The Passage (73 page)

Sanjay felt his impatience boiling over. “The three of you, enough. Jimmy, no one gets in here. Is that understood?”

Jimmy gave a chastened nod. “Sure. Like you say.”

“I mean it. I don’t care who it is.”

Sanjay focused his eyes on Jimmy’s face, holding them there an extra moment. The man was no Soo Ramirez, that was obvious; he was no Alicia, either. Sanjay wondered if that was why, in the end, he’d chosen him for the job.

“What do you want us to do about Hightop?” Jimmy asked. “I mean, we’re not really putting him out, are we?”

The boy, Sanjay thought wearily. The last thing he wanted to think about, suddenly, was Caleb Jones. Caleb had given the first hours of the crisis a kind of clarity it demanded; people needed something to focus their anger on. But in the light of day, putting the boy out had begun to seem simply cruel, a pointless gesture that everyone would regret later. And the boy had real courage. When the charges were read, he’d stood before the Household and taken full blame without hesitation. Sometimes you found courage in the strangest places, and Sanjay had seen it in the wrench named Caleb Jones.

“Just keep a guard on him.”

“What about Sam Chou?”

“What about him?”

Jimmy hesitated. “There’s talk, Sanjay. Sam and Milo and some others. About putting him out.”

“Where did you hear this?”

“I didn’t. Galen did.”

“That’s what I
heard,”
Galen volunteered. “It was actually Kip who told me. He was at his folks’ place and heard a bunch of them talking.”

Kip was a runner, Milo’s oldest boy. “Well? What did he say?”

Galen shrugged uncertainly, as if to distance himself from his own story. “That Sam says if we don’t put him out, he will.”

He should have seen this coming, Sanjay thought. It was the last thing he needed, people taking the situation into their own hands. But Sam Chou—it seemed completely out of character for the man, as mild a fellow as Sanjay had ever known, to go off half-cocked like that. Sam ran the greenhouses, a Chou always had; it was said that he fussed over the banks of peas and carrots and lettuce like pets. He supposed all those Littles had something to do with it. Every time Sanjay turned around, it seemed, Sam was passing out the celebratory shine and Other Sandy was pregnant again.

“Ben, he’s your cousin. You hear anything about this?”

“When would I? I’ve been here all morning.”

Sanjay told them to double the guard at the lockup and stepped down onto the path. It really was awfully damn quiet, he thought. Not even the birds were singing. It made him think again of looking at the girl, the feeling he’d had of being seen. As if, behind her sweetly sleeping face—and there was something
sweet
about it, he thought, a babyish kind of sweetness; it reminded him of Mausami when she was just a Little, climbing into her cot in the Big Room and waiting for Sanjay to bend toward her to kiss her good night—as if her mind, the girl’s mind, behind her eyelids, that veil of soft flesh, was seeking his out in the room. Jimmy wasn’t wrong; there was something about her. Something about her eyes.

“Sanjay?”

He realized his thoughts were drifting, carrying him away on a current. He swiveled to find Jimmy standing on the top step, his eyes pulled into a squint and his body leaning forward expectantly, the words of some unspoken declaration stalled on his lips.

“Well?” Sanjay’s mouth was suddenly dry. “What is it?”

The man opened his mouth to speak, but no words came; the effort seemed lost.

“It’s nothing,” Jimmy said finally, looking away. “Sara’s right. I really could use some sleep.”

THIRTY

There would come a time, many years later, when Peter would recall the events surrounding the girl’s arrival as a series of dancelike movements: bodies converging and separating, flung for brief periods into wider orbits, only to be drawn back again under the influence of some unknown power, a force as calm and inevitable as gravity.

When he’d come into the Infirmary the night before and seen the girl—so much blood, blood everywhere, Sara frantically trying to seal off the wound and Caleb with the soaked compress in his hands—he’d felt not horror or surprise but a blast of pure recognition. Here was the girl of the carousel; here was the girl of the hallway and the mad dash in darkness; here was the girl of the kiss and the closing door.

The kiss. In the long hours on the catwalk, standing the Mercy for Theo, Peter’s mind had returned to it, again and again, to the puzzle of its meaning, the kind of kiss it was. Not a kiss like Sara’s, that night under the lights; not the kiss of a friend or even, strictly speaking, the chaste kiss of a child, though there had been something childlike about it: its furtive haste and embarrassed quickness, ending almost before it had begun, and the girl’s abrupt reversal, stepping back into the hallway before he could say a word and sealing the door in his face. It was all of these and none, and it wasn’t until he’d come into the Infirmary and seen her lying there that he understood what it was: a promise. A promise as clear as words from a girl who hadn’t any. A kiss that said:
I’ll find you
.

Now, hidden behind a stand of junipers at the base of the Sanctuary wall, Alicia and Peter watched Sanjay depart. Jimmy left a moment later—there was something odd about his movements, Peter thought, a directionless lassitude, as if he didn’t quite know where to go or what to do with himself—leaving Ben and Galen standing guard in the shade of the porch.

Alicia shook her head. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to talk our way past them.”

“Come on,” he said.

He led her around to the rear of the building, a protected alleyway running between the Infirmary and the greenhouses. The back door of the building and its windows were all bricked in, but behind a pile of empty crates was a metal bulkhead. Inside was an old delivery chute, leading to the basement; sometimes at night, when his mother had been working alone and he was still young enough to take enjoyment from such a thing, she’d let him come over and ride the chute.

He swung the metal door open. “In you go.”

He heard her body banging off the sides of the tube, then her voice from below: “Okay.” Gripping the edges of the door, he eased himself inside, drawing the bulkhead down over his head—a sudden, enveloping blackness; it had been part of the thrill, he recalled, to ride the chute in darkness—and let go.

A quick, rattling plunge; he landed on his feet. The room was as he recalled, full of crates and other supplies and to his right the old walk-in freezer with its wall of jars, and at the center the wide table, with its scale and tools and guttered candles. Alicia was standing at the base of the stairs that led to the Infirmary’s front room, angling her head upward into the shaft of light that fell from above. The steps emerged, at the top, in full view of the porch. Getting past the windows would be the tricky part.

Peter ascended first. Near the top he peeked out, lifting his eyes over the final step. The angle was wrong, he was too low, but he could hear the muffled sound of the two men’s voices; they were facing away. He turned back to Alicia, signaling his intentions, then quickly rose and moved furtively across the room and down the hall to the ward.

The girl was awake and sitting up. That was the first thing he saw. Her bloody clothing was gone, replaced by a thin gown that revealed the white swath of her dressing. Sara, positioned on the edge of the narrow cot, was facing away; the girl’s wrist was in her hand.

The girl’s eyes flicked up then, meeting his own. A burst of panicked movement: she yanked her hand away and scrambled to the head of the cot, as Sara, sensing his presence behind her, vaulted to her feet and spun to face him.

“Flyers, Peter.” Her whole body seemed clenched; she spoke in a hoarse whisper. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Through the basement.” The voice came from behind him: Alicia. The girl had pulled herself into a ball, her knees defensively compressed to her chest to form a barricade, the loose fabric of her gown drawn down over her legs, which she was gripping with her hands.

“What happened?” Alicia said. “That shoulder was torn to shreds a few hours ago.”

Only then did Sara’s posture relax. She huffed a weary sigh and dropped onto one of the adjacent cots.

“I might as well tell you. As far as I can see, she’s perfectly okay. The wound is practically healed.”

“How can that be?”

Sara shook her head. “I can’t explain it. I don’t think she wants anyone to know, though. Sanjay was just in here with Jimmy. Anybody comes in here, she pretends to be asleep.” She shrugged. “Maybe she’ll talk to you. I can’t get a word out of her.”

Peter heard this exchange only distantly; it seemed to be occurring in another room of the building. He had moved forward, toward the cot. The girl was peering at him warily over the tops of her knees, her eyes hooded by a tangle of her hair; he had the sense of moving into the presence of a skittish animal. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing her.

“Peter.” This was Sara. “What are you … doing?”

“You followed me. Didn’t you?”

A tiny nod, almost imperceptible.
Yes. I followed you
.

He lifted his face. Sara was standing at the foot of the bed, staring at him.

“She saved me,” Peter explained. “At the mall, when the virals attacked. She protected me.” He gave his eyes to the girl again. “That’s right, isn’t it? You protected me. You sent them away.”

Yes. I sent them away
.

“You
know
her?” Sara said.

He hesitated, struggling to assemble the story in his mind. “We were under a carousel. Theo was already gone. The smokes were coming, I thought it was all over. Then she … climbed on top of me.”

“She climbed on top of you.”

He nodded. “Yes, on my back. Like she was shielding me. I know I’m not telling it right, but that’s how it happened. Next thing I knew, the smokes were gone. She led me to a hallway and showed me the stairs that led to the roof. That’s how I got out.”

For a moment Sara said nothing.

“I know it sounds strange.”

“Peter, why didn’t you tell anyone?”

He shrugged, at a loss. He had no defense, at least not a good one. “I should have. I wasn’t even sure the whole thing had actually happened. And once I didn’t say anything, it became harder and harder to actually do it.”

“What if Sanjay finds out?”

The girl had inched her face above the barricade of her knees; she appeared to be studying him, probing his face with a dark and knowing look. The feeling of wildness was still there, an animal jitteriness in the way she moved and held herself. But in the few minutes since they had entered the ward, a shift had occurred, a perceptible lessening of fear.

“He’s not going to,” Peter said.

“Oh my God,” a voice behind them said. “It’s true.”

They all turned to see Michael standing at the curtain.

“Circuit, how did you get in here?” Alicia hissed. “And keep your voice down.”

“Same as you. I saw the two of you going down the alley.” Michael moved cautiously toward the cot, his eyes locked on the girl. He was clutching something in his hand. “Seriously, who
is
that?”

“We don’t know,” Sara said. “She’s a Walker.”

For a moment Michael fell silent, his expression unreadable. Yet Peter could detect the workings of his mind, the swift calculations. He seemed, all of a sudden, to take notice of the object he was carrying.

“Holy shit. Holy
shit
. It’s just like Elton said.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The signal. The ghost signal.” He shushed them with a hand. “No, wait … hang on. I can’t
believe
this. Everybody ready?” His face lit up with a triumphant smile. “Here it comes.”

And just like that, the device began to buzz.

“Circuit,” said Alicia, “what the hell is that?”

He held it up to show them. A handheld.

“That’s what I came to tell you,” Michael said. “That girl? The Walker? She’s
calling
us.”

The transmitter had to be somewhere on her person, Michael explained. He couldn’t say exactly what it would look like. Large enough to have a power source, but beyond that he couldn’t say.

Her knapsack and its contents had gone into the fire. This left something on the girl herself as the source of the signal. Sara sat beside her on the cot and explained what she wanted to do, asking the girl to hold still. Moving from her feet, Sara ran her hands up the girl’s body, gently touching every surface, examining her legs and arms and hands and neck; when this was done she rose and moved behind her, positioning herself at the head of the cot, and pulled her fingers slowly through the matted nest of her hair. Through all of it the girl held herself with a motionless compliance, lifting her arms and legs when Sara asked, her eyes floating about the room with a neutral inquisitiveness, as if she was not quite sure what to make of it all.

“If it’s here, it’s well hidden.” Sara paused to push a strand of hair from her face. “Michael, are you sure?”