Tomorrow's Gone Season 2, page 30
“Are you ready to witness a true test of what it means to be a Ranger?”
The crowd erupted in cheers. Bloodlust had darkened their eyes. They seemed to crave the barbarism. At least it’s not me, the collective roaring seemed to say.
Poulter pumped the crowd. “I said are youuuuuuuu ready?”
More cheers for death. Louder. Elijah was all alone and about to die, forgotten, erased like most of the old world.
He hoped there was something after this, that the Gods his father believed in would save his soul and usher him into some great beyond where he could reunite with his parents, assuming his father was dead.
But how could he have faith in Gods who were also blamed for disappearing the world? They couldn’t be both benevolent and cruel. Capricious monsters playing with humanity like pets.
Elijah wondered what the rules would be. What if they made the sisters battle one another before him? Annette committing suicide, leaving Whitney alone in this hellish place.
He beseeched The Light. There has to be some way out of this. Please, show me a way.
“I’m looking.”
Poulter kept teasing the crowd. “He’s fought a child. He’s fought his best friend. And somehow he has survived them both. But toniiiiight only one combatant will leave the cage in this first-ever battle of four.”
Four?
Dark shapes moved toward the other end of the cage, guards escorting prisoners toward the fenced arena.
The lights were too bright for details.
As they drew closer, Elijah finally saw their forms taking shape, stepping out from in front of the light and into the cage.
Annette, followed by Whitney, both looking at Elijah with broken expressions. He wanted to cry. His gut sank as the girls were each directed to separate corners.
NO. We have to find a way out of this.
The last prisoner entered: Fire Hands, of course.
He took the other corner on Elijah’s side of the cage with a wink.
The guards left, locking the cage door behind them.
“The last one standing gets to live!” Poulter shouted. “There will be only one survivor!”
“Noooo!” Whitney cried out.
Annette looked at her sister, tears now washing her cheeks.
Elijah blinked back his own.
He heard laughter from Fire Hands’ corner, then, “Hey, Freeman.”
Elijah turned and glared at him.
“They’re not even making me do this,” Fire Hands said. “They were picking some other prisoner, but I begged them to let me kill you little shits. Which one should I finish off first?”
Elijah didn’t wait for the red boxes to open for their weapons. He ran at Fire Hands, moving faster than his enemy could react. Slammed him against the metal pole in the corner and knocked the breath right out of him.
Then his hands were at Fire Hands’ throat, choking him.
“Guess this one’s kicking off before the countdown!” Poulter juiced the crowd.
Elijah heard the boxes open and the weapons drop to the ground, but he didn’t turn to look. He wanted to keep squeezing the life out of Fire Hands. He dug deeper into his throat. Smiled as his enemy’s face cycled through shades of red.
Until a sudden blast of heat slammed Elijah backwards and sent him sprawling to the ground.
Fire Hands leapt toward him, his wrists ringed in fiery circles that warped the air around them, the light brightening as he prepared to unleash his flames upon Elijah.
Whitney screamed her lungs raw, rushing at him.
Fire Hands blasted her, engulfing her tiny frame in fire.
She sank to the floor, Fire Hands still spraying her with liquid flame while laughing maniacally.
Annette screamed, leaping toward him, knife in hand, thrusting it into his gut.
Fire Hands grabbed Annette with both hands — flames doused but still bright red — and threw her toward Elijah just as he was standing.
Elijah caught Annette, grabbing her burned arms.
Whitney rose from the ground, now made of stone.
Elijah stared in disbelief as Whitney charged, balling up her fist, and punched Fire Hands in the face.
Four teeth flew like a flock of birds from his mouth.
Fire Hands pounded the ground, face first.
The crowd roared, surprising Elijah. Everyone loved an underdog, especially a little girl against a man with hands made of fire.
Elijah looked down, then scrambled to retrieve a knife lying under one of the boxes.
Whitney was no longer in rock form, now running toward a crossbow in the corner.
Annette moved toward Fire Hands.
Elijah grabbed the knife as Fire Hands rolled out of Annette’s path, causing her to bounce off the chain link.
Fire Hands spun on Annette, grabbed a handful of her hair, and slammed her face first into the fence.
She screamed, flailing, trying to break free of his hold.
Elijah came in for the kill, thrusting the knife into Fire Hands’ back.
The pyromaniac screamed, spinning around, taking the blade with him as he turned before Elijah could yank it back out to stab him again.
Light danced in his eyes as he raised his arms, hands turning red.
Elijah had nowhere to run.
But the ball of fire arced sideways, narrowly missing him.
Elijah looked to see Annette wrestling Fire Hands to the ground, his fire licking her clothes.
Whitney and Elijah screamed in unison.
Elijah ran to pull them apart.
But the fire was too big, too bright, consuming both ally and enemy.
A bolt whizzed by him, slamming into someone’s back.
Elijah gasped as Annette fell to the ground, screaming and on fire.
Whitney hit her sister!
Whitney cried out as Fire Hands turned toward her and Elijah, his entire body embracing him in flames, some of them now edged with an azure shade of blue.
An inferno spread through the cage as Fire Hands laughed louder.
Elijah moved to put himself between Whitney and the wall of fire, but he couldn’t see anything past the blaze.
But then the fire suddenly blinked out, extinguished again, doused from nowhere.
Elijah looked up to see Fire Hands standing perfectly still.
What is he doing? Why did he stop?
Only after Fire Hands fell to the ground did Elijah see the bolt Annette had shot into his brain.
Elijah turned to see her burned body, singed black clothes melted into her skin, somehow staying alive just long enough for the shot.
The crossbow fell from her hands and she slumped over.
Whitney screamed, “NOOOO!”
She ran over, dropping next to Annette, reaching out to hold her sister, despite the unbearable heat. There was a bloody spot on her shoulder where Annette’s bolt had pierced her, but she seemed to be fine otherwise.
Elijah ran to Annette, The Light swelling inside him.
He placed his hands on her face, pushing his healing warmth into her.
Memories of her life came flashing by, when she was little with her parents fishing at a lake, when her sister was born and the joy it had given her family, a time she’d nursed a stray cat back to health only to have it die on her.
Pascal’s powers made him uncomfortable. Elijah felt like he was violating her privacy as more and more memories surged into his mind, feeding him a bit of Annette’s foreverness.
Her skin was starting to heal, though she was unconscious.
“You’re healing her!” Whitney cried, her eyes filled with surprise and joy. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Elijah nodded, tearing up. He hadn’t been able to save his mother, but at least he could save Annette.
The megaphone crackled. “No, no, no, that is against the rules!”
“FUCK YOUR RULES!” Elijah yelled.
Guards rushed toward the gate.
“I got it.” Whitney turned to stone and raced toward them.
Elijah glanced back to see her holding the gate closed as guards tried to push it open.
Someone shoved a baton through the fence to hurt her, or force her away, but Whitney stood like a literal statue.
How long the girl could keep doing it, Elijah had no idea.
Fifty-Six
Arthur
Arthur and Emory sat in the warmth of the crank-powered portable space heater in the clock tower belfry drinking hot cocoa while Ed went to make sure they’d covered their tracks.
Emory was sitting at the desk while Arthur occupied the floor, leaning against the wall in cramped quarters that had only a bed and a desk. Arthur wasn’t sure what the man did for a toilet, and didn’t want to know.
“He seems … intense,” Emory said.
“Yes,” Arthur agreed.
“You sure he won’t kill us?”
“As sure as I can be of anyone, I suppose.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Emory said, sipping the last of her cocoa. “How long until we can go to the library?”
“Soon. Is Boricio in the city yet?”
“I can’t feel him. There’s been static in my head, ever since we entered the city.”
“Was it like that the last time you were here?”
“I don’t think so. Something is happening. I think it has to do with the people in those cages.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know. I … just had a flash of monks gathering for a ceremony or something big. I think it’s creating the static.” She looked at him. “You don’t hear it?”
Arthur shook his head, finishing his cocoa just as Ed returned.
“It’s secure.” Ed sat cross-legged in front of them, sharpening a giant knife. “So what brings you here?”
“I need The Compass.”
“The Compass?” Ed repeated.
“Yes. I understand that you took it.”
“You understand correctly. And I understand that you took some texts belonging to the monks.”
“I did.” Arthur nodded.
“May I see them? You do have them with you, right?”
Arthur reached into his backpack and handed over the stack of stolen papers, along with his notes. “You looking for something in particular?”
Ed skimmed through the papers, like he knew exactly what he was looking for, and had maybe seen it before. But he didn’t answer, mumbling under his breath as he scanned.
Emory looked at Arthur uneasily.
Arthur nodded to indicate that everything was okay.
Ed finally stopped on a page, then quickly thumbed forward, selecting six or seven pages and putting the rest on the floor right next to him.
“What is it?” Arthur asked.
“The Map of The Way, written by Brother Faith after The End.”
“What’s so interesting about Brother Faith’s parables?”
“They’re written in code,” Ed said.
“What?”
“Yeah.” Ed looked at Emory. “Hey, honey, could you throw me that notepad?”
Emory looked to her left, grabbed the notepad off the desk, and leaned forward, handing it to Ed.
“Thanks.” He grabbed a pen and started circling letters at various spots in the parables.
Arthur remembered the man as conspiratorial, always looking for signs where there were none. A lot like the person Brother Anger thought Arthur was. So it was hard to determine if he was truly onto something or grasping at straws, seeking any tenuous connection that backed up whatever crazy theories he had at the moment.
“So, what is the Compass for?” Emory asked.
Arthur wondered if she didn’t remember or if she was seeing if Ed would offer a different answer.
“It leads to The Seed,” Ed answered without looking up.
“What’s The Seed?”
He looked at Arthur. “Something the aliens planted here when they came.”
“Aliens or Gods?” Emory asked.
“What is a God? Are we not Gods to lower life forms?”
“I suppose,” she said. “I’ve never really thought of it that way.”
“The Seed is something the tree told us to find, something the aliens planted here.”
“And what does it do?” Emory asked.
“I don’t know. But if the aliens and the monks both want it, then I don’t think either should have it.” Ed glanced at Arthur suspiciously. “What’s to say you aren’t working with the Order?”
“They see me as a heretic, same as you.”
“What do you want with The Compass?” Ed nodded, repeating his query before adding a new one. “And how did you find me?”
Arthur explained that a voice had been guiding him ever since the great erasing, but he didn’t tell Ed that The Messenger spoke through the tree.
“How do you know this ‘Messenger’ of yours isn’t them?”
Arthur couldn’t tell Ed the truth, because then he wouldn’t trust The Messenger. But Arthur would be dead if not for The Messenger sparing him, and had more than earned his trust. “It saved me from them, and from The Ruins.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Can’t we accept some things at face value?”
“I question everything, even myself.” Ed stared Arthur dead in his eyes. “So, this voice told you I was here?”
“The monks didn’t believe me either.”
“I’m not saying I don’t believe you” — Ed continued to circle letters as they talked — “but I’d love to know who the hell you’re talking to.”
“We’ve obviously been following similar threads for a while. And you’re not with the monks. Is someone communicating with you?”
Ed nodded. “Sort of.”
“Who?”
“Ask her.” Another nod, this one at Emory.
Arthur turned to her, confused. “Ask her what?”
“She knows what I’ve got in me. She’s got it, too.”
Emory stared at Ed. “You have The Light?”
“Yep, and if you all show up now, with these texts, I can’t help but think that something is guiding us … forward. But I’m not just handing The Compass over. Help me search for The Seed and we can figure out whatever there is to learn together.”
Arthur needed to get The Compass, but he could never overpower Ed. The man had been a cop before he served in the military, black ops shit. He could probably kill Arthur with a bobby pin and a jar of Vaseline.
But at least he was willing to share his information. Maybe they could save the world together. Maybe Arthur could convince him to visit the tree with him and deliver The Seed.
Still, it would be difficult, convincing Ed to trust The Messenger, or the tree.
Maybe Arthur could convince him that the tree had been changed by the man trapped within its branches and trunk, who himself had been changed by The Light or Darkness in Boricio.
Maybe there was some truth in that.
Maybe it was as simple as one alien overriding the desires of another.
Maybe it was that alien species inside Boricio and Emory and Ed helping Arthur through The Messenger?
If he could convince Ed of that, then maybe they could finally end the occupation.
Everybody would get what they want.
But doubt crept in and Arthur wondered if the aliens were playing him for a fool, sparing him only to further their poisonous plans.
They needed human conspirators to accelerate their schemes, and deliver The Seed.
It didn’t make sense, but Arthur knew so little of the aliens or The Gods, or whatever they were — how could he divine knowledge of a species so beyond himself?
Their need for humans seemed evident, judging by all the pockets left untouched by The Ruins. The monks didn’t believe that these humans had been left behind. They had been chosen to be among those who would ascend to humanity’s next incarnation, finally living where they belonged with the Gods.
And maybe that was true.
But it felt wrong to Arthur.
Ed kept circling letters, then, once done, he began frantically scribbling them all on his notepad.
“What will you do if you find The Seed?” Emory asked him.
“Besides keeping it here?” Ed said.
Arthur didn’t like that at all. “Here? You have monks all around you, aliens out there, and who knows what else.”
“There’s something to be said for hiding in plain sight,” Ed argued. “I know how the monks think. They’re too arrogant to look this close to home. Besides, most of them can’t stay too long here without losing their damn minds. I’m immune to the Lost Ones more than most. And, most importantly, the artifacts are all here.”
“What artifacts?” Emory asked.
“Pieces of alien tech embedded in various areas, buildings and trees, sometimes even in the animals. We’re not sure how they got here, but I’d guess it happened during The Event. Monks study them to try and figure out what they do. The Compass is one of the most important ones. The Seed is essential.”
“How do you know that, if you don’t even know what it does?” Emory yawned, rubbing her tired eyes.
Ed smiled. “Because the Order has been seeking it for years. The Seed can’t be good, whatever it does. I took The Compass to stop them from finding it.”
“But you still haven’t found it?”
“I … don’t know how to use it,” Ed admitted, holding up the notebook. “I’m hoping this will tell me.”
“Do you think it’s a Seed for another tree?”
“I don’t know,” Ed told her.
Emory watched him circling letters.
Arthur saw the wheels spinning in her head.
She caught his eyes and for a moment he felt like a peeping tom. Not from Emory, but from the cold intelligence inside her.
She turned to him and smiled.
But her expression seemed like a mask.
“What do you want The Seed to do?”
Ed stopped circling letters and looked up at Emory, confused by her directness. “I just wanna go home.”
“What?” Arthur and Emory said in unison.
“I’m not from here. I was on a flight. The feds had arrested me on some bullshit charges. I fell asleep on the plane and woke up here, in Old City, with the world all purple.”
