Predator One (64 page)
He nodded.
“If you’re on some kind of road to redemption, that’s between
you and Church or maybe between you and God. I wouldn’t even hazard a guess as to how many good works it takes to undo the death of one innocent person. And you know what? I don’t care. I’m not in the forgiveness business. I’m a hunter and I’m a killer, and none of that trains me to be compassionate to my enemies.”
Toys said nothing.
“What I want to say to you is this. I don’t forgive you. I
don’t like you. I don’t ever want to be friends with you. But … After what happened? After the other day? You and I are no longer enemies. We’re not even, but we aren’t at war. Not anymore.”
Toys said nothing.
I stepped back, took a breath, let it out, and turned toward the door.
“What,” he said quietly, “no kiss?”
I cracked up. When I turned, he was smiling, too. A sad smile, but a real one.
“Fuck you,” I said.
And I left.
4.
The ashes of the political fires are still falling.
No one thinks the president will do well in the next election. The bin Laden video, however unfairly, stained his presidency. So did the rise of the Seven Kings organization. It didn’t matter that ultimately it was one diseased mind, one money-hungry bureaucrat, and a self-sustaining infrastructure that
nearly ended things. Someone has to take the bullet, and the president was captain of the ship. Mixed metaphor. Fuck it.
Either way, I don’t much care. The more I become aware of the way politics works, the less invested I become in politicians. I don’t fight for them anyway. I have my own agenda.
In the wake of Regis and Solomon, the drone thing became the center of the national conversation.
Everyone can see the benefits; everyone is aware of the dangers. Like most things, it’s all about the gray areas. We’ll have to wait to see what fills our sky tomorrow. For today, the skies are clear and quiet.
5.
On a bright and sunny Sunday morning, Junie and I dressed in our very best clothes. I wore a suit that made me look like a million bucks, and a tie that brought out the blue of my
eyes. Junie wore a gorgeous dress that fit every delicious curve while still hiding the scars that were now healing nicely. She had a pair of shoes that it took her two weeks to find. I thought they looked great, but they also looked like six other pairs of shoes she already owned. I am not brave enough to say that to her.
We drove in a limousine provided for the occasion. All of the guests were
being chauffeured. As we stepped out of the car, I saw Bunny standing on the steps, he on a lower one and Lydia on a higher one. She was adjusting his tie. They kept smiling at each other.
Everyone was smiling. Top, Montana, and Brian. Violin—who appeared in one of those outrageous European hats that straddle the line between high fashion and comedy. Even Lilith was there, though she was not
smiling. I don’t know if she understands how that process works. I have never before seen her in civilian clothes. She sat next to Mr. Church. And, weird thing, she looked kind of hot. Most of the guys in the place couldn’t take their eyes off of her. But then they’d see Church looking back at them, and they’d turn away so fast you could hear their necks creak.
Bug was there, and it was the first
time I’d seen him since his mother’s funeral. I hugged him. So did Junie. I think he liked Junie’s hug better, which is fair enough.
Bug even managed to smile. Maybe his first in a long time. Was there less innocence in that smile? Less optimism? Less of that rare and precious quality that defined him, that made him—far more than his computer savvy—the heart of our dysfunctional little DMS community?
God, I hope not.
He was coming back to work soon and seemed eager to begin playing with Davidovich’s science. We’d recovered all of his design notes. Everything. It was a good bet that MindReader was about to take a quantum leap forward. Pun intended. We’d need it. We needed an edge. With enemies like we have, we needed any edge we could get.
But that was tomorrow’s concern.
Today wasn’t about
the war. It wasn’t about weapons or damage or loss.
For once, it wasn’t about any of that.
We all walked up the steps and into the big Catholic church. Doctor Hu and Jerry Spencer were seated together. They stopped smiling when they saw me. But Aunt Sallie, still in a wheelchair, was parked up front and she actually gave me a smile. Or maybe it was a wince. Hard to say.
The organist was playing
something pretty. There were flowers everywhere.
Mr. Church sat near the front. His official presence was as a friend of the family. A few of us knew different. He now wore black gloves in place of the white cotton ones. I would never see him without those gloves again.
The organist changed his tune to something more formal and official. We all took our seats. Then they came in.
The three of
them.
So beautiful.
So happy.
They walked down the aisle together. Past all of us. Past friends and coworkers. Past people who, even then, wore guns in concealed holsters. Even in that place. Even on a day like this.
Rudy leaned on his new cane. Another hawthorn stick, another silver handle. I was with him when he bought it. The silver is as pure as it gets. He didn’t tell me why that mattered
to him.
Rudy’s suit was gorgeous. It had been impeccably cut and tailored for him by someone Mr. Church knew. A friend in the industry.
Circe looked radiant. I use that word in a literal sense. She seemed to glow. She walked straight and proud. There were cornflowers in her hair that matched her dress. Every woman there wanted her shoes. Every man there probably fell a little bit in love with
her.
But the brightest light in that place, the glow that drew us all there, was the tiny form that Circe held in her arms. Dressed in white, with intensely black hair and eyes that were as blue as the cornflowers. Circe and Rudy brought their child to the front of the church. And then the priest called for the godparents to join them.
Junie and I held hands all the way up the aisle.
I’m not
Catholic, nor were more than half the people there. Some of them were from different religions; some belonged to none. Some of the people didn’t believe that there was anything beyond this world. No spirits, no angels. No devils or demons.
That was okay. People should be allowed to believe what they want to believe. If some of us have seen things that make us question the limits of the world
and the possibilities of a larger world, then that’s on us. It’s ours to consider. To fear or not to fear as we each choose.
Rudy has less fear in him than he’s had for years, even though he knows there is more to be afraid of. It happens that way sometimes. He’s more like his old self, and I’m glad to have him back. He is the best person I know, and—let’s face it—he keeps me sane.
Ish.
So,
on that morning, we all stood there and watched a priest dribble water on the head of Albert Joseph Rudolfo O’Tree-Sanchez.
The water was cold.
The baby cried.
We all smiled. We all wept.
And the world did not burn down.
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St. Martin’s Griffin
Jonathan Maberry
is a
New York Times
bestselling author, four-time Bram Stoker Award winner, and comic book writer. He writes horror, thrillers, mystery, fantasy, science fiction, and suspense for adults and teens. His novels include
Predator One, The Wolfman,
and many others. Several of Jonathan’s novels are in development for movies or TV, including
Vwars, Extinction Machine, Rot & Ruin,
and
Dead of Night.
He’s the editor/coauthor of
Vwars,
a vampire-themed anthology, and is editor for a series of all-original X-Files anthologies, the YA anthology
Scary Out There,
and the dark fantasy anthology
Out of Tune.
His Vwars books have been developed as a board game. He is a popular featured expert on History Channel shows like
Zombies: A Living History
and
Monsters, Myth, and Legend.
Since
1978, he’s sold more than 1,200 magazine feature articles, 3,000 columns, two plays, greeting cards, song lyrics, and poetry. His comics include
Vwars, Rot & Ruin, Captain America: Hail Hydra, Bad Blood, Marvel Zombies Return,
and
Marvel Universe vs. the Avengers
. He lives in Del Mar, California, with his wife, Sara Jo, and their dog, Rosie.
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