Into the Fire (12 page)

“You won't have to. It's micro.”

In the end, he filled a bag and came up to me, proudly holding it open for my approval.

“Don't mean a great deal to me,” I told him.

He grunted like I was letting him down as usual, and turned for the door. “It should do,” he told me.

As soon as we set off back to the church, our task completed, I found myself worrying about Lena again, about leaving her alone like that. I hated having to trust Dr. Simon. It was completely against my nature. If the circumstances had been different, I wouldn't have even considered it, but as it was, I had no other choice.

I was that concerned, I gave out with one of those long sighs we all expel when we want a friend to ask, “What's up?” but Jimmy was too preoccupied to notice.

We were on the corner of Melville and a couple of kids had just passed by, looking like they had something on their minds, when he grabbed my arm, looking back at where they were going.

“What's the matter?” I asked, but he never answered.

They turned off down this narrow alley and he immediately set off after them.

“Jimmy!” I shouted but he ignored me. More than a little irritated, I tagged along behind him tagging along behind them: down the alley, around a corner, then up a fire escape and through a door. The little guy pegged it up there after them, hesitated for a moment and then, making sure I was right behind him, he entered.

Actually, in a way, it was kinda amazing: he's in his seventies and those two kids were in their teens, but somehow he'd recognized kindred spirits. They were a couple of gamers who'd unknowingly just led us to what looked like a makeshift games parlor, stocked with what I guessed were looted machines.

I don't know how many kids were playing, maybe twenty or so. I thought they'd take one look at us and kick up a fuss, that there might be trouble, but they were too engrossed with what they were doing to even notice.

Jimmy stood there gazing around like he was in the Games Room of the Gods, practically licking his lips at all that technology and the different types of games, while I was more concerned with what the deal was here.

“Let's go,” I told him, feeling uneasy.

“Are you kidding?” he cried.

This sleazy-looking guy, overweight and unshaven, approached us. Presumably he was running the show. He asked Jimmy if he wanted some change.

“You didn't keep any of that money?” the little guy asked, turning to me.

I gave him a short hard burst of The Look, just to let him know how unimpressed I was. “Nope.”

“Just one game!” he cooed, somehow knowing I was lying. “For old times' sake.”

He got such an expression about him, such a longing, a cry of nostalgia, that—call me soft, call me stupid, call me whatever you will—I took out a ten and handed it over.

“
One
game!” I insisted.

“Hey, Big Guy, you're the coolest, man,” he said, immediately changing the bill into coins.

“For chrissake, Jimmy, be careful,” I muttered, as soon as we were alone. “What if someone recognizes you?”

He didn't even reply, just stroked his bald head as if that answered everything.

I followed behind him as he went from game to game, looking over kids' shoulders, peering into their booths, his eyes twinkling like they might catch fire, determined to make his one game count. One girl didn't like it, you could see that, this old guy closely studying what she was doing. Eventually she got all twitchy, shooting sideways glances and flicking her hair 'til in the end she got wiped out and promptly stormed away. Jimmy was in her seat before it had even lost the impression of her butt.

“Know what you're doing?” I asked, and the kid on the other side of him gave this kind of cruel snigger.

“Yeah. It's just a variation of an old favorite,” he said with supreme confidence, immediately getting himself wiped out. The kid started giggling, nudging his neighbor and pointing at Jimmy.

Jimmy made this face like he'd missed the obvious, then started to play again. The two kids waited to see how long he'd last this time, their laughter threatening to erupt at any moment.

The only thing was, that was it. That was the only occasion he got himself wiped out. I mean, it's not something that's ever interested me, not in the least, but I could see I was in the presence of a grand master. He whirled his hands through the air like he was conducting an orchestra, his movements rapid and smooth. In no time he moved onto the second level, then the third, with the machine congratulating him all the way. The two kids just gaped, their mouths getting ever wider, and others started stopping their own games to stare over at us. I guess I'd seen a little of it out on the Island, but I had no idea just how much in tune he was with that stuff.

I kept an eye out for any hint that someone might've recognized him—not that I thought they would've done anything if they had. I mean, you could see it in their faces: disbelief, shock, but more than
anything, absolute and overwhelming respect. I couldn't imagine any of them informing on him.

He finished up, got what I suspected was the maximum possible score—the machine was practically throwing itself at his feet—but he had one more trick up his sleeve. There was this kid a few stations down, on a bit of a run himself and refusing to let this old man's antics distract him. Jimmy saw him, got a bit of a twinkle in his eye and dug something out of the bag of stuff he'd taken from the repair shop. Don't ask me what it was, but he fiddled around with it for a few moments, lodged it into the machine, and then started shifting icons left, right and center. A few moments later, the kid still playing let out a cry of protest, plainly having been wiped out.

“
What?
” he wailed. “I never even seen one of them before!”

I don't know how he did it, but obviously Jimmy had taken control of the kid's game. The others burst into laughter, cooing with astonishment and admiration, and with a few more quick maneuvers, he not only managed to invade everyone else's game, but to gain access to every computer in the place, linking them together and using their joint capacity to create a super version of what he'd been playing before, one that practically covered the entire wall. I tell you, little old bald guy with a limp he may be, but in a matter of seconds he'd transformed himself into a superhero to every kid in that place.

He paused for a moment, making great play of flexing his fingers as if limbering up, then gave them all a proud little smile, as if they hadn't seen nothing yet.

“One game,” I reminded him.

“Big Guy!” he protested.

“
One game!
” I repeated.

He sighed and reluctantly followed me to the door, I swear those kids were every bit as disappointed as he was.

“See you, guys!” he called back. “Another time, huh?”

We descended the steps of the fire escape, Jimmy pretty pleased with himself, repeatedly stroking his newly acquired shiny bald head, and actually, I could see why. We all need to remind ourselves
who we are occasionally, what we're capable of and how it might affect others. He had this quiet little smile about him the whole way back—at least until we came to that last clutch of screens just before the Square.

Suddenly he stopped, staring up at the closest one, his face falling like a landslide. “Oh shit!”

I looked up at the screen. It was the usual thing: somehow it identified you, knew all about you, and immediately personalized the ads for your attention. Though not for us, thank God—or leastways, not 'til then.

It seemed so everyday, so comic, and yet we both knew what it meant.

“They know who I am!” he wailed. “They
read
me!”

If he was on the commercial database, then it could only be a matter of time before he was on the security one, too. And you didn't have to tell either of us what that meant. Immediately we both started to run, the next screen also reading him, trying to sell him software.

“How the hell did they do it?” he cried, trying his best to run quicker, to get back to the crypt and underground.

At that moment, an Infinity Dragonfly, presumably alerted to Jimmy's presence, took off from the roof of a nearby office building—I guessed they must keep them up there in various locations, ready to swoop down whenever they were needed. Jimmy immediately let out this long wail of alarm.

“Move it!” I shouted, though I had a fair idea he was already going as fast as he could.

It was over us in a matter of seconds, lights blazing, engine burbling, so close I could actually see scratches in the paintwork on the bottom.

I had no idea what they had in mind, whether they intended to capture us or not. For sure, if they did, he'd be quite a prize; they could parade him onscreen; people like someone to blame: “This is him, the guy who wrecked all our lives.” Maybe it would calm things down? But it soon became apparent that that wasn't their strategy, that they wanted a more immediate end to the situation.

They opened up with just about everything they had as we ducked down an alleyway. Laser cannons and automatic weapons made the walls and sidewalk around us erupt, deluging us in shards of brick and concrete.

I kept trying doors, back entrances to places, finding them all locked; having to jump back at one point as the brickwork next to me was melted by a laser, sending flames up the wall and setting fire to the whole building.

The Dragonfly was within a whisker of the roof of the building opposite, hovering at just the right angle to be able to squeeze out the occasional shot. A laser almost clipped Jimmy's heels as he ran, but somehow we made it to the other end of the alleyway and out onto the relative safety of a main street, where there were enough people around for us to merge briefly, if not actually disappear. I looked both ways, scanning for taller buildings, a city canyon, somewhere where a Dragonfly couldn't operate, then beckoned to Jimmy to follow.

“Big Guy!” he complained, almost bent double with exertion.

I practically had to carry him. My arm was locked around his shoulders, stopping him from tumbling over as the Dragonfly continued to shadow us, its spotlights—and no doubt lasers—locked onto their target. Neither of us could go much further, not at our age. We came to some looted stores with their windows smashed and slipped inside to rest, but there was no sanctuary: the Dragonfly just
waited outside, hovering there, no doubt going through the building with heat-seeking scanners to pinpoint exactly where we were.

We found the back exit into this service alleyway but hadn't gone more than thirty yards before they were over us again, opening fire almost before they'd picked us out with their spotlights. More concrete and brick exploded around us, more buildings burst into flame, and in the distance I could hear sirens—Infinity ground vehicles maybe, coming to join the chase. I turned a corner and led us down yet another alleyway and it looked like the lasers were trapping us in a cat's cradle of deadly beams of light.

Jimmy fell over, almost taking me with him, exhaustedly protesting as I yanked him back to his feet and dragged him on. I had no idea what the hell we were going to do.

Suddenly there was this loud metallic crunch behind us, and we heard the shriek of a distressed engine. Jimmy and me turned around, barely believing our luck—the Dragonfly had struck the top of a building and somehow become entangled in its superstructure.

“Keep going!” I told Jimmy, pushing him on, the noise of the screaming Dragonfly's engine behind us almost deafening.

As we approached the junction with the main street they must've realized we were getting away 'cuz they opened fire again, even though there was no clear shot. I guess up to that point it had never occurred to them that we might escape, but now they were determined to finish the job, to eliminate Jimmy once and for all. But it was too late. We left them there, on top of the building, pinned and helpless like some huge insect on display.

Dr. Simon had told me to get to the clinic for ten, but I was at the security gates before nine, waiting for him to send my clearance. I hadn't slept a wink all night—in fact, I hadn't even bothered going to bed. Jimmy and me had stayed up for a while, talking over what had happened. Neither of us could work out how he'd been read, how he'd ended up on the database. It couldn't be from the Island, 'cuz we'd all been there and they didn't have anyone else's name—and anyways, he hadn't been “recognized” when we first got over. Something must've happened in the last few days—or maybe they'd just manually fed him in, adding as much information as they could to the photos taken on the Island? But that couldn't explain where they'd got his name, even if they hadn't spelled it correctly.

Eventually we got tired of speculating, of worrying what it might mean, and Jimmy went to bed, telling me to do the same. I was too embarrassed to say there was no point, that I simply wouldn't be able to sleep without Lena beside me. I did try, lying there in the dark for a while, staring at nothing, but eventually I returned up top; leaning against one of the church walls with my sleeping bag
draped around my shoulders, gazing at the fire still burning across the street, thinking about all manner of stuff.

I never said anything to Jimmy—'course I didn't—but I'd been really shocked by how badly Infinity wanted him taken out of the picture. I mean, yeah, destroying the satellites, taking away their system of control, that'd make anyone Public Enemy Number One, but I couldn't help but feel there was more to it than that. The amount of firepower they laid on us, for one—and for sure, most of it had been directed at him. For some reason this was personal: they wanted him removed from the face of the earth and the sooner the better. But I just didn't get why. What could Jimmy possibly know or discover that would do harm to Infinity?

I shifted position and a slight waft of Lena came off the sleeping bag. I smiled, tried to chase it, to get it back into my body, but it was gone, swallowed up by the stifling smoke. How I wished that night was over so I could see her, make sure she was okay, find out if she'd regained her sight.

The trouble with dealing with medical people is that they automatically got this thing going on; this professional aura. You're almost too scared to ask them questions, to meet them head-on, and they know it. Perhaps we were being conned? Maybe Dr. Simon was just going to take our money knowing we were in no position to kick up a fuss? Not to mention the fact that every operation, no matter what it might be, has its dangers—what if Lena ended up not only blind but damaged in some other way?

And it wasn't just the failure of the operation I was worried about, it was also the success. What would happen if she
could
see? Would it change things? Would it change her? Would she want to do something different with her life? And, Jesus, sorry to keep talking about this, but what was she gonna think when she saw me?

I don't know whether he was trying to prove a point, or maybe there were just things to do, but the Doc didn't arrange my clearance 'til nine fifty-five precisely. Nor was the driver sent for me. By the time I got through security and walked up to the house it was ten past ten.

He came out to greet me, bidding me good morning, looking all fresh and polished, dandy and dapper, but I wasn't in the mood for exchanging pleasantries. “She okay?”

“Yes. Of course she is,” he said, a little taken aback by my abruptness.

“No problems?”

“Clancy . . . No! None whatsoever.”

I hesitated for a moment, never so afraid to ask a question. “Can she see?”

He smiled. “Let's go and find out, shall we?”

“Don't you know?” I asked.

He never replied, just took me through to her room.

I couldn't help myself: I stopped dead at the doorway, too afraid to enter, letting him go in first, just kind of easing myself into the room.

Maybe I seen too many movies, but I assumed she'd be sitting up in bed with bandages around her eyes, that we were going to unwrap her and she'd tell us what she could see. She
was
in bed, but there were no bandages and she was staring at the door, waiting for me to enter.

Again I stopped dead, unable to go so much as an inch closer, waiting for some kind of reaction, in that moment feeling like I was nothing, that she was bound to reject me.

“Clancy,” she whispered, opening her arms.

I tell you, big guy or no, it was just too much. I went to her, grabbing hold, fighting tears every step of the way.

“You can see?” I whispered.

“Kind of,” she said. “Not clearly. You're very blurry.”

“Well, that's for the best,” I told her, not altogether joking.

“But I can make things out. Shapes . . . people,” she said, her excitement threatening to bubble over.

“That'll improve,” Dr. Simon assured her. “Quite quickly.”

I might've been a bit sparing with the pleasantries when I first arrived, my mind elsewhere, but I tell you, not then. I thanked that man from the bottom of my heart. I mean, he might see it as a fairly
standard operation, but as far as we were concerned, it was a damn miracle.

“Just one thing, Clancy,” he told me. “I'd like to keep her here.”

I turned to him, a little surprised. “Sorry?”

“The first seventy-two hours, she really should be under observation.”

“You told me she'd be able to come with me.”

“I said I ‘hoped' . . . Best not take chances.”

I looked to Lena. I know it was crazy, but I just couldn't bear the thought of having to spend another night without her.

“I'm coming with you,” she said, swinging her legs around to get out of bed.

“Lena! Please!” Dr. Simon protested. “Just for a couple of days.”

It's funny, for both of us her sight was the most important thing in the world, but being together suddenly seemed almost to rival it.

“I'm going with Clancy,” she told him.

“Lena!” he repeated, sounding just that bit angry. “Really. I've got to insist.”

“Sorry,” she replied. The image of her searching for her clothes, actually trying to find something by looking, almost stopped me in my tracks. Were we being foolish? Shouldn't we take every precaution?

“Maybe . . .”

“I'm coming with you!” she insisted.

“I can manage.”

“Well, I can't. Where are my clothes?” she asked Dr. Simon.

In the end, and despite how unhappy he was about it, she got her way. He did ask where we were living, just in case anything went wrong, but Lena refused to answer—it was only when I faithfully promised that, no matter what, I'd bring her back on Friday to check everything was okay, that he finally let her go.

I think we both felt kind of guilty as we were leaving, a bit like rebellious teenagers. That man changed our world; he'd been so generous, but he couldn't understand how much we wanted to be together, to explore the gift he'd bestowed.

The whole way back to the churchyard was spent kind of stumbling in wonder; stopping every now and then, letting her take things in, listening to her almost childlike cries of joy. I mean, it had been more than four years.

When we finally descended the steps into the crypt everyone went crazy. She took them outside into the daylight, so she could get as clear a view as possible: standing in front of them one by one, looking them up and down, so thrilled to finally put faces to voices. Arturo insisted on showing her his transfer, rolling his sleeve up as far as it could go so she got the full effect, moving his arm and giggling when Mickey Mouse moved with it. Lena's delight, her excitement, were utterly infectious. You never heard such a lot of whooping and laughter and helpless crying.

'course we celebrated; using up the last of the food, knowing we'd have to get more the following day, that it was probably going to be even more difficult. But do you know something? In that moment, we didn't really care.

Delilah took the opportunity to sing; none of her usual chilly blues stuff, more gospel, praising the Lord, praising every possible entity who might've assisted in any way in restoring Lena's sight. And though I couldn't help but deliver the odd note of caution, reminding them that we couldn't be certain her sight would improve, that we shouldn't forget the possibility of rejection, I think I was saying it more for my benefit than theirs.

The kids joined Delilah in singing, even Gordie, without the slightest hint of a sneer or protest, and all of us ended up dancing around the crypt in our own individual manner (which for me is a kind of internal thing that you might not even notice too much from the outside).

As ever, Delilah had her arms around Arturo, the Mickey Mouse Kid, teaching him how to waltz as if he was to be her partner at the summer ball. She loved him more than if she'd had one of her own. For sure, Jimmy was convinced she loved him more than him. Sometimes he got a little jealous, asking her stupid questions like
which one of them she'd save in a fire. Mind you, I gotta say, she never gave him an answer.

Later that night, as quietly as humanly possible, Lena and me made love in our sleeping bag, keeping every movement so gentle and slow, our breathing shallow, stifling our moans. I don't know why, but for some reason the silence makes it even more intense, as if the discipline of keeping quiet, of not being able to let our passion fully go, mingled a little pain with the pleasure. Afterward, we lay there silently cuddling, feeling a little naughty, wondering if the others had heard and were just indulging us.

“It's the same,” Lena whispered.

“What?”

“The crypt. I can't see any more than before.”

“Can't see that much myself,” I told her. “Give it a few days and you'll see a damn sight better than me.”

She never bothered to reply, just grunted, maybe 'cuz she caught the slight tone in my voice, 'cuz she feared which direction those words would take us in. As much as I hated myself, and I truly did, I knew it'd have to come out at some point.

I went silent for a little while, pretending disinterest, though, in fact, I was frantically wrestling with this madman, trying to shove him back into his room and lock the door.

“So was it a shock?” I eventually asked.

She paused for a moment, knowing all too well what I was talking about. “It was the nicest thing my eyes have ever seen.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

I forced a bit of a chuckle. “Find that a little hard to believe.”

“I've run my hands over this body a thousand times,” she said, with the first hint of impatience.

“Feel sorry for you,” I said, knowing even before the words were out that it was a step too far, that I'd crossed the line.

There was one of those expectant kind of moments, like the world had shifted on its axis and something profound was about to
happen, then her fist slammed into my stomach, air literally exploding out of me.

“Jesus!” I gasped.

“Goodnight, Clancy,” she said, turning over as if she'd just given me the fondest of pecks on the cheek.

“Lena!” I protested.

“And thank you for spoiling such a special moment.”

I gotta say, that hurt me even more than her punch. Mainly 'cuz it was true, 'cuz I'd pushed her into that, knowing it would make me feel better.

“You're right. I'm sorry,” I said, putting my arm around her.

“Never again, Clancy,” she warned, shrugging me off. “Never again!”

Sometime in the night she must've forgiven me, 'cuz I woke with her nestled in my arms. Mind you, that wasn't what disturbed my sleep; it was feeling how tense and concentrated she was, like the prey sensing the approach of the hunter.

“What's the matter?” I asked.

“Can't you hear?”

I guess I hadn't been fully awake 'cuz when I really listened I could hear the same noise as the other night: this kind of rhythmic beating, an echoing clatter, and as it began to grow, the yelling and shouting too.

“What the hell
is
that?” I said, more confused than actually asking the question.

And suddenly Lena was panicking, scrambling frantically at the zip on the sleeping bag, desperate to get out.

“What's the matter?” I asked.

“It's coming this way!”

I listened again. At first I couldn't hear any difference. It sounded more or less stationary to me. However, after a few moments I began to think she might be right: it was growing in volume—and yes, it was coming our way.

“Jimmy!” I shouted, struggling up. “Kids!”

“What is it?” Jimmy asked, immediately going quiet, realizing what was going on. “Oh Jeez!”

I stumbled across to the steps. Lena was already up to the entrance and I followed on behind. Just as before, the noise was a lot louder outside:
Boom-Boom-Boom! Boom-Boom-Boom!
Not to mention those cries scything through the night like the raw emotions of creation.

Jimmy, Delilah and the kids followed us up and all of us just stood there, gaping out into the huge smoky darkness.

“What is it?” Arturo cried, looking from face to face, as if at least one of us grown-ups should know.

Whatever it was, Lena was right, it was coming our way. Through the smoke, I could just make out the shapes of people running past in the street, heading in the opposite direction, doing everything they could to get away. A guy stumbled into the churchyard, looking for a hiding place and almost immediately decided it wasn't safe, that he was better off running, which was kinda ominous.

I made my way over to the street, ignoring Lena's shouted warning, thinking that even in this visibility I might get some idea what was coming our way.

More and more people came scurrying past. Some were kids, younger than any I'd seen on the Mainland up 'til that point—where the hell did they come from? An old couple dashed past, the man coughing from the smoke, and I was pretty sure they were Islanders so I called out, asked them what was going on, but they just kept running.