the couch with a fist. "I don't know what else to do. "
"We wait. From the sound of what you put him through, he must die soon. Unless. . . "
The last thing Jack wanted to hear right then was an unless.
"Unless what?"
"Unless someone helps him. But his two attendants are dead, and the storm is keeping everyone inside. Where could he find help?"
"He could wash up near the house and some rescue worker could spot him and pull him out. Some CPR, some IV fluids, some hypothermia treatment, and some do-gooder could assure the end of life as we know it. "
"What are the chances?"
"Who knows? I listened to the radio all the way in. Plenty of talk about the fire and the three bodies, but not a word about a survivor. "
"Yet. "
Jack nodded. "Let's turn on the TV and keep posted as to whether there's a sole survivor of this terrible tragedy. Because if there is, he's going to require a late-night consultation by Doctor Jack to finish the job. "
SATURDAY Chapter 20
He opened his eyes again and saw the light. And once again he reassembled his scattered thoughts into a semi-coherent assessment of his situation.
He had washed up on an unknown shore. He lay upon snow-covered sand. A light shone somewhere ahead. He had been trying to reach it, crawling toward it. But every time he progressed a few feet, he passed out. And each attempt yielded less progress and briefer consciousness. But now something new.
Somewhere a dog barked.
The light went out . . .
. . . and came back on again. And something else. A vocal rumble nearby.
A dog, sniffing, panting, and growling. Would it attack? He could not defend himself against a sick kitten, let along a hungry dog. Never, not even during his darkest days trapped in the depths of the keep, had he felt this helpless.
And then a voice . . . one of the cattle . . . a cow . . . far away . . . or perhaps it only seemed far away.
"Rocky? Rocky, come back here this instant!"
He clung to the sound like a sailor to flotsam. He tried to speak but had no voice. He managed to raise his remaining hand, and that set the dog to barking again.
"What have you got out there, you dumb mutt?" the cow said. He sensed age in the voice. "Whatever it is, leave it alone and come inside before you catch your death. "
No! Do not go in! Stay!
"Don't make me come out there!"
Yes! Come out! I beg you, come out! I will give you anything! I will seat you at my right hand after the Change if you will only bring me into your house!
He moved his hand again, precipitating a new round of near hysterical barking.
"I declare, you are the dumbest creature on Earth!" The voice . . . growing louder. "And I'm even dumber for coming out in this to get you. I should leave you out here, but you're so dumb you'd forget how to find the door! You'll probably - Mother of God! Is that - ?"
He felt something nudge him. A toe? He raised his hand as he had before.
"Dear God, he's alive!"
He felt something tighten on his left arm. He assumed it was the cow's hands but he was too numb to feel anything beyond deep pressure.
"You're going to have to help me, mister," she said. "I'm assuming you don't know I'm on in years and don't see so well. You're dead weight and I can't move you on my own. "
He pushed against the ground with his right hand while she tugged on his left arm. Suddenly she released him and he dropped again.
"Dear God! Your hand! Did you lose your hand?"
He wanted to scream, Isn't that obvious, you old idiot?
Fortunately for him, he still had no voice. He could only grunt.
She grabbed him again, pulling on his truncated left arm while he dug his right hand into the semi-frozen snow and pushed toward the light.
SATURDAY Chapter 21
Plenty on the late-night news about the destruction and dead bodies out in Nuckateague, but nothing about a survivor.
Jack didn't know if that was good or not. If they found an unidentified man hovering near death, he'd know where to go and what to do to finish the job. If they didn't, it meant Rasalom was still out in the storm, burned, battered, barely breathing - and ready to breathe his last, Jack hoped.
He rose and grabbed his jacket. "I might as well head out. "
"Stopping in to see your ladies?"
"Nah. Don't think I'm good company tonight. "
"You need them. "
"But they don't need me. Not like this. "
Glaeken was staring at him. "Are you all right, Jack? I ask this knowing the answer. "
"Well, if you know the answer, why are you asking?"
"Because I'm curious about the reason. I understand you're angry and disappointed and frustrated about tonight - "
"Do you? Can you? I threw every goddamn thing I had at him - everything short of a tactical nuke - and you tell me the son of a bitch is still breathing. "
"You haven't failed yet. He still might - "
"Not knowing is driving me nuts. "
"All the more reason to be with people who love you. "
"They won't want to be with me very long. Even I don't want to be with me tonight. So rather than alienate them, I figure it's better I keep to myself. "
The old man continued his annoying stare. "This isn't like you, Jack. "
"Yeah? Well, I'm not feeling much like me lately. "
"Oh?"
He looked at the finger he'd cut batting away the knife Georges had thrown. Pretty much completely healed now.
"I told you about the healing bit. "
Glaeken nodded. "Not good news for either of us. "
"Got that right. " Glaeken on his way out and Jack being pushed someplace he didn't want to go. "But what's happening seems more than physical. "
Another nod. "A certain . . . ruthlessness?"
"Right again. "
"That's part of it. As your recuperative abilities increase, your empathy diminishes. "
"So it's not just me. "
"No. It's the Ally, or whatever infinitesimal fragment of it remains with this world. To be the Defender you must not only be physically resilient but you must have a singleness of purpose. As you've so painfully discovered, the Ally cares not a whit for us as individuals, only that we survive as a species to keep this corner of reality sentient. "
"'A spear has no branches. '" The phrase tasted bitter.
"Correct. Nor should said spear have any concern beyond hitting the target. "
Jack shook his head. So that was why he'd considered setting out the shaped IEDs anyway, even if it meant sacrificing an innocent driver. And why he'd been kicking himself on the way home for not doing it.
"How do you fight that? How do you resist something that sneaks up on you and gets into your head and changes your perspective?"
Glaeken sighed. "With great difficulty. Because you don't feel it. You think it's right
and natural. You think it's you. And in a way, it is. There's a darkness in all of us that will gladly use the end to justify any means. "
"What you call 'darkness,' I call the brain. "
"Ah, science. Stealing the mysteries from life. "
"More like providing an antidote for magic. "
"But 'darkness' is so much more picturesque, so much more evocative. "
"You can't get much darker than the human brain. It's got no conscience. It wants what it wants when it wants it, but most of all it wants to survive, and will do whatever's necessary to preserve itself. But then there's the mind. . . "
"That which makes us sentient, which sees a bigger picture, a different perspective. You can't allow the darkness - or your brain - to overrule your mind. " He shook his head. "But it's not easy. Back in the First Age, a number of us were chosen to lead the battle against the Seven - when Rasalom still counted himself in their number. Some of us succumbed to the influence, willing to sacrifice strings of innocent villages in order to win a single battle, becoming nearly indistinguishable from those we were fighting. "
Jack thought of Glaeken's love for his wife and his continued devotion to her demented shell.
"You seemed to have succeeded. "
"The best weapon is awareness. Knowing that your perspectives and values are being subverted forces you to question yourself. Preserve the real you early on, and that is the person who will prevail. "
Jack slipped into his jacket. "I still don't want to subject anyone to my presence tonight. "
Glaeken smiled. "See? You're winning the battle already. "
"What about tonight's battle? You still sense him out there?"
Glaeken's smile faded as he nodded.
Shit.
Jack took the elevator down and trudged out into the storm. The falling snow muffled the sounds of the city. He'd garaged the car before coming to Glaeken's. The trunk had a special lock and he had the only keys. The Nuckateague evidence would be safe until he disposed of it.
A cab cruised by but he let it go. He lived twenty-some blocks from here. Might as well walk. To Julio's? Nah. Just home. He always had beer in the fridge.
He hoped the walk would tire him. Fat chance. He had a feeling he wouldn't sleep much tonight. Probably stay up listening to the radio for word of a survivor in Nuckateague.
Jack couldn't stand the fact that this wasn't over. It had to be over.
His phone rang. He checked the display: Gia.
"Hi. Home safe?"
"No. We've decided to spend the night at Weezy's. "
No! He resisted an urge to shout into the phone.
"Bad idea. "
A pause, then, "Why do you say that?"
"The farther you and Vicky are from that kid, the better. "
"He's just a baby. And Vicky has such a great effect on him, we figured it would make things a whole lot easier for Weezy if we stayed. "
Jack's turn to pause. Maybe it was okay if they stayed. He didn't see how anyone in the Order could connect Weezy with the baby. Still, he had a bad feeling about that child, that it was some sort of lightning rod for disaster.
"Stop over," Gia said.
"Maybe I'll do that. "
Even though he wouldn't be good company, he wanted to stay close to Gia and Vicky. So he'd do more than stop by. If they were sleeping over, so would he.
SATURDAY Chapter 22
After an endless series of heaves and lurches and lunges, the cow had managed to help slide him across her threshold into light and warmth. At least he assumed it was warm. He'd lost all feeling.
"Lord, you're all but frozen. I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to have to cut you out of those wet clothes. There's not much left to them anyway. Mostly charred rags. "
During the next few minutes he felt himself rolled left and right as he assumed his tattered clothing was being ripped or cut away.
"Don't you worry about me staring at your bum or your privates. I got what they call wet AMD - macular degeneration. You're mostly a blur to me. "
He wasn't worried about that. Survival was his concern.
She left him, then returned. He felt a blanket fall over him.
"You're gonna have to stay there on the rug for now, I'm afraid. No way we're gonna get you up on the couch. But this here's an electric blanket. It'll warm up shortly and start raising your temperature. "
Good. Warmth. He'd thought he'd never be warm again.
"What happened to you? I heard an explosion and saw something light up out on the water. That you? Your boat blow up?"
Exactly what had happened, but he could not imagine how. He'd been free. The burning house had been a glow fading in his wake when something shot out of the darkness and struck the rear of the boat, hurling him through the air and into the water. He remembered nothing until he washed up on this shore.
"Well, whatever happened, you need a doctor and a hospital, especially for that hand. From what I can see it's all charred, and I guess that's good because it's not bleeding, but that stump's gonna need specialist care. "
No! He was too weak. He'd be vulnerable in a hospital. Defenseless.
"But no way you're gonna get to one tonight. The phone's not working worth a damn, and even if it was, I don't see anyone coming out in this storm. So we're gonna have to ride it out together tonight and see what the morning brings. I'll get the boat out here as soon as it can make the trip. "
He could not allow her to call for help, but how could he stop her? He fought to stay conscious, but it slipped away . . .
. . . until he felt himself rolled onto his side.
"Here," she was saying.
His head was propped on pillows or cushions. He knew only that they were soft. He felt a straw pressed between his swollen lips.
"Drink some of that. "
He drew on the straw. Hot salty liquid filled his mouth. He swallowed and greedily sucked more.
"I heated you up a can of chicken broth. Drink as much as you can. With the electric blanket cooking you on the outside and this working from the inside, we'll have you warmed up yet. "
This cow . . . if he survived this, she would be rewarded.
He swallowed more and took a breath. He tried his voice. He had to know.
"Where. . . ?" was all he could manage. His voice sounded like sandpaper on concrete. He must have inhaled smoke, perhaps even a little flame.
"Oh, so you can speak. Well, your voice don't sound too good. Maybe you better save it. As for where you are - little place called Sadie's Island, in the middle of Gardiner's Bay. And me? I'm Sadie. Sadie Swick. I own this little hunk of rock and I'm its sole resident. And how about you? What are you called?"
What name to use? He'd had so many of them. He chose an old one at random.
"Roma," he croaked.
"Like the quarterback? Any relation?"
So many people had asked him those questions when he'd started using the name. He had no idea what they were talking about at first, but he'd soon learned.
"Rome-AH," he said.
"Like the city then. Got a first name?"
"Sal. "
"A real Italian, ay? You don't look Italian, but then I've known a bunch of Italians who don't. Welcome to Sadie's Island, Sal. Wish it could have been under better circumstances but. . . "
She talked on but her voice faded with his consciousness.
SUNDAY Chapter 1
The scream jolted Weezy from her sleep. A child's scream - not the baby's trademarked shriek. A little girl -
"Vicky!"
She jumped off the couch and ran for the bedroom. She'd given it to Gia and Vicky. The bedroom light came on almost immediately, and when Weezy arrived she found a terrified Vicky huddled against her shaken mother . . .
. . . and the baby standing at the edge of the bed, chewing on the sheet.
Vicky was babbling. "I-I-I opened my eyes
and he was right in front of me, staring at me! I was so scared!"
Weezy couldn't blame the poor kid. She'd left a night light on in case Gia or Vicky had to find their way to the bathroom. She imagined Vicky opening her eyes and seeing that face just inches away.
Gia had her arms around her and gave her an extra squeeze. "It's okay, hon. He was just looking at you. He likes you. "
"No! He bit me!"
She held up an index finger. Weezy stood near the foot of the bed, but even from there she could see reddened scrapes where his sharp little teeth had broken the skin.
Gia frowned as she examined it. "Well, now we've got a problem. Let's go clean that up. "
"Should I wake Jack?" Weezy said.
He'd wanted to stay close by but Weezy had no room for him here - Gia, Vicky, and the baby maxed out her sleepover capacity - so he'd crashed across the hall on Dawn's couch.
Gia shook her head as she hustled Vicky toward the bathroom. "We can handle this. Let him sleep. "
Weezy glanced at the bedside clock - 3:32 - and then stared at the baby. How on Earth had he gotten from the crib to the bedroom? As Vicky rounded the corner and disappeared, the baby screeched, then dropped to his hands and knees and began to crawl after her.
An infant . . . crawling . . . and biting.
What had she brought into her home?
SUNDAY Chapter 2
"Breakfast time!" said the now-familiar voice.
He opened his eyes to daylight. The cow was back. She had awakened him periodically during the night to feed him warm broth. He wondered if she had set an alarm to rouse her to the task. No matter. He had gulped whatever she had offered, then returned to sleep.
Though he felt stronger - and certainly warmer - than he had last night, he remained terribly weak.
"Time to get something a little more solid into you. "
He tried to raise himself to his elbows and gasped at the bolt of pain that shot up his left arm. He gaped at the charred stump of his wrist. He'd forgotten about his hand.
Slowly he became aware of pain all over his body.
The cow was talking again. She seemed to love to talk. Not surprising. If she was as isolated as she had said, her only conversations would be with her dog and whoever she phoned.
What had she called herself? Last night was such a blur . . . Sadie, was it? Yes. Sadie.
She gestured toward her dog. "Rocky seems afraid of you. That's not like him. He usually adores people. "
The Dark at the End Page 22
