Prometheus Mode, page 11
“He-all,” he corrects me.
“Like I’m supposed to believe that’s his real name. Just like yours isn’t Matthew, it’s...”
“Egan Wallach,” he reminds me. “You can believe what you want, it changes nothing.”
He points ahead at a faded road sign. COUNTY ROAD, it tells us. TOWN OF MEDFORD. “Almost there,” he says. He sounds just as relieved saying it as I feel hearing it. He shields his eyes and peers at the sun. “Almost three o’clock. Father Heall will be in his chapel.”
“Praying for miracles?”
It’s a stupid thing to say, undignified and petty. I immediately regret it.
“I’ll take you in and get you situated for the evening. You can get washed up and have something to eat and drink. You’ll have about an hour or so to rest before—”
“I don’t want to get washed up or eat,” I say. “I want to meet with him right away.”
“That won’t be possible.”
I scowl at him, but it fails to change his mind.
We take the long circular exit and descend without another word onto another highway. SILLS ROAD the sign says. There are a lot fewer buildings here than I’d expected, fewer now than there once were, if the blackened, burnt stubs of foundations are any indication. The forest has grown back, lush and green, taking over from where it had once been banished. We take a left onto DUNTON. The street sign is nearly covered in vines, too. The ride through the trees feels surreal. The air is much cooler, now that we’re in the shade. Everything’s so peaceful. It’s hard to believe that danger lurks everywhere.
The first intact buildings of the Brookhaven complex come into view. They’re low structures, formerly painted white. The landscaping, once probably carefully tended, has fallen into neglect and gone wild. It’s hard to imagine people used to live here, even harder to think that they still do. How does a place like this even exist anymore on Long Island? It might as well be the far side of the moon.
Except, of course, it’s not. Because there, in the shade, and there on a porch, stand the living dead, the clay shells of a dying humanity, just waiting to pluck out our livers.
Chapter 16
A hot gust of wind blows a smattering of leaves across Patchogue Road, speaking to us in the language of rattling bones and whispering souls. The overgrown grass ripples and the trees rustle, as if disturbed by the spirits we’ve agitated in our passing. We turn onto a weedy drive and pass beneath the low-hanging canopy of older elms and maples, all choked with vines of strangler fig. A large white colonial mansion comes into view. The columns in front are peeling paint, and half of the black shutters that once adorned its outer walls have come off or are in the process of being shed. Several lay where they fell at the base of the house; others have made it as far as halfway to the road. The roof is green with moss. Grass grows from the gutters.
“Charming,” Micah says.
“I think the word you’re looking for is rustic.”
“More like ramshackle.”
He looks warily about as we pedal up the drive. We pass a dilapidated shed off to one side and a rusting delivery truck out in front. Not a single living person is in sight, just the handful of undead standing around like silent sentinels. They haven’t noticed us yet.
I glance up and see a light shining in one of the upper story windows. I stare at it, wondering how it can be so bright, when I realize it’s just the late afternoon sun reflecting off the glass.
“Jessie!” Micah yelps, swerving away from me. “Pay attention to where you’re going!”
Brother Matthew hisses at us and speeds up. Our element of surprise is gone. The zombies further out aren’t a threat. It’s the ones in our path that we now need to avoid. They turn as we pass and begin to moan and stumble after us.
“Quickly now,” he calls over his shoulder. He throws a leg over his seat and coasts to a stop at the front steps of the mansion. He hops off and lets the bike fall quietly into the grass. “Don’t block the walkway.”
Micah reaches him before I do, and he’s off in a flash. As soon as I stop, he’s unzipping the carrier and urging Shinji out. The dog immediately starts growling at the IUs. He doesn’t bark like he did in the parking lot at Jayne’s Hill. I wonder if he knows we’re not yet in any immediate danger.
“Shinji,” I call. “Come!” We bound up the steps. Brother Matthew is already slipping a key into the door and opening it.
“Inside,” he quietly says. “Quickly now!”
“I have to get his rabbit!”
“Jessie, come back!”
I sprint down the steps and snatch the toy out of the trailer. As I turn, a dead hand swipes at my back. It came out of nowhere. I duck away and race back to the house. The IU is too slow and clumsy to follow.
“That was stupid!” Micah hisses.
“And you can stop pretending you’re worried about me.”
“I am worried about you.”
He enters the house first. I follow, a finger hooked on Shinji’s collar to make sure he doesn’t try to run away again. Although, as long as I’ve got his toy, I’m pretty sure he’ll follow me anywhere. Brother Matthew enters last. Just as he shuts the door, the first IU trips on the steps.
It takes a few seconds for our eyes to adjust to the darkness.
“This is the dormitory,” Brother Matthew says. He pushes past us and into the vestibule. “Hello?” he calls. His voice booms through the house. The echoes make it seem all the more empty.
And just as you’d expect from an empty house, there’s no reply.
“Everyone must still be in the chapel.”
Micah rolls his eyes. Even in the gloom I can read the look on his face: What have we gotten ourselves into? I’d be worried that there really isn’t anyone else, that Brother Matthew’s just brought us here out of some sadistic whim, but there’s a faint, tantalizing aroma hanging in the air. The house isn’t empty. Someone’s cooked something recently.
My stomach growls long and noisily. Micah chuckles. “You should’ve taken that bar I offered.”
Brother Matthew leads us up a broad set of stairs. The carpeting is worn and dirty. I spot a kerosene lamp hung on a nail pounded into the wall. I touch the base; it’s cold.
“There’s electricity,” Brother Matthew informs us, “enough to power the lights and few other things. But we use it sparingly.”
“Generator?”
“We have one, but only as a last resort. It’s noisy and good fuel is scarce and hard to transport. There are solar panels on the roof in back attached to a battery pack. The entire system’s old, badly in need of maintenance, and unreliable.”
He turns left at the top of the flight and heads down a wide hallway. The walls are scuffed and there’s a dark splash between doors in one section. I don’t ask about it. Neither does Micah, though he stares at it as we pass. Someone died here. They probably reanimated here, too. The question left unanswered is when.
Matthew stops and knocks on a closed door. “Brother Walter? It’s Brother Matthew. I have... guests.”
There’s a faint creak of bed springs inside the room, followed by footsteps. The door is unlocked and cautiously opened. An eyes peers out at us through the crack, one single dark eye in a pond of gray flesh. The door opens all the way and we’re treated to a full view of half a man. Brother Walter is unusually short, but he makes up for it in girth. His face is pale, his hair coal-black. It falls well past his shoulders and over his bare chest. A thick beard covers the bottom half of a craggy, ashen face. I can’t tell how old he is. He could fifty; he could be ninety. His limpid eyes glisten in the faint light. He reeks of alcohol.
He looks us over, then asks, “Why would you bring Sinners here?”
Brother Matthew tenses beside us. “They aren’t Sinners, Walt.”
“No? They look like Sinners.”
“They’re here to meet Father Heall. They need his... blessing.”
Brother Walter squints at our faces, first Micah’s, then mine. “They don’t need his blessing.”
“It’s not for them, but for their friend.”
Brother Walter sighs. “Where?”
“Inside the arcade.”
“Not possible.” He shakes his head emphatically. “No time.”
I step forward. “Please. Our friend is dying. He was bitten early this morning. Brother Matthew and Brother Nicholas said he has less than two days. By tomorrow night, he’ll be—”
“I said no time.”
“We rode bicycles to get here,” Brother Matthew explains. “We could take the car and be back—”
“Not possible!”
“That’s not all,” Brother Matthew presses. “They have news of Enoch.”
Brother Walter’s eyes widen. He straightens himself up, then reaches behind him for a shirt. After putting it on, he brushes the wrinkles flat over his barrel chest. “And still you say they aren’t Sinners?”
“They aren’t. I’ll explain, but first I’d like to get them situated.”
Brother Walter considers this for a moment before disappearing back into the room once more. He reappears and hands Brother Matthew a key. “Take them to the Remington Room for now. I’ll need to prepare another.” He glares at us. “We do not allow fraternization here.”
“Oh, we’re not together,” I quickly say. “Not like that.”
He grunts, apparently unimpressed. “You know what to do, Brother Matthew. We follow standard protocol. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Brother Matthew nods grimly and turns. He beckons us to follow him. I glance behind us as Walter slips back inside his room. He doesn’t shut the door.
“What’s standard protocol?” I ask.
We pass six or seven more doors, all closed, before stopping at one. It looks no different than the others. Brother Matthew inserts the key and turns the knob. The door opens with a soft creak. Stale air washes out. It doesn’t seem like the room has been open for quite some time.
“There are matches and candles on the dresser,” he says. “A flashlight, too. Use them all sparingly. And keep the shutters closed after it gets dark. I’ll bring up some water for you to wash up in. You’ll find fresh clothes in the closet and drawers. Do your best to find something that fits.”
I turn, frowning. “Both of us?”
He nods. “For now. Leave your backpacks out here, along with anything in your pockets.”
Micah bristles at this and opens his mouth to protest, but Brother Walter shows up right then with an EM gun in his hand. He points it directly at us, so there’s no question he’d use it.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Brother Matthew turns to me. “Standard protocol,” he finally explains. “Just a precautionary measure. Please, just do what we’re asking you. It’s for your own good. And ours.”
“But we didn’t do—”
“You’ll get it all back soon enough,” Brother Walter assures us. “Minus any weapons you may be carrying. Those you’ll get back when you leave us. Unless you decide to stay, in which case, they will go into the armory.”
“Jess?” Micah says. He has that look in his eye that tells me he’s not planning on going along with this. I can’t believe he’s even considering resisting.
“No, Micah. Let’s just do as they say.” I can’t let anything distract us from the medicine we came here to procure.
I unshoulder my pack and hand it over to Brother Matthew, along with the Link and the small pocketknife I’ve been carrying. Even my inhaler, which I’d been seriously neglecting lately. It has to be running low by now, anyway. Micah watches me, but he doesn’t make any similar moves. He clutches his pack to his body and braces himself against the wall. When he sees the little bundle of photos in my hand, now waterlogged and all stuck together, he snatches them away before Brother Walter can take them. “Have some decency!” he cries. “Let her keep these.”
Brother Walter nods. “Go ahead.”
He takes everything else and sets it against the wall on the other side of the hallway. They wait for Micah to hand over his pack and empty his pockets.
“No.”
“Micah, please,” I whisper. “He said they’ll give it all back.”
He starts to slide away from them, shaking his head. “This isn’t right.”
“Micah!”
He takes another step, then spins toward Brother Matthew. I try to yell at him to stop, but before the word comes out, the air turns to fire. The world tilts and my senses explode. A white light so bright that it seems almost divine blinds me.
Then it all collapses in on itself — the light and the sound and the smell of burnt plastic and the metallic taste in my mouth — and all my mind registers is that I’m lying on my stomach on the bare, hard, wooden floor and there’s a flickering of light coming from somewhere, like a candle. I can see it reflected on the water-stained wall where the paper has peeled off. And there’s a flickering pain on the periphery of my consciousness.
I try to move and the pain flares, finding me, staying. It grows into a mountain. Then, just as it becomes unbearable, it shatters and the pieces of it grow into an avalanche of aches cascading deeper and deeper into myself, to the deepest parts of me I never knew existed. I wait, breathless, for it all to settle, for the pain to pass.
Minutes and hours and years go by. The walls darken and I realize the flickering light isn’t from a candle but from the dying light of day leaking in from an opening in the wall behind me, a window, presumably. There’s a low moan, coming not from me but from somewhere nearby. I can’t see because I can’t turn my head, but I know what it is. My heart nearly stops. Even if I could move, I wouldn’t dare. The moan comes again. And now I hear it shuffling toward me across the floor, the darkness, edging closer and closer.
And when the wretched thing clamps itself onto my leg and smacks its lips, my mind shuts down.
Chapter 17
“Are you okay?”
Micah leans in closer. His face goes out of focus.
Too close.
“Jess?”
I try to speak, but for some reason my mouth doesn’t seem to want to work. All that comes out is a whisper of air.
He shakes me again. “Can you move?”
I groan.
“Those cocksuckers,” he says. He lets go of me and leans back on his heels. “I can’t believe they fucking zapped us!”
“...oor fuhld,” I manage.
Micah frowns. “My fault?” he says, as if he can’t even conceive what that means. But I’m right, and he knows it.
It takes all my strength to bring my hand up to my head. The damn thing feels like it weighs a billion pounds. I watch it hover stupidly above me. It doesn’t do what I want it to do. When I give up trying, it drops onto my face.
“I think you caught the brunt of the blast,” he says. “It should’ve been me.”
No shit.
“Wuh tie... mmmm zit?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t tell. They took our Links, too. But judging from the sun, it’s probably close to four o’clock.”
An hour? I’ve been out for an hour?
It takes everything I can muster, but I manage to get onto my elbows. My arms are weak. My head pounds. I feel like I’m going to be sick. I’m actually surprised how much the EM blast affected me, given that my implant has disconnected from my brain. Eric once told me that a direct hit with an EM pistol at very close range can still knock people out, even if they don’t have one. I’m just glad I rejected the implant, or else this would’ve been much worse.
“Fuggin... EM.”
“Not sure, but I think it might’ve been a traditional shock taser. You hit your head when you fell.”
That’d explain the headache.
“Where... Shin... ji?”
“Don’t know. I remember hearing him barking right before I blacked out. He’s not here.”
“Help me up,” I whisper. At least my lips are starting to work again.
Micah stumbles to his feet. He puts his hands under my arms and half carries, half drags me to the bed. “Not sure I can do this,” he says, but he grunts and lifts. At the same time I straighten my legs and try to throw myself backward. I end up balanced on the edge of the bed, and there I stay, perched precariously. Micah leaves me and stomps angrily across the room. It’s not very comfortable, but at least I’m no longer on the floor.
“Door?” I ask. I tense the muscles in my side to keep from slipping. It doesn’t seem to help. I can feel myself starting to slide.
“Locked.”
Of course.
The windows are barred, too. Not that it matters. We’re on the second floor, and from what I remember seeing from the outside, it’s a straight shot to the ground twenty or so feet down.
“They better not... hurt him.”
“They don’t want him. It’s us they’re worried about.” He continues pacing, shaking off the last of the numbness in his hands. His feet scuff the floor. The sound is loud and abrasive in my ears. I try to push myself more fully onto the bed, but I’m still too weak.
“Why would they do that?” he says, gesturing angrily. “Why take us out like that?”
Because you wouldn’t give them your backpack, I want to say. I don’t, because I know it won’t help. He already knows. He’s just venting. I would be, too, if I could. Besides, I’m too twisted around and too numb to speak. I try and relax, but all I end up doing is rolling off the bed. Micah turns only when he hears me thump to the floor. My cheek hits the bedpost.
“Shit, Jess. I’m sorry!”
He hurries over but I wave him drunkenly away and instead try to prop myself up against the mattress.
“You’re right. This is all my fault,” he tells me. “But it doesn’t mean they can just—”
“Micah.” I cough weakly. “Shut up for a minute, will you?”
His face twists, a mixture of anger and anguish and embarrassment.
I watch him flit about the room. He ends up over by the window, lifting a hand to draw the curtains apart so that he can look outside.
“Sun’s starting to go down.”
