Authors: Mark Souza
From the entry, a sharp clicking sound approached. Moyer peered over the top of the pew. A black dog stood in the doorway. Its ears perked. It moved toward him tentatively. A second black dog, a twin to the first, strode in and stood next to his brother, nose raised testing the air. Four more dogs trotted in, nails clicking on stone.
They clustered together, silent, glancing side to side and at each other. Then, as if coordinated to some tacit signal, they advanced in unison, three to the right and three to the left. They closed from all sides. Lips curled back exposing fangs, ears pressed back tight along their skulls. They inched forward simultaneously in measured steps. Low guttural growls projected at Moyer from six directions. Moyer’s instinct was to run, but where?
A shock wave rocked Moyer. The dogs flinched then scrambled in all directions, tails tucked, running in place at first unable to get purchase on the slick floor. They homed in on the door and raced out single file at a dead run.
A high pitched whine rang in Moyer’s ears. Robyn jolted upright confused. Hawthorne stood behind them with his pistol in the air, a plume of blue smoke dissipating above his head.
“What was that?” Robyn asked.
Hawthorne pushed the pistol back into his pocket. “If you ever read fairy tales as a child: that was the big bad wolf.”
“Wolves?” Robyn said.
“Dogs, actually. But they look to have been wild long enough to be more wolf than dog.” Hawthorne’s blue eyes locked on Moyer. “We need to be much more careful from now on. We can’t afford to leave ourselves so vulnerable.”
Robyn stretched and yawned. “I’m hungry. What do we have to eat?”
Moyer unzipped his bag. Tucked inside a mesh pocket were a dozen nutrition bars still in the box. He opened the container at one end and withdrew three bars in wrappers, handing one each to Robyn and Hawthorne.
“Is that all we have?” Robyn asked.
Moyer nodded.
“How long will they last?”
“I don’t know. It depends how fast we eat them – one day, three days, it’s hard to tell.”
“Then what do we do?” she asked.
Hawthorne listened and remained quiet.
“There are people here who can help us,” Moyer said. “We just need to find them.” He hoped he sounded convincing. He had only met the giant and the pregnant woman, Margret. The fact that there were others was a guess.
They finished their meager meal in silence. Robyn asked, “How long before they stop looking for us?”
He knew she viewed this visit to Mannington as temporary. She would want to visit her parents again and maybe try to slip into her old life. Moyer struggled for a response to keep her at bay. “I don’t know. I think it could be a while. Things might calm down in a few months. After the winter they will probably assume we’re dead.”
“And then we can go back?”
Moyer shook his head. “The minute a computer picks up our image on a surveillance camera, or our chips register on the net, we’ll be killed. We no longer have a home in the civilized world.”
Moyer felt sadness stir in Robyn, and was thankful she didn’t ask the question he couldn’t answer –
when can I see my parents
?
“Do you know where these people are, the ones that can help us?” Hawthorne asked.
Moyer shook his head. “No, I don’t. I got the impression they live someplace near town. They use the library as a survival tool, and I think they use this building for religious ceremonies.”
Hawthorne brightened. “A library? Let’s go. At least we’ll have something to do while we wait.”
“Why not?” They packed their things and Moyer led the way. Robyn and Hawthorne craned their necks taking in the town that darkness had hidden from them when they’d arrived. However there was no town in any meaningful sense, only massive trees engulfing remnants of broken houses. They walked in stunned silence. Dejection registered on Robyn’s and Hawthorne’s faces.
Hawthorne stopped on the walk in front of the squat library building. Moyer supposed it bore little resemblance to the Supreme Court Legal Library he was accustomed to. It might be another source of disappointment. This was, after all, likely the last library Hawthorne would ever see.
“You can’t judge a book by its cover,” Hawthorne said. He shuffled up the cracked sidewalk and pushed open the door. He stopped at the threshold and scanned the shelves, nodding his head as he looked around. The shelves were neat and cared for, book spines aligned in tight rows with few gaps. He pulled a book off the nearest shelf, and broke into a grin. “Look at all the fiction!” He clapped his hands together and walked from shelf to shelf reading titles and pulling down selected volumes, stacking them up in his arms.
He turned to Moyer, eyes glossy with delight. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve read something other than a book of law?” He stacked his bounty on a table and searched for more.
“While I was blindly focused on the law, books disappeared, libraries were demolished, and the written word vanished. I never thought I would see them again. I figured I was too late.” He held a pair of books up like prizes and set them down on the table with the rest. He spread them out, picked one, and opened it to page one. “I think I’m going to enjoy being dead,” he said.
Moyer spotted Robyn wagging her head. She clearly didn’t share in the Judge’s enthusiasm. A title caught Moyer’s eye and he pulled it down.
“He’s right you know,” Robyn said, “We are already dead.”
“Only back there. Here we’re alive. Here our lives are brand new and belong to us.” He handed her a book on child care. Robyn tossed it to the floor, jaw clenched, eyes defiant.
“This is the only entertainment we have,” Moyer said. “There is no net. There is no mall. You need to come to grips with —” Moyer caught a flash of color from the corner of his eye.
A woman wearing a long yellow dress stood at the entrance, her eyes wide with surprise. She was young, in her late teens or early twenties, freckle faced, with long auburn braids hanging over her shoulders. Her hands flailed in the air. A muffled scream escaped her mouth. She turned and ran, bouncing off the door on her way out.
Moyer tried chasing after her. His legs, battered and beaten from the night before, barely managed a few choppy strides. Ice pick tines of pain shot through his shins.
“We won’t hurt you,” he called after her. His words did nothing to slow the woman. She rounded the corner without looking back, pigtails bobbing, yellow dress billowing behind her. Moyer sighed and limped back inside.
Hawthorne still had his nose in a book when Moyer returned, seemingly unconcerned about the intruder. Robyn sat near a bank of windows on the far side of the room, her back toward him, head on table covered by her arms, hunkered down in a well of pity.
“At least they know we are here,” Moyer said.
Chapter 34
A
n hour later, the library door swung open again. A huge man dressed in a hooded, brown robe filled the door frame. He ducked his head as he entered. Hawthorne fumbled a hand into his pocket. Moyer stopped him. The giant pulled back his hood revealing a shock of closely cropped white hair, talc-like skin, and pale blue eyes.
“We heard you were being hunted,” he said.
The news traveled fast. To Moyer, this was further proof Begat had spies in the city.
“The council elders and deacons wish to meet with you,” the giant said. “Please follow me.”
Outside, a crowd circled the library entrance, men in front, women and children behind. Moyer spotted the woman in the yellow dress straining for a view. In the street, a pair of flatbed wagons waited, fashioned from wood and steel, each attached to a pair of beasts. Moyer had never seen anything like them before, but recognized the animals from old picture books. They were horses. In his books, they were pictured running in fields. The photos offered no sense of scale. He had no idea they were so large. In illustrations their faces appeared to be so intelligent and kind, but now that he saw them up close, their size was frightening.
The men helped Moyer, Robyn, and Hawthorne onto one of the wagons and then hopped aboard. The women and children loaded aboard the other. The giant took a seat on a bench at the front with his back to Moyer. He picked up a set of leather straps, waggled his hands, and barked the command, ‘Ha!’ and the cart lurched forward.
The horses trotted easily over the pavement, retracing the route to the church. Hooves beat out a relaxing rhythm. The cart bounced along and the wheels rattled stiffly over broken asphalt. Near where the graveyard bordered the church, the wagon turned sharply onto a path leading through a meadow. Dirt muffled the sound of the wheels and smoothed the ride.
The horses picked up the pace to a canter. Though only a tiny fraction the speed of the tube, Moyer found the experience infinitely more alarming. A breeze pushed Moyer’s hair into his eyes. Robyn sat close to the edge ahead of the wheels — too close for Moyer’s liking. In his mind, he could foresee a rock in the path or a sudden turn spilling her under the cart. Moyer reached across her hips and pulled her next to him. She gave him a sideward glance as if she knew what he was thinking and erupted into a warm smile.
The trail banked south toward the creek and into the bordering thicket of maples. Shade cooled air, laden with the scent of decaying leaves and mint, chilled Moyer’s skin. Goose bumps covered Robyn’s arms. He pulled her against him as much for his comfort as hers and she didn’t resist.
The men in the cart watched them. Hawthorne read his book, blithely ignorant of anything going on around him, a smile on his face, his fingers braced against the pages to keep the breeze from turning them before he was ready.
A turn in the path led away from the creek and up a knoll. At the top, the path broke from the trees and into bright sunlight, through a field of corn, toward a white house at the base of a hill. An old, weathered barn next to the dwelling sat with its wide doors open. The giant drove the cart inside. The cart hauling the women and children turned toward the two-story clapboard home. The men piled off the wagon and headed for the doors. Moyer helped Robyn and Hawthorne down while the giant freed the horses and led them to stalls. The barn doors were swung shut. Bright rectangles of light cascaded on the floor through windows in the roof of the barn.
A side door opened and three more men and a woman wearing brown robes strode inside in single file and joined the giant. The giant was the youngest of them. They moved primitive wood benches stored along the wall, arranging them in the light, one bench for the council, and one for Hawthorne, Robyn and Moyer. After they sat, each of the council members introduced themselves.
“I am Sister Connors.”
“I am Brother Duffy.”
“I am Brother Bonderenko.”
“I am Brother Wallace.”
“I am Brother Nastasi.”
The members of the council lowered their hoods and sat. Moyer fixed his gaze on Brother Bonderenko. The man’s features hinted at a perpetual sadness, yet something in his eyes seemed familiar. And the name. Was there a chance he was related to his test subject, Anna?
The Judge stood and spoke. “John Hawthorne, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the Americas, deceased,” he said. A few members of the council broke into restrained smiles.
Robyn stood. “Robyn Winfield, sirs and ma’am.”
“Moyer Winfield.”
Brother Bonderenko spoke. “We have been monitoring events in the city and are well aware of your situation. Your presence here poses a threat to our community and our survival. We are divided over what to do. The teachings of our God say we should welcome strangers and those in need.”
Brother Duffy turned toward Brother Bonderenko and interrupted. “Not all of them. Other passages advise to consider family first and to keep them safe.” Brother Duffy was a squat, portly man with a jutting lower lip, bushy orange sideburns, and ruddy skin.
“This is not the place,” Brother Bonderenko warned. He faced Moyer, his eyes stern. “There is an additional consideration. The timing of your arrival doesn’t allow for the construction of proper shelter. Lumber for a new dwelling would have to be milled and dried, and the harvest is fast approaching. We simply can’t spare the manpower. Whatever family takes you in will be under a terrible hardship. It is difficult enough surviving a winter without guests. Yet, if we put you out, you will not survive. Now you understand our dilemma.”
The giant, Brother Nastasi, had fixed his gaze on Moyer, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere. When Brother Bonderenko finished, Brother Nastasi spoke. “Were you able to destroy the Worm?”
Moyer cast his eyes down and focused on the straw covering the floor between them. “I was taken off the project before I could do anything. I think my supervisor suspected. I’m sorry,” he said softly.
The news barely registered on Brother Nastasi’s face. “Do you have the knowledge to develop a virus capable of destroying the program?”
Moyer sighed. What was the best way to break bad news? “Yes, I think I could, but I don’t have a computer, and I don’t have access to the source code.”
Moyer remembered something, and reached into his pocket. He still had Hawthorne’s computer from the day before and it appeared undamaged despite all that had happened. “All we have is this, but it doesn’t have a battery.”
Brother Nastasi took the computer and turned it in his hands. “If you did have batteries, could you do what is needed on this?”
Moyer looked at Hawthorne. “I don’t know. It depends what’s on it. Do you have an Ultima compiler loaded on that thing?”
The Judge shrugged. “I don’t know much about computers. I use it for word processing and net access and that’s all. But my assistant said it’s top of the line and fully loaded.”
Nastasi turned to his fellow council members smiling.
“Don’t get excited,” Moyer cautioned, “Even if you manage to get batteries, I still have no access to the source code.”
Nastasi’s smile didn’t wane. “One obstacle at a time,” he said, “Patience is a virtue.”
“We will notify you of our decision,” Brother Bonderenko said.