Ruins of the Fall (The Remants Trilogy #2) (7 page)

Fighting may be difficult. I’m still dehydrated, mentally disoriented, and generally feel like I’m battling the worst flu of my life. It’s hard to formulate any sort of plan. Who do I even want to kill? Where do I hide my ill-gotten new tools?

A knock at the door startles me. I hurry to hide the knife. The best place I can settle on is my waistband. The cool metal presses against my bare skin. Any sudden movement, and I’m going to open up a nice cut around my groin. Not the best positioning, but it’s the best I can do on short notice. I slip the HoloBand into my pocket just as Mirko enters.

“Man, you look like shit.”

I look down at the dried blood caking my arm and say, my throat ragged, “I don’t know what happened.”

He shrugs. “They said you were gonna be crazy after being hooked up to that machine. Scratching and clawing at yourself like a dog.”

“You come to watch the freak show?”

He grimaces. “It’s been three hours. The council made its decision.”

Mirko grabs me by the shoulder. He doesn’t bother to recuff me, since I’m too weak to offer even token resistance. It takes all my energy to simply walk as we travel through the winding streets. Green eyes peek through the metallic shutters and junk.

“Move,” Mirko says.

“I’m trying,” I say.

“Don’t try,” he says. “Move.”

It’s like I forgot how to walk. My mind is scattered in a million directions, my senses unreliable. Great job, Matt, inventing something that destroys basic motor movements. A stunning achievement. Some minutes later, Mirko flings me forward. It’s dark in here. Or maybe my eyes are shut. I heave in and out, trying to catch my breath.

I remember what Atlas told me. I need to get to the Gray Desert. Otherwise these hallucinations are going to ruin what’s left of my brain.

“Here.” It’s Vlad. He waves something in front of my nostrils, and I recoil. It’s like being jacked into an electrical socket.

I stand bolt upright, hands tingling as I scan the large meeting room. Thick wooden benches are lined up before where Vlad sits on a stage a couple feet off the ground. He sits on a large chair on a crescent-shaped three-foot-tall riser. Chairs fan out around his pedestal, each occupied by a person dressed in similar black robes. He’s the only one with a crimson scarf, though.

“This a church?”

“Depends on your definition of church,” Vlad says. I’m beginning to think the Remnants’ garments were adopted as a uniform, rather than for practical reasons.

“The council, I presume.”

“A verdict has been reached on the actions of one Lucas Stokes,” Vlad says.

“That’s not my name,” I say.

Vlad waves me off. “We have reviewed the paper, and taken it into consideration.”

“Before you tell me the verdict, you should know something,” I say. In the back of my mind, I’m thinking that I don’t want to die here. Anywhere but here.

“It won’t change anything.”

I don’t like the sound of that, but I say anyway, “I know exactly where to look.” The last image, painful as it was to channel—or whatever the hell you want to call it—gave me a precise idea of where Matt hid the failsafe. The I-5 sign confirmed it. I know the area.

I can take them there, if they’ll let me.

“It’s irrelevant,” Vlad says. “No further evidence will be reviewed.”

“You’re signing your own damn death warrant.” The other council members stiffen. Such outspoken criticism isn’t tolerated. They survive by tribal law, the ones that man grew up with, before the plains were lost, before he harnessed fire and bent the world to his whim.

Vlad steps down from his perch. His measured steps echo. I lean against one of the benches for support, looking for an opening. Nothing comes, and so when he’s only a few yards away, I pull the trigger on a half-cocked plan.

“Back the fuck up,” I scream, reaching for my pocket. “You need me.”

I hold up the stolen HoloBand capsule. The plastic catches the soft light.

Vlad stops, amusement flickering in his bright eyes.

“We don’t need that.” There’s a murmur of assent from the group. “We don’t need you.”

“But you’re big on ritual. And respect.” With a single squeeze, I crush the HoloBand in my sweaty palm. A jolt surges through me—the realization that this is the last remaining tangible piece of Matt. But there’s no time for sentimentality.

My symbolic act of defiance has made the council upset. One member stands rigid. Her robes fall away, and I see the familiar rose tattoo.

“You will not interrupt,” Jana says.

Vlad turns, perhaps to reprimand his daughter for speaking out of turn during the ceremony. It’s clear now that he only rose from the stage to execute me. Pulling the knife out from my waistband so quickly that I cut my skin, I rush forward. Vlad looks back just in time for me to catch him in the chest. The blade slices through the fabric effortlessly.

A sputtered protest spills from his lips. “You…you will destroy everything.”

Blood drips down the hilt of the knife. Then Vlad’s green eyes go blank, like a lamp suddenly being unplugged. For a moment, the council members don’t move, everyone disbelieving the new reality unfolding before them.

The blood feels warm and slick on my hands. I let go of the knife, and Vlad topples over. The hilt clangs off the stone, setting off a flurry of activity. The council members rise, ready to converge and tear me limb from limb.

I focus on Jana, who stares blankly past me. This was not the plan either of us had in mind, but it was the best one available under the circumstances. I back up, wondering if I can make it to the door before the council rip me apart. They stalk forward, forming a tight line between the rows of benches.

“You son of a bitch,” Jana says, with a venom I’m not quite expecting. “I had a plan.”

“And I told you we had to kill him.”

“This wasn’t the plan,” she repeats, like it means something.

“Next time actually have a plan,” I say, scanning my adversaries, their glowing eyes focused on me with a singular purpose.. “One that didn’t involve convincing a group of morons.”

A rumbling growl erupts from one of the black-robed throats. I can’t tell who it is, because, frankly, they all resemble feral dogs in their one-mindedness. My boot catches on a loose stone, and I stumble backwards.

It’s ignominious to scramble and grovel, so I slide along the floor, keeping a cool distance between me and the council. More of a symbolic gesture, since only a few yards separate us. They’re drawing it out on purpose. The member at the head of the line unsheathes his sword.

“Stop,” Jana says. The group tilts their heads, unsure if they should listen. “As your leader, I command you to stop.” To my surprise, they obey, giving me time to stand. Jana finally begins to move, pushing through the throng until she’s eye-to-eye with me, just the two of us standing before the onlookers.

“You gave me no choice,” I say. “Contingencies, right?”

“To hell with your contingencies,” Jana says. I’m not sure whether she’s here to kill me herself, or about to break down crying in my arms. Her body quakes with unbridled emotion.

“He killed your mother.”

“Don’t talk about my mother,” Jana says, her gaze white-hot. “Don’t ever talk about her.”

“All right, all right,” I say, raising my hands in a peace offering. “Look, I’m sorry—”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re right.” I say. “It was him or me.”

“You made your choice. Now I’ll make mine.”

I don’t have a response for that. Rustiness. Reading the situation wrong. I thought she was pissed because she just became an orphan. Rather, she’s pissed because this is the messiest transition of power that could possibly go down.

After a long silence, she nods to the rest of the council. “Tell everyone we ship out tomorrow.”

The council doesn’t move or answer.

Jana brings her foot down against the stone with a thunderous boom. “Tell them they can either come or go. But we leave for the Gray Desert at daybreak.”

There’s a hushed, involuntary gasp as the council members hurry past us. I tense up, still wary. After all, two minutes before they were ready to feast on my limbs. Or whatever the customs are around here. But soon the meeting room is empty, leaving me and Jana alone.

“I’ll help bury him,” I say. Because, really, what do you say in this situation?

“No,” she says. “I’ll bury the bastard alone.”

It’s not open for debate. So I leave the new queen of the Remnants by herself, and exit into the chilly air.

Tomorrow, we head to the Gray Desert.

Tomorrow, the flashbacks might end.

Or tomorrow might bring a whole new host of problems that today I knew nothing about.

I drive the truck. Jana, always talkative, says nothing in the passenger seat. I check the mirrors, watching the procession trailing behind us on the cracked highway. It can’t be more than a thousand people.

After the call went out over the Remnants’ network, this is who agreed to come. Ten percent. The rest stayed with Mirko. I think that says a lot about what will befall them.

But then, throwing in with Jana doesn’t look much better. Two days after getting my life back, it’s already over. An army of a thousand against Blackstone’s and the NAS’ millions won’t get it done.

I play with the satellite radio, but all I get is empty white noise. The ash hanging in the atmosphere must block the reception. We’ve travelled for about five hours, and the sky has gotten progressively chalkier. Even three years later, the plains haven’t recovered.

And we’ve only reached the border of what used to be Illinois. Or so a battered sign indicates, announcing that the people of Iowa welcome us with fields of opportunities. But the only fields I see are gray.

It makes me snort, thinking that there are opportunities here. But that’s what I’m searching for, right? A silver bullet in an endless cosmic ocean of ash.

I asked Evelyn to examine me before we left—maybe help with these hallucinations—but she brushed me off. No one likes me much these days. They just tolerate me as a necessary sort of evil.

Being a hero is a thankless business.

I jerk the wheel to avoid a ten-foot-deep hole, blaring on the horn to warn those behind us. Jana has insisted that we lead the procession, even if that leaves us open to attack. No one’s attacked us thus far, which might be disappointing her. After all, she’s gotta channel this anger somewhere.

Preferably not at me.

“Was it real?” she says after another hundred miles.

“Was what real?” I say, startled that she’s speaking. If I’m being perfectly honest, the silence was preferable.

“Or were you just trying to—that was my knife,” she says, putting the dots together without my help. She smiles bitterly and runs her hand through her punkish hair. “I’m a fucking moron.”

“Next time, don’t change the plan.”

The silence makes me wonder if I’ve made another enemy. I can’t really afford that, but it seems inevitable. I try to focus on sunnier things, like the failsafe Matt hid out in the Gifted Minds facility. But it’s hard to even imagine. Trying to get inside the mind of a genius is a fool’s errand. Even those close to him, close to HIVE, couldn’t account for all his plans.

I swallow hard when I realize that Blackstone has a solid brain trust on his side—the remnants of the Gifted Minds program. Kid Vegas. Olivia Redmond. Who knows who else. Either I need to get smarter, or I need a better team.

I bite my lip and push down on the accelerator.

“Do I need to drive?”

“No,” I say.

“Then conserve gas,” Jana says. “We might have to push anyway.”

“There something you want to say?”

“I don’t know,” Jana says. “What
can
I say?”

“You got what you wanted.”

“I wanted my people to be safe.”

“Some of them are,” I say. I catch her pained response in the rearview as she contemplates the Remnants who stayed behind in the Gunpowder Hills with Mirko. Fortifying, trying to dig in. Even members of the waystations rode in. The rift might’ve hurt Jana worse than her father’s death.

All I see is a bunch of fools about to commit suicide, steamrolled by the inevitable march of the NAS’ collective forces.

“We’re making the right play,” I say. Up ahead, I see a big dog in the road. He’s barking. “Shit.” I close my eyes and drive straight through. There’s no
thud
, because the dog isn’t real. “How far until we hit I-5?”

“1,800 miles,” Jana says. “Should be fun.”

I take a deep breath and gather myself. But deep inside, I’m screaming.

Because I know I’m not gonna last that long.

We finally stop for the night near the border of South Dakota. The vehicle brigade—about three hundred strong—forms a tight perimeter around a central camp. The Remnants waste little time setting up defenses, digging holes and making fires.

I leave them alone. This is their area of expertise, and I’m liable to slow things down. I managed to drive the entire day—the better part of twelve hours—without devolving into madness. But who knows how long this interlude of sanity will last.

From the way Atlas was talking, things will only get worse.

I take the piece of paper he gave me from my back pocket. It’s stained by Vlad’s blood, but it’s a damn good thing I thought to retrieve it before Jana interred him. It might only be a single sheet, but there’s a lot of good information on here.

“What do you have?” Evelyn says, her voice startling me. I’m off by a spindly tree. It’s the kind of place you don’t expect visitors. “Just like our old spot in Seattle, right?”

“Ev…”

“I know it wasn’t real,” she says. “I’m a big girl.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Even in the dark, with the fires a ways off, she cuts a striking image. Long blond hair cascading down to her well-proportioned hips. Endless brown eyes that you could drown in, if you’re not careful.

“What’s on the paper?”

“Something I got from a friend.”

“Now I know you’re lying,” she says. I smell the faintest hint of lilac carried on the breeze, and it brings me back to all those times in HIVE. And the time outside, in the real world. Her apartment. “You don’t have any friends.”

“So you two hate me too?”

“The church mouse? I don’t think she could hate anyone.” This must be what she calls Carina, which I find slightly amusing. Evelyn steps forward, and now the aroma of lilac is overwhelming. I wonder how she manages to smell good, even out here, where beauty has vanished. “She told me something interesting, though.”

“What’s that?”

“That she loved you.”

I don’t have an answer ready for this type of situation, so I say, “The paper, it’s about—these images. And some other stuff.”

“Flashbacks, kind of.” Evelyn nods, giving me a little knowing grin. But she lets me off the hook about Carina, which I’m thankful for. A small act of mercy, but it seems like a big one, given how things have gone over the past days. “I’ve had a few.”

“Anything bad?”

“You remember Ramses?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve been seeing him more than I’d like.”

“It hasn’t been bad for me, Luke,” Evelyn says. “But Carina, she’s not taking it too well.”

“Maybe she’s lovesick,” I say, immediately regretting the joke. A light wind whistles past, rustling the tree’s dead branches.

“Don’t be an ass.”

“Sometimes that’s hard.”

“I believe that,” Evelyn says. “The flashbacks. Cold sweats. I’ve been taking care of her.”

“Sounds familiar,” I say. “Besides anyone taking care of me.”

“You can take care of yourself,” she says, and reaches over to touch my arm. “Figure out what’s on the paper.”

“You don’t want to know more?”

“I don’t know if I could trust what you tell me anyway.” Her fingers slide away from my skin. “But I think you’re decent enough to do something close to right.”

She walks away. I watch as the breeze rustles her flowing blonde hair and smile. Not quite a ringing endorsement, but out here, it’ll have to do.

I turn my attention back to the paper. It gives me an engineer’s view on how to solve the current problems. Why Atlas believes the conflict started in the first place—belief. What everyone is seeking: salvation.

And how to break free of the cycle.

By giving everyone exactly what they want. It’s as cryptic as it sounds. No explanation about what people want, or how to find out. At the bottom is a warning about HIVE:
you can’t just pull the plug. The light of civilization will go out
.

I feel a strange power course through my veins when I read the words. I’m the last chance the world has. Not by fate, or talent, but perhaps just by circumstance.

Not really a hero.

Just someone doing what’s close to right.

And that, I think, is in the rarest supply of all in this new world.