Dead Set (13 page)

“Well,” said Zoe, having no idea how to respond.

“Sorry. I shouldn't have said all that at once.”

“No, it's all right. I want to know the truth.” She looked at the hills where Valentine had been staring a moment before. “If it wasn't so scary here, I'd like to see the people who write in hieroglyphics.”

“We can't do that,” Valentine said. “But I can give you what you came here for. I can take you to see Father. I know where he lives.”

“I'd love that.”

“How's your ankle?”

“Much better.”

“Then let's go.”

They crossed the roofs under the moon, back the way they'd come the previous night, and descended the fire escape to the street. Then they turned inland, headed toward the heaps of giant apartment buildings she'd seen from the roof. At the corner Valentine stopped her. He turned up the collar on her coat so that it covered more of her face. After studying her for a moment, he ran his hands down the sides of a telephone pole and wiped smeared dirt across Zoe's forehead and cheeks. He ended by popping a final dot of dirt on the end of her nose with his thumb. “Now you look more like one of us,” he said.

She soon lost track of time as they walked. In the day that was exactly the same as the previous night, the idea of seconds, minutes, and hours became fantastical, like something from a fairy tale. She tried counting the streets, but they were so twisted around she had no idea where one stopped and another began. But they were definitely in an older part of the city. They crossed tall stone walkways lit by bent gaslights and descended long flights of cobblestone staircases to narrow catwalks just inches above murky canal water. Since she couldn't make out streets, Zoe tried remembering landmarks along the way. There was a half-burned billboard with the remains of a woman's smile beneath one of the stone walkways.

As they walked, Valentine dragged his boots through debris in the gutters and picked up anything he could find that was shiny, sometimes throwing it away and sometimes pocketing it. She understood now how his little house had become so crowded. His delight when he found something he liked was almost like that of a kid, Zoe thought. In fact, even though he was older, in some ways Valentine felt more like a little brother. She guessed it had something to do with his being dead so long. He never had the chance to go out into the world and grow up like Zoe and her friends did. He started collecting junk when he got to Iphigene and never stopped because there wasn't anyone to show him that there was anything else to do. He'd been cheated of so much. It didn't seem fair, but then what was fair in this strange place?

At the bottom of a staircase, in a circle of stones made where twisting buildings left an open patch of land, were the remains of what looked like a campsite. Ragged beds, tables, chairs, and lamps had been dragged outside.

“Why would people take their stuff outside where it rains?” asked Zoe.

Valentine didn't even turn his head.

“Not all the apartments are that nice. Some people prefer the street.”

The camp was all just wreckage now. Splintered wood and gutted mattresses. The place hadn't been dismantled the way police would do it. It was torn to pieces, as if by angry animals.

Zoe's bad ankle hurt and Valentine had to help her limp over heaps of trash that filled some twisting streets by some of the old apartments. They were back on a street that looked more like a normal modern city. “Sorry about the trek,” he said. “Truth is, you can take that big street over there most of the way back to the ocean.” He pointed over his shoulder. “But I thought if Hecate's dogs had maybe heard about you, it would be good to go the long way round.”

“It was a good idea,” said Zoe, panting. She sat and retied the rag Valentine had put around her ankle. She still limped a little but she could walk just fine.

“Anyway, we're here.” Valentine nodded to the nearest building. The address was 5,111,304 Ouroboros Street.

The apartment building across the street wrapped around the building, tightening it in the middle so it was shaped like an hourglass.

“This is where Dad lives?”

“Yep. Fifth floor, all the way in the back, on the right.”

Zoe nodded, feeling both excited and nervous.

“Before you go in, there are a couple things you need to know. I'm not going in with you for the reasons I told you about last night.”

“Just because,” she said.

“Right. The second thing is that when we're out like this, if something happens and we get separated, you head straight back to my house. Got it?”

“I don't think I can find my way back the way we came.”

“Then take the street that leads to the boardwalk and come back that way. And if you're ever alone, don't ever, no matter what happens, ever go down
any
unlit streets. Dim is okay, just not unlit. There are souls a lot worse off than me and you don't want to see the worst of 'em. The dying dead. More important, you don't want them to see you.”

“Okay,” she said. Zoe wanted to ask more about the dying dead but knew it wasn't the right time.

“I'm going to go wait over there.” Valentine nodded toward an alcove at the side of a nearby apartment building. “Take as long as you need.”

“Thanks.” Zoe leaned forward and quickly pecked him on the cheek. He stiffened a little, but didn't pull away. She took that as a good sign, then hurried into the building.

There was an elevator in the lobby, but when she looked closer she saw it was just an open elevator shaft. Someone had moved a bed and chair into the opening and it looked like they'd been living there. She found stairs around the corner and climbed to the fifth floor. At first, the building seemed utterly silent, but as she climbed, she began to hear small sounds of habitation. Footsteps. A drawer opening and closing. The tinkle of a glass on a table.

Zoe's heart raced as she stepped onto the fifth-floor landing. Her ankle hurt but she couldn't help herself, and ran all the way down the hall to her father's door. She knocked but didn't hear anything from inside. She knocked again. “Dad?” she whispered to the door. No response. She quietly turned the knob and the door opened.

The inside of her father's room was so spare it was almost empty. Like a prison cell, thought Zoe. While Valentine's place was stuffed to the rafters with goodies he'd plucked from the city's overflow, her father's room held a bed, a table, and a dresser with a vase of plastic roses on top. There was a discolored spot on one wall where a mirror or a picture might have once hung.

A straight-backed wooden chair had been dragged from the table and set before the room's one window. Every surface in the room seemed to be covered in dust, except for the windowsill in front of the chair. That area was clean. He leans on the sill right here, she thought. He sits here all day and night. This is his real life in Iphigene. Her breath caught in her throat and the stab of grief and loss made her fight back tears. Zoe reached for the rubber band on her wrist but it was gone.

She went back downstairs and found Valentine in the alcove. She told him what she'd found in the room. “He wasn't there,” she finished.

“Don't worry,” he said. “There's another place where he spends some of his nights. Maybe we'll find him there.”

They took the shortcut to the beach. The route was much quicker, and Zoe could see the reflection of the moon in the sea after just a few minutes of walking.

“Remember, walk slow,” Valentine warned her as they crossed the street to the boardwalk and climbed down to the beach.

The wet sand was heavy on Zoe's sneakers, but it sparkled like snow under the moon. They were headed for the old amusement park where she'd spent the happy afternoon with her father. Zoe knew that she was getting used to Iphigene because it wasn't at all surprising to her to see that the park was a wreck, a heap of collapsed timbers and rides that had slipped off their foundations and lay lopsided in the sand. She had to admit, however, that the place still held a kind of sad beauty, like a winter carnival frozen in a blizzard.

People were wandering down onto the beach behind them. Zoe turned in terror and was ready to run from the mob. But Valentine grabbed her shoulders and held her where she was, pointing to the street.

“Look,” he said.

Several buses arrived simultaneously and what looked like a hundred people were suddenly milling around with the dazed look of all the new arrivals. Some people headed to the restaurant or the side streets, but more poured down onto the beach, as if being near the water would wake them from a bad dream. At first they walked. Then they ran, a solid wall of bodies. Zoe was knocked onto her knees and had to scramble to her feet to keep from getting trampled. The crowd carried her along with them, like a tidal wave of grasping hands and running feet. Finally, she worked her way to the side and shouldered her way free of the crowd. The rag around her ankle was loose. She fell and had to crawl onto the tilting turntable of the carousel.

Limping behind the carousel animals, she watched the last of the mob rush down to the sea. She couldn't see Valentine anywhere. The idea of going back into the crowd was too much. She decided to stay where she was until the beach cleared out. Then she'd sneak out and go back to Valentine's house.

Someone grunted nearby in the dark. Zoe whirled around and saw a man curled up asleep under the figure of a golden sea serpent. He had on the same shapeless overcoat that almost everyone seemed to wear in Iphigene, and his head was resting on a couple of the stuffed-animal toys that she'd seen scattered all around the abandoned rides. He grunted again and rolled over, facing her.

“Dad?” said Zoe, her voice hoarse from the sand she'd swallowed when she fell.

The sleeping man opened his eyes. They were bloodshot and wet. He was unshaven and his hair was wild, as if he hadn't brushed it in weeks. Slowly, drunkenly, the man pushed himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

“Dad?” said Zoe, though she was certain who he was this time.

The man turned and looked at her, his red eyes wide and full of fear. He tried to crawl away from her.

“No, no,” he said. “I'm dreaming.”

Zoe crawled after him and grabbed his leg. “Dad, it's me!” she yelled, and he froze on the spot. His shoulders sagged and he lay facedown where he was. For a moment neither of them moved, then her father sat up. When he looked at her this time, it wasn't fear she saw in his eyes: it was anger.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he yelled. “Didn't I tell you not to ever come back?”

Zoe crawled closer to him. “I had to. I did something bad back at home and I thought you needed help.”

“There's nothing you can do back in the world that will hurt me here.”

“But Emmett had these records and one of them had your soul or something on it . . .”

“Yeah, those.” Her father drew up his legs and leaned back against a bench covered with fading images of mermaids. “We all have those, honey. Emmett makes them. Supposedly, if he breaks yours, you'll disappear, but he's such a liar, who knows?”

“I was trying to get yours. I tried to trick him. But I think he tricked me.”

“He's good at that. You've got to get out of here as soon as you can. If Hecate finds out about you, well, I don't want to think about it.”

“I know. Val . . . a friend is taking care of me. But I don't know how I can leave. Do you?”

“No. But there has to be a way. Emmett comes and goes from here to the world all the time.”

“Dad, it's good to see you.” She moved over and leaned on the bench next to him. After a moment he put his arm around her shoulder.

“You, too. I'm so goddamn angry right now, but it's still good to see you.”

“Why do you look like this, Dad? Are you sick?”

“Kind of. But it doesn't have anything to do with what you did back home.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“I don't know if I believe you. Emmett took your record.”

“Yeah, but not because of what you did,” he said. “He took the record because of what I did.”

“What did you do?”

“It's not important. All that matters is you getting out of here.” Zoe's father took her face in his hand and looked hard into her eyes. “You can't ever come back here. I mean it. If you do, I won't see you. I won't talk to you. I won't acknowledge you. Do you understand me?”

Zoe nodded. “I understand.” It hurt to have him mad at her, but felt good that he still wanted to help.

“Who's this friend of yours?” he asked.

“Someone I used to know back home.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Yes.”

“Then get to him and find a way out of Iphigene. Nothing else matters.”

“You still haven't told me why you look like this. Why isn't the city how I remember?”

Her father started to answer, but was cut off by a strange howl in the distance. It reminded her of a foghorn, but this sound was rougher, darker, more like the deep wail of some wounded animal.

“Oh no,” said Zoe's father.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I have to go.” He pulled himself to his feet. Standing, he looked even weaker than he'd been before. It took a few seconds for him to steady himself on his feet. Then he started off across the beach. Other people were walking in the same direction, a few other newcomers, but mostly people Zoe had seen on the streets by the newsstand and bar. Old-timers, she thought. She ran after her father.

“What's wrong, Dad? What was that sound?”

“Go to your friend and find a way out. I can't help you.” Zoe grabbed him and his hand closed on her arm so hard it brought tears to her eyes. “Get away from me and stay away! I don't ever want to see you here again!” He pushed her hard enough that she fell back onto the sand.