The Crash of Hennington (45 page)

But protection from what? What had actually happened?

Her instincts seemed to be of no use anymore. She had killed the thin creature that had followed them for reasons she could not quite grasp. She had led them away to the woods, to a place where many of them lost their lives and many others were injured and maybe dying. Now she had led them here, to a valley of stone with no water and no food and no future. Why did they still follow her when she had failed so badly? Was she capable of leading them out of this, or would the next steps lead just as inevitably to more death,
to more destruction? Yet still they stopped and slept at her indication. Still they looked to her for direction, even through the places she had led them, even to this place here, this stopping point on the road to who knew where.

All right then. She led them because a leader was needed, and at no time was a leader needed more than now. She would continue to lead them until they ceased to follow her. That was her duty to the herd. That was what they expected of her. She no longer wanted to lead, but the choice was not hers. If they still wanted her, as it seemed they did, then there was nothing she could do. Why? If the answer was not forthcoming, then perhaps one did not exist. They demanded her leadership. She would give it. That was all.

Dawn was breaking. The animals were finally quietening down to sleep. She was on her last circuit around them before collapsing into rest herself when she heard the sound. A jostling of rocks from just over the edge of the gully. And again. More coming from all sides, and then a twisting cloud of scent blew its way down among them. Thin creatures. Lots of them. So quickly, so stealthily.

Were they safe nowhere, then? Was there no end to this?

(—Remember, everyone, slowly slowly slowly. We don’t want a stampede on our hands. Everyone ready up on the north ridge? Over.

—Ready up here. Over.

—Then wait for my signal. Over.)

Gathering what energy she had left, she raised yet another alarm call. There was audible groaning as the herdmembers twisted themselves out of sleep, then a second series of groans as the scent of the thin creatures filled their nostrils. She noticed three of the group fail to rise from their slumber. Three more lost, then. At least they’d had a chance to rest. She paced back and forth in front of the members of the herd
until all who could get up had arisen, all eyes on her. She turned towards the far end of the gully and with what seemed like only the latest in a long series of grunts, she ran forward as the first line of thin creatures crested the little valley.

Too exhausted even to be properly frightened, the herd made its way to the end of the gully and over its lip, a massive living river of gray. The sounds of the thin creatures behind them disappeared quickly as they plunged forward, but she heard a new sound on either side. Glancing around, she saw the loud, rumbling squares that the thin creatures often rode in pull up on each flank of the advancing herd, leaving nowhere to run except forward.

The ache from her horn pounded her head with each step. Her legs seemed heavy and airy at the same time. There was simply no way that weaker and younger members of the herd were ever going to be able to keep this up. She looked behind her and could already see the herd stretching itself thin. She had no idea what propelled them onward, but onward they went, only slowly, ever more slowly. Some animals were beginning to be left behind.

If the herd must not divide, then the herd must take a stand.

She stopped, almost abruptly, surprising the animals closest behind her, who nevertheless seemed barely able to keep upright when they too stopped running. The rest of the remaining herd caught up with them, the members looking dazed and haggard, more than one falling to the ground out of pure fatigue. This was it then. This was the beleaguered group that would have to defend itself. So be it. If this was the end of the herd, then the herd would end together. She circled the group as best she could, nudging younger and weaker animals to the center, leaving what remained of the bigger animals on the periphery.

The boxes with the thin creatures seemed to be keeping their distance for now. She brought all the herdmembers as close together as she could, then she called to them with a long, low groan. Of sorrow. Of apology. Of defiance. Of the duty that she felt for them. Of her place and position as leader. Their eyes met hers, and they seemed to understand. Slowly, she walked towards the assembled herd and took her place at the outer edge, to wait and see what the thin creatures would do, to wait and see what fate had planned for them in this sad, strangely unhurried, final moment.

Part VI.
Election Day.

97. One Up, One Down.

The newspaper headline read,
DOWN TO THE WIRE ON ELECTION DAY
. Was it Election Day already? The last thing Peter had heard was that that Rumour guy, Mark something, was running unopposed. Why was it ‘down to the wire'? He stopped to look at the newsrack a little closer.
Thomas Banyon
was running? When did that happen? Had he really been away from the world that long? He picked up the paper and quickly folded it into his basket. Food at the house had finally run out, and he was having to risk a trip to the little grocer around the corner to get something to eat. A few bananas, lots more soup (it was cheap), and not much else. Nothing frozen, because the house had no electricity. The gas still worked for cooking, but there was no telling when that would be shut off as well. And though he was keeping his spending to a minimum, a newspaper was an allowable expense. Thomas Banyon? For
Mayor
? That would more or less be the end of everything, wouldn’t it?

Peter paid the tiny, ancient man perched behind the counter and left. It was barely dawn, the sun merely a possibility beyond distant hills as the sky grew from black to blue. He put his groceries in the back compartment of his motorcycle and pulled off towards the house, hoping to get there before the sun reached the sky. The streets were deserted, not even a sign yet of the early-morning commute. That’s right, Election Day was a holiday in Hennington so everyone could vote. Peter rolled past a gray sedan parked across the street and turned into the driveway of the house where Luther waited.

He hid the cycle in the ever-taller grass in the backyard,
reached through the broken screen on the back door, and let himself inside. It was still dark enough for the kitchen to be dim. He piled the soup into a cupboard, left the bananas on the table, and made his way back downstairs to Luther. Still there. Still the slight hum. Still the faint thrill of expectation. Peter closed his eyes and said a prayer, an act that had by now become second nature.

A sound through the stillness of the house. Footsteps.

He turned. A figure was descending the darkened staircase. Peter backed hurriedly into the room. Jarvis would have announced himself. This was someone else. He moved to the other side of the bed, closer to Luther. He looked around. There was nothing to protect himself with, nothing even to hurl at an intruder, and there was no point in hiding, whoever it was would see Luther anyway and Luther needed to be protected at all costs. The footsteps stopped. Peter prayed, Protect me, protect Luther, help me know what to do. The footsteps resumed their quiet tapping down the wooden staircase. He took a deep breath. Whatever happened, the only way out of this situation was through it.

The dawning sun finally poked its way through the high windows in the basement bedroom. Peter could see a pair of legs making their way slowly down the stairs. The pair of legs grew into a body and then into a hand. A hand holding a gun. Peter cleared his mind. Courage and faith and steadiness in the face of fear, that was what was called for now, that was his test. He opened his mouth and was surprised at the authority in his voice.

—Whoever you are, this suspense serves no purpose. I’m unarmed. Show yourself and state your intentions.

The figure with the gun paused for a moment, then completed the steps into the room. He was a middle-aged man dressed unexpectedly in slacks, a pressed short-sleeved
workshirt, and tie. He sized up Peter, the gun still pointing, and cast a glance around the room, stopping at Luther.

—Please tell me that’s not Luther Pickett.

His voice was almost a croak, a deadpan full of contempt and an unwillingness to be challenged.

—Who do you work for?

—I don’t think you’re in any position to be asking me questions, Mr Wickham.

—Are you the police or did Thomas Banyon send you?

—You kept his body here? You sick fuck. Wow. Banyon’s going to crucify you.

—He isn’t dead.

—You’re just keeping him wrapped up in mummy bandages with no airholes for fun? This is over, Mr Wickham. It’s over. I suggest you come along peacefully, because make no mistake, I
will
do whatever it takes to bring you with me.

—And I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you.

The man raised the gun to Peter’s face.

—That’s unfortunate, because there’s nothing in my orders that says I have to bring you back alive. Now, once more, come with
ow!

The man spun around. Peter saw a hand holding something raise and then fall again on the man’s face as he turned.

—Shit! Fuck!

It was a can. Of soup. Jarvis was hitting the man with a can of soup. The can came down a third time as the man tried to block the blow with his hands. The can knocked the gun to the floor.

—Peter, for God’s sake, help me!

Peter leapt forward and grabbed the gun from the floor as Jarvis brought the can down a fourth time, striking the man in the temple, opening a bloody gash. Jarvis dropped the soup.

—We’ve got to tie him up. Is there any rope around here?

—No but there’s a trunk in the closet we can lock him in.

—We can’t do that! He’ll starve.

—We’ll call the police anonymously and report him later. What are you even doing here?

—I came to renew my faith.

—I’m sorry?

—Later, later, let’s get him in the trunk and then we have to get out of here.

Jarvis went to the closet, found the trunk, and dragged it out. He flipped the latches, opened it, and started yanking clothes out onto the floor. Peter spoke to the man on the ground.

—Get in the trunk.

—Fuck you, I’m bleeding!

—Get in or I
will
shoot you. If you think I murdered Luther Pickett then you won’t doubt my capability of that.

The man got to his hands and knees. Jarvis finished emptying the clothes and scooted back out of the way.

—In.

—You fucker! You’ll pay for this.

Peter fired the gun at the floor behind the man. Jarvis jumped. The man scrambled into the trunk. Jarvis rushed forward and slammed the lid, flipping the latches to lock it.

—I wasn’t aiming for him.

—I didn’t think you were. I’d just never heard a gun fired before.

—Really?

—Where would I? I’m a minister. We have to get you and Luther out of here.

—Where to?

Jarvis held a finger to his lips. He pointed at the trunk.

—I have my car out front. I’ll pull it to the side. Can you carry Luther?

—Of course. Thank you. Thank you so much. I—

—Later. We’ve got to get out of here.

Jarvis was breathing heavily. He looked at the closed trunk where the man could still be heard groaning.

—I had no idea it was so difficult to knock someone out.

—I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.

—Yeah, well, I’ve had a bad week. Meet you outside.

Jarvis turned and ran up the stairs. Peter went to the bed and picked Luther up. The humming was still there. He said a short prayer of thanks. It’s not over, he thought. The only way out is
through.
He stepped lightly over the trunk, carrying Luther up the stairs to Jarvis’ waiting car.

98. The Faces in the Distance.

Jacki sat in the car outside of Morton and Tucker’s high school in the early hours of morning, the time of long shadows and school buses. Tucker, she knew, drove his own car now and would be bringing Morton to school with him. She didn’t know where exactly he would park or what either of them would be wearing or even if they would both be coming to school that day. But here she was. The high school was over an hour’s drive due north of the warehouse, and she had left before dawn, hoping to escape Hennington under the cover of darkness. Although part of her refused to believe that Thomas would be so fanatical in his search that he would track her this distance, she still drove unobtrusively, careful not to draw attention to herself, keeping to the speed limit for perhaps the first time in her life.

She had arrived before any other car to the school campus, parking in what she hoped was an unremarkable stretch of street with a long view of the school’s car park. Time slowly passed. She watched as first the cleaning staff and then the teachers began to arrive for the new day. It was so quiet she could hear the pings as the car’s engine cooled. She felt herself to be in a sort of no-man’s-land of anticipation and daring. She was terrified, but also, surprisingly, thrilled. The danger was real, and yet here she was facing it, placing herself squarely in front of the forces coming after her, daring to choose an option that wasn’t flight. Have I been transformed? she thought. Have I transformed
myself?
How can I know unless I’ve been tested? Or have I
already
been? And what have I transformed into?

She took the steering wheel with both hands, gradually tightening her grip until her fingers ached and what small muscles there were in her arms bulged at the tension. She grasped the wheel for as long as she could bear, then forced herself to release it slowly, letting the pain and the effort melt itself away. I’m strong, she thought. Maybe not strong enough, but I will be. I’ll be strong enough.

The sun had pulled over the trees in the distance now, and the first direct rays of sunlight warmed the interior of the car. It was going to be another scorcher. Batches of kids were starting to arrive at the school. Jacki tried her best to take in each car, each group, each individual as they approached the front of the walkway which led to the large, concrete building. So many faces, so young. She hadn’t realized that teenagers were still so close to being children while somehow being almost grown-up. They all seemed so small, so unprotected, even the tall ones with their outrageously long arms and hunched gaits, struggling to be fit enough for the world. The crowds grew. School buses pulled into a circular driveway,
expelling bright groups of half-formed adults. Jacki felt a tenderness so pure and shocking for them that she began to cry. How could I have been so blind to this? How could I have missed this all this time? A hard kernel of hope formed in her chest. Maybe, just maybe it really wasn’t too late for her, maybe this all could work. The past couldn’t be reclaimed, but maybe the present could.