Night Resurrected (11 page)

information than that. And so I’ve spent

the last almost twenty years doing what

he asked. Not knowing why. Not

knowing when or how I’d use it. Not

knowing
who
wanted it, or when they’d

come after me, and what they’d do to me

when they found it.”

He could see the vague outline of her

head, the long swath of ink-black hair

obscuring the curve of her neck and

shoulder. Somehow, a shaft of moonlight

filtered through the grimy truck window,

shining on her hair and bouncing down

over her arm. He could make out just a

hint of jaw and mouth, and the dark

shadows hiding her amazing blue eyes.

Raw guilt had him forcing his

attention away. “Was your grandfather

involved in causing the Change?” he

asked.

“He never told me he was, but it

seems obvious, doesn’t it?” There was

no sarcasm in her voice. Just sadness.

“He wasn’t a happy man. Never a hint of

warmth or affection. He was like a

shriveled bud of a person, a shell. And

when he died . . .”

Dantès

groaned

between

them,

clearly bored by all the talk, and Wyatt

patted him on the scruff. His hand

brushed another hand, smaller and

cooler, doing the same thing and he

practically jerked his own away.

His mouth was dry and he curled his

fingers deep into the warm ruff of fur.

Remy didn’t seem to notice; she

continued to pet Dantès, and Wyatt felt

the rhythm of her movements jolting the

dog against his leg. “Grandfather fought

it. He clearly didn’t want to die. It was

an awful time. He didn’t want to
die
, but

he didn’t want to live either. He said a

lot of things, and I got the impression

he’d done something awful. Something

unforgivable. Something he couldn’t live

with, and something he was terrified of

being judged on. It makes sense that he

was involved with causing the Change.”

“And so he gave you the crystal. Was

it a way to make amends?”

The petting stopped. “I’d like to think

so.”

“Why the hell did he give it to you

and not your parents? You must have

been young.”

“I was fifteen when Grandfather

died. Not so young. And my father—I

don’t know anything about him. He and

my mother weren’t together for long, and

he was gone before I was born. I didn’t

understand it at the time, but I’ve come

to realize that Grandfather kept my

mother and me close and all of us hidden

for years. The same thing I’ve been

doing—moving around a lot, staying out

of sight, even living in the wilderness at

times. He could have been the reason my

father wasn’t in the picture—maybe he

made us move before my mother knew

she was pregnant with me. Or maybe he

forced us to leave because he didn’t

want her to get close to him. Or to

anyone, and betray his secrets. Anyway,

she died when I was eight. And then it

was just the two of us.”

“So he burdened you with
his

mistake and left you alone and

unprotected—and with no guidance at

all.” Wyatt knew he sounded bitter, but

his instinctive dislike of the senior

Remington Truth had evolved into

something more like disgust. “Nice man.

Ruining your life.”

Remy gave a short laugh. “Well, the

sentiment has crossed my mind.”

“You could have thrown the damn

thing in the ocean or buried it or gotten

rid of it some other way. You didn’t

have to carry that burden. Especially

blindly. That makes you a helluva better

person than your grandfather.”

This time her laugh carried a note of

surprise. “I do believe that’s the nicest

thing you’ve ever said to me.” Her voice

had gone low and husky again.

He flattened his lips.
Nice going,

Earp.
Time to change the subject. “How

many times has it glowed like that?”

“Tonight was only the second time.”

Her hackles were back up, her tone

crisp. “So something seems to have

changed just recently.”

Wyatt’s mind was working quickly

now. Back in Envy, his friend Fence had

met up with a woman named Ana and

she knew a lot about the crystals

belonging to the Strangers. She had also

confirmed what they suspected: that the

Strangers were former mortal humans

who’d conspired with the Atlanteans—

yes, the legendary people living in a

sunken city actually did exist; he still

couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that

—to cause the Change.

“I mean, my crystal glowed once or

twice before, over the years, but very

softly and for a short amount of time.

Nothing like this. And not often. So

something’s changed recently,” she said.

“That’s why I’m going to Envy. I heard

Theo talking about Ana. I thought she

might be able to help.”

He

nodded

in

the

darkness.

“Something happened about a week ago.

When Ana came in contact with the

Jarrid stone—it’s a large crystal the

Strangers use, and was stolen from them

by our friend Quent—the stone started to

glow and burn. And so did the crystals

Ana had. She seemed to think they

recognized each other and activated

themselves. Maybe it activated yours at

the same time.”

He sensed her interest sharpening,

and his thought was confirmed when she

began to scratch Dantès with new vigor.

“I wonder if that’s why the zombies have

gotten so . . .”

“Frenzied?” he finished for her.

“Yes. In the last week they seem to have

become more desperate. It’s possible

they sense the presence of your crystal.”

“Yeah. So I feared.”

Silence settled between them until

Remy spoke again. “So now you know

why I want to go to Envy.”

“Except that you were going in the

wrong direction before I got here,” he

informed her.

“Duh. I was doing that on purpose.

To try and lose you. Obviously, it didn’t

work. Much to my dismay.”

“You were going in circles on

purpose?”

“Not in circles,” she said waspishly.

“ B ut
not
in the direction of Envy. I

didn’t want my destination to be

obvious.”

He couldn’t say anything more to that;

she was right. And it had been a clumsy

attempt to trick her into admitting she

was lost. Which, apparently, she wasn’t.

However, she had finally given him

some answers. Chalk one up for the

good guys. But Wyatt didn’t waste any

time feeling complacent about that small

success. His mind was still working.

“Ana told Fence that something called

the Mother crystal disappeared from the

possession of the Atlanteans around the

time of the Change. I don’t suppose your

grandfather ever referred to the crystal

he gave you that way?”

“Not that I remember. I didn’t even

know he had the stone until he gave it to

me. Did Ana say what the Mother crystal

was?”

“According to her, it’s the key to the

Atlanteans’ power,” he replied, trying to

remember exactly how Fence had

described it. The man wasn’t terribly

verbose in his electronic messages,

which was how they communicated

between Envy and Yellow Mountain.

But he guessed he couldn’t complain,

because the two settlements were more

than three days’ journey apart—if one

wasn’t going in circles trying to lose

someone—and there was no other way

to efficiently send messages.

Theo and Lou Waxnicki, two geeky

brothers who’d lived through the

Change, had been secretly building an

underground communication network

that was meant to be the infrastructure

for a resistance against the Strangers

and, now, the Atlanteans. They’d

hoarded

every

working

electronic

device or hardware they could find over

the last half century, utilizing what they

could to build a sort of cobbled-together

Internet and far-reaching network.

“My crystal seems awfully small to

be something so powerful. But . . . you

just used the word ‘key.’ The key to the

Atlanteans’ power. It could be a

coincidence that Grandfather described

it that way, or it might not be.”

“Good point,” he replied, reaching

over to pet Dantès again. Their hands

didn’t clash this time because he kept his

hand closer to the tail. “But when we get

to Envy, you can ask Ana yourself.”

He felt a sudden wave of tension, and

her hand stopped moving. He supposed

he’d be wondering, too, if he could trust

Ana and Fence if he were in her

position. Twenty years of hiding would

make anyone suspicious. Especially if

you didn’t know who or what you were

hi di ng
from
. Remington Truth was a

bastard.

“How did you ever come to name

this guy Dantès?” he asked, and realized

with an ironic grimace that he was

continuing the conversation. Willingly.

“It’s an unusual name.”

“From
The Count of Monte Cristo
,”

she replied. “It was a book I found—

salvaged—once, and I started reading it.

I didn’t realize I only had part of it, even

though it had over eight hundred pages.

So I don’t know how it ends.”

“It’s a very long book.” Wyatt didn’t

see any reason to mention he’d spent a

god-awful amount of time in Iraq with

few entertainment options other than

reading . . . and he’d devoured many of

the classics, including
Monte Cristo
,

The Three Musketeers,
and
Moby Dick
,

as well as a large number of Clive

Cussler and Ken Follett novels. The war

had done one good thing, helping him

acquire a love of reading he’d never had

while in school.

“I always wondered whether Dantès

and Mércèdes got together in the end,”

she said, her voice a little wistful.

“It depends whether you read the

book or see the movie,” he replied.

Her reply was cut off when Dantès

shifted and groaned in his sleep. Then

his legs moved, obviously chasing

another rodent in his dreams. Wyatt

stifled a chuckle of affection and

removed his hand.

“I don’t think he’ll be ready to leave

tomorrow. He was bleeding again

tonight, after he tried to jump through the

window and save you.”

By

the

obvious

pause,

Wyatt

suspected Remy was trying to determine

whether he was poking at her or not. He

didn’t care which conclusion she drew.

“What happened to you in the trailer

today, Wyatt?”

Oh Christ.
If she was looking for a

way to poke back at him, she’d found it.

He couldn’t help it; he shifted his

position against the wall, edging away

from her and Dantès as a variety of

responses ran through his mind.

None of your damn business.

I have no idea what you’re talking

about.

Nothing—I just got tired of looking

through rotting shit.

So he was shocked when the words

tumbled from his mouth: “I found

something that reminded me of my

children.”

Sonofabitch.

He let his head tip back against the

truck again, closed his eyes, and waited

for the barrage: the interrogation, the

pity, the sympathy.

But she didn’t say anything. There

was stillness; she’d stopped petting

Dantès. He could hear her breath, steady

—maybe a little faster than before. If she

was waiting for him to continue, she was

going to have a long wait.

“They’re dead,” he said from behind

closed eyes, once again surprising

himself. Ah hell. Might as well get it

over with. “My wife too.”

Still silence. Maybe she’d fallen

asleep. That would be a gift.