The End Came With a Kiss (18 page)

Shut up you idiot.

"Ben?"

I fumble to get the radio out and lift it to my lips. "I’ll call you back," I say, twisting the radio off and stuffing it back in my shirt pocket.

A shuffling noise causes my head to lift. The light beams out in front of me. I hear a wheezing now, reflecting off the concrete and metal interior of the first bay. There is movement by the wall, behind a large steel support beam. Are those legs sticking out? Is it a looper?

The wheezing gets louder as we approach, not because we can hear it better, but because whoever is making it can hear us, and our presence is getting it riled up. The feet are sliding out and back in, but the toes are pointed to the sides, as if the effort of pointing the toes upward is too much of an exertion.

I strafe to the side and get my light to shine down on the figure. He is a handsome man, though gaunt, about six feet tall with oversized clothes, a baseball cap and a beard. His eyes look sunken and his face weary as he struggles to get up from his resting position against the wall. The exertion is too much for him. He slams back against it, wheezing hard.

Harry comes up beside me. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that man is dying."

"It looks that way, but I doubt it. The restorative agent in his body can regenerate whole limbs. I don't imagine he's going to be dying any time soon."

"Well, what do we do with him?"

Harry's question lingers, as I stare at the weakened man. How strange that he can sense our presence. He must know that he can never return to his loop, yet he hasn't drifted off into that hopeless comatose state they retreat into. He isn't irreparably broken. He is still alert. Still aware. But why? Is it that he is not bound? Or is it that somewhere deep inside he knows he will recover?

"Sir?"

My head swivels and I look up at Harry’s big friendly face. "Let's see if we can find something to bind his leg to the beam."

Harry gives a sturdy nod.

We find some copper cord in the loading bay office and wrap it around the man's ankle. He is too weak to even reach out and claw at us. His arms tighten and loosen at his side, but that is all.

Once he is secured to the post, we head out, but not all the way. I stop Harry and James just before we exit the building. "There’s something you two need to know."

They huddle around me.

"I'm not sure what to make of this, but Ashlyn used to have freckles on her nose and cheeks, and now she doesn't."

In the darkness I can see James wilt.

"You think she's infected?" asks Harry.

"I know she’s infected, but the question is, is she trying to hide it from us?"

"What do you mean?"

"If for some crazy reason that looper that attacked her infected her, and she is moving through the gestation period faster than normal, then she'll still have no freckles when we go out to the truck. If she is hiding her infection, I'm guessing she'll have put them back on."

"With makeup?"

"That's my guess."

"Why?" says James. "Why would she do that? It doesn't make any sense. What could she possibly gain from pretending?"

"I don't know. Maybe so I would take her in so she wouldn't have to be alone. It doesn't matter. If she’s lying, I can't have her around. It’s too dangerous."

"And if she's not?" says James.

"Then we'll isolate her and try to make her last days comfortable."

James grips his head with his hand.

"I'm sorry, son," says Harry, touching the young man on the shoulder. "I know you like the girl."

We let him digest things for a few minutes. Then finally, his head lifts. "Well, I guess we need to go see."

We all look at each other silently for a moment, then I push the door open. Light streams in, and I squint. The loading yard is still quiet. The truck is still in the same place.

We jog down and take position at the rear. James is not doing a very good job of hiding his disappointment, but I guess it doesn't matter. There is no longer any need for subterfuge. Ashlyn has either concealed her sickness, or is still oblivious to it.

Harry unlocks the back doors and takes a handle. I take the other, and we swing them open. Ashlyn is still in her seat with the dart gun pointing down at the floor between her knees. Her face turns toward us, but she is too far away to see whether or not she has reapplied the freckles.

"Did you run into anyone?" she asks.

"Just one guy, but I don't think he'll be giving us any trouble."

"Why? You didn't hurt him, did you?"

Strange. I never took much notice of it before, but she’s been an advocate for the loopers this whole time, as though she has a kinship with them. Why? What weirdness is going on in her head? Does she think that because she is going to become one of them that she must be their protector?

"He's fine," I say. "He's just too weak to be a threat to anyone."

"Oh, okay," she says, dropping her eyes.

"Ashlyn, we need to talk."

"About what?"

"Come here."

She looks up with a quizzical expression. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. Something is terribly wrong."

She rises slowly, with the gun at her side, but she doesn't advance. "You saw, didn't you?" she says in a low voice. "I knew you saw."

"Yeah. I saw, but we can talk this through."

"We can help you," says James.

Her face turns soft when she looks toward him. "I don't need to be helped, James."

"But you're dying," he says.

She smiles. "I'm not dying. I'm already dead."

19

What does she mean already dead? She couldn't have died while we were inside, they don't revive that quickly. She must mean she was already dead before I met her. Now I see it. The leather jacket. The weight lifter’s gloves. Not wanting to give the little girl a bath or be touched by anyone. Is it because her skin is cold to the touch?

"What do you mean you're already dead?" says James. I can hear the anguish in his voice. "The dead don't talk. The dead don't think."

Her face turns down. "They're supposed to."

More of the puzzle fits into place. She isn't dead like the other loopers, she is different, like Jeremiah Cartwright! A question explodes from my lips. "Are you working with Cartwright?"

"Not directly. My mother does."

Her mother? My mind is now flooding with understanding. "Your mother is Dr. Angela Cross."

"Yes. But it's not what you think."

"And what am I supposed to think, Ashlyn? You've been with us all this time, watching us struggle to find the compound your mother hid, struggling to save the loopers, and you've kept the cure from us?"

"It's not like that!" she growls.

"Have you been playing us this whole time? Waiting to infect us?"

"If I were your enemy, Ben, you'd already be infected, as you call it."

She's right. She had every opportunity to kiss me while I slept. I wouldn't have been able to stop her.

"Why didn't you?" I ask, my tone softening.

"Because I have doubts."

"About what?"

"About Cartwright," she says, flustered. "This isn't how it was supposed to be! They aren't supposed to be starving to death. My mother tested this compound for years. It's safe."

"Safe? This thing kills people!"

"It changes them! Into something new. Something better. They're not supposed to be mindless drones. They're supposed to change, like me. Inside them are memories, passions, dreams. Who they are still exists. Just because we aren't like you, doesn't mean we're dead. We're just different. There’s no need for blood flow, that's why our skin is cold. But there is no decay inside us. We’re not rotting away. The rot you smell in the air is human. We are no longer human."

"But you didn't give us a choice."

She lets out a cynical laugh. "There wouldn't have been any choice. There would have only been war. And we would have lost. Though we are infinitely more resilient, you have the numbers."

"But Cartwright had a good plan. Make regenerative products and slowly get people used to the idea."

"The idea of what? Being dead?"

"The creams didn't cause death. We could have started there."

"There were never any topical solutions. Once the compound enters the system it is like yeast. It works its way into the entire organism. Dr. Cartwright never intended to create a line of products. He was infiltrating your company. He infiltrated them all. He didn't want anyone left human who could change you back. That's why I'm here."

"You came to change us?"

"Yes, whoever eluded the spread. But I didn't change you. You have to believe me, Ben. I had every intention of doing it, until your friend Lau said that the loopers are starving." Emotion bends her features. "I already had my doubts after not being able to contact my mother, and because it had been weeks and the loopers hadn't transformed. But to think that the whole world was starving to death. That was too much."

"Wait a second. You have a way to speak with your mother?"

"Yes. I have a satellite phone, but I haven't been able to get through to her."

"Where is it?"

"In my bag."

"Call her."

"No." She gives me an incredulous expression.

"If you're on our side, call her."

"I didn't say I was on your side."

The bluntness of her answer shakes the sense back into me. She's right. She never claimed to be on our side. In fact, how can I believe that anything she is saying is true? Just because she didn't infect us, doesn't mean she’s on our side. She was party to the destruction of the world. And on top of that, she’s a liar and a deceiver.

"Then whose side are you on?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet."

"Well I have," I say, climbing into the truck.

She lifts the dart gun and points it at my chest. "I don't want to hurt you, Ben, but I will protect myself."

My fingers clutch a roll of duct tape on the shelving beside me—the same roll we used to bind Katherine. "That dart gun is broken," I say flatly.

"Not any more," she snarls.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Did she fix it while we were inside? Does she have the skill to do that?

It doesn't matter. I can't afford to let her go, and I can't have her walking around freely.

I turn slowly and speak over my shoulder. "Harry? In my bag there is a needle with a purple label on it. If she shoots me and I go into anaphylactic shock, would you mind sticking me with that?"

He is already digging in my duffel bag.

"We don't want to hurt you either, but there is too much at stake to let you walk away. You know too much and you are a potential danger to our finding the cure. For all I know, you have the original compound. So, I'm going to have to bind your wrists. How we proceed is up to you."

Her arm drops. "Fine. Though I doubt very seriously that James or Harry would shoot me in the head, I'll concede. Where am I going to run anyway? We need each other."

Curious. How does she need us?

I take the dart gun from her loosened grip and bind her with the duct tape. "Is that too tight?" I ask.

"I don't have any blood flow," she says, sarcastically.

"Yes. But does it hurt?"

"I'll manage," she says.

I weigh her shoulder down with my hand, and she sinks back into her seat.

"Do you want to take a look at this?" says Harry. He is holding up a silver cell phone.

I climb out of the truck and take the phone from his hand. A search of the directory reveals that the phone has only been used to call one number. I select it and hit dial.

Ring. Ring.

My eyes tilt up and I watch Ashlyn as I wait.

"You won't get anyone," she says. "I've tried several times. She's not answering. She probably can't answer."

Ring. Ring.

"If her phone was still on her, she'd answer it," she says, annoyed.

"What do you think has happened to her?"

Ring. Ring.

"I don't know. The last time I talked with her was just after the government instituted martial law. She was worried they might capture her. She told me to stick to the plan, no matter what."

Ring. Ring.

I tap the cancel button with my thumb and slide the phone into my pocket. "So where does that leave us? Do you know where your mother hid the original compound?"

"What good will that do?"

"With that we can bring people back."

"Back from what?"

"The dead!"

"Did you miss what I said? They both cause the stop of blood flow."