Zig Zag (77 page)

He
looked away from the window and stared at the power cords.

Yes,
that was it.

Zig
Zag had extracted energy not only from components that weren't being
used, but
from
things that didn't even use electricity.
He
and Carter had disconnected every source of power around, but Zig Zag
had sucked energy up the way a pump sucks the air from a bottle. That
was the first time he'd done that, as far as Blanes knew. It was like
using energy from a flashlight with no batteries.

His
mind raced as frantically as an Olympic skier, down a slope of
computations. If he'd learned to obtain energy from unplugged
appliances, then...

Four
helicopters. Two generators. Rifles, pistols. Radios.

Transmitters.
Telephones. Computers. Military paraphernalia.

Good
God.

He
broke out in a cold sweat. If he were right, this was a death trap.
The entire island was a trap. Zig Zag could obtain energy from almost
anything, so what would stop him? He was making more and more
frequent appearances, and the area he was able to exploit was growing
larger and larger. It might be miles by now, and that would require
even more energy. Where would he get it from?

Bodies.
Living beings. Every single person is a battery. We produce energy.
Zig Zag can use it whenever his area grows and he becomes weak. And
that means...

It
meant that the next attack could come anytime. It didn't matter if
Zig Zag was Elisa, Carter, or him—the rest of them would all
die, too. Suddenly, that mathematical possibility seemed incredibly
real. If he were right, not only the four of them, but everyone on
New Nelson, was in danger. He had to warn Elisa, but he'd also have
to tell Harrison. He'd have to...

"Professor."
A booming, unfamiliar voice.

He
turned and saw death in the face of the man aiming a gun at him. It
was a pistol with a silencer.
No,
not now. I have to know, first...

"Listen!"
he cried, raising his hands. "Listen, you have to..."

Blanes
was glad to be shot in the chest. It let him think for a split second
longer. He forgot about pain, and fear; he closed his eyes and saw—in
the utmost depths of blackness— his brother. He went to him,
knowing that his lips would enlighten him by answering Life's Great
Question.

100
seconds.

"That's
decent enough resolution," Elisa said, loading the first image.

Victor
stood behind her, leaning over her shoulder, staring at the screen.
They could each hear their breathing in tandem: a tense, panting duo.
On the screen before them appeared a clear outline of Ric at the
computer, disfigured by the Planck time.

"My
God," Victor murmured behind her.

The
objects surrounding him were clearly defined, too. And that tiny
detail—the thing she couldn't put her finger on earlier, the
thing that had bothered her so much—now irked her more than
ever.

Suddenly,
she thought she knew what it was.

"The
controls..." She pointed to the screen. "Look at that row
of lights. On our console, they're not lit up. See?" She pointed
to a series of little rectangles on the keyboard. "That was what
I noticed before. Looks like Ric did something he hadn't done on
other occasions: he used a satellite transmission."

"From
New Nelson? Why?"

"No
clue."

It
was absurd. Why complicate matters by using a telemetric image to
open time strings from the recent past when he had a dozen live video
streams to choose from? There was only one possible explanation.

The
image he wanted wasn't from New Nelson.

But,
what else could it be?

For
a second, she was paralyzed by fear. The possibilities were endless,
if the image could come from any place and any time in the recent
past. And that meant that whoever had given rise to Zig Zag could be
anywhere on the planet.

On-screen,
the image jumped to the next open time string: Ric and Rosalyn,
standing on the left. What he'd been looking at was now clear and
well defined. Elisa zoomed in and centered on Ric's screen. She held
her breath while it focused in and the new image appeared on the
screen.

The
most earth-shattering one imaginable.

94
seconds.

He
heard a noise and opened his eyes. The helmet of the soldier on duty
had disappeared from the peephole. When he stood up, the door opened
and the barrel of a smoking gun with silencer was aimed at his head.
He saw the boots of the fallen soldier in the hallway and raised his
hands, eyeing the man with the gun.

"Do
you know who I am? Look at me, Carter."

The
hollow, perverted voice worried him far more than the weapon trained
on him. For almost the first time in his life, Paul Carter had no
idea what to say.

"Don't
you recognize me?" the voice asked. "It's Jurgens."

He
swallowed.
Jurgens?
Frantically,
he put two and two together and thought he knew what was going on.
Comprehension did nothing to quell his fear, though at least he could
react now. He tried to keep his cool and speak calmly.
Don't
make him jumpy, whatever you do.

"Listen,
put that thing down and let me talk to you."

"I'm
your grim reaper, Carter."

"Listen.
'Jurgens' is a code word..." Carter was trying not to rush, to
make sure he pronounced everything carefully, enunciated every word
clearly. "My God, don't you remember? 'Jurgens' is the code word
we used at Eagle to say that a situation had to be resolved by any
means necessary. It's not a
person,
Harrison,
it's a
code
word!"

But
the sickening expression on Harrison's face let him know that the man
was not listening.
This
isn't Harrison; this is something Zig Zag created.

"Can't
you see? Can't you see who I am?" Harrison grunted, using that
unnatural voice. "Look at me, Carter! Look at me!"

And
then he fired.

54
seconds.

Victor
was babbling behind her.

"It
must be an image from the past. There are ... signs ... aren't there?
The time strings have opened, right?"

It
was a rustic, outdoor setting, but it was clearly not New Nelson.
What appeared to be a small creek ran down the right side of the
screen, and toward the top, on some boulders, under a tree (but not
covered by it), were three small, white silhouettes, with a larger,
dark one at the bottom. Despite the irregularities due to the Planck
time, Elisa could tell that the large one was a stocky man, standing
by the creek. He held something she couldn't quite make out in his
hand (a hat? a cap?), and beside him on the grass was a long pole and
some kind of basket that made her think it was fishing gear.

The
other three figures were of a different size and build. She zoomed in
on them and enlarged the image by 30 percent.

Judging
by the long, black hair on one of them, it was probably a girl. She
and one of the other figures both appeared in the same uniform sepia
hues, which might have indicated that they were naked. The other
figure was clothed, though it looked like it wore only a T-shirt and
shorts. She couldn't be sure, though. Besides, it wasn't his clothing
but his posture that intrigued her. The figure seemed to have fallen
onto the rocks. His feet were higher than his head, as if the picture
had been taken as he fell. And the position of the other figure's
hands seemed to indicate that... All of a sudden, Elisa understood.

"One
of the boys pushed the other... This must be some event from Ric's
childhood."

Her
mind was like a whirlwind. Suddenly, things were starting to add up,
to fit in with the Ric Valente she knew.
Marini
was wrong. He thought Ric had risked it all, used himself, but really
he never dared. Ric was ambitious, but he was a coward, too. He was
afraid to use videos of people who were asleep because of the splits,
so he chose another path: one from his very own past that he probably
thought of as innocent, trivial. But what
was
it?
He had always kept a detailed diary, ever since childhood. He told me
so himself That's how he knew exactly where and when...

"From
Ric's childhood?" Victor mouthed hoarsely, barely audible.

His
change in tone made Elisa glance away from the screen for a second
and look at him instead. Victor had grown deathly pale and looked
drained. His dirty glasses reflected the computer screen, so she
couldn't see his eyes.

Suddenly,
she recalled a conversation they'd once had.
Didn't
Victor once tell me, years ago, that... the fight over that English
girl he was in love with... Ric pushed him and...

She
looked back at the screen and noticed something else: the image of
the boy who'd fallen on the rocks was less well defined. There seemed
to be shadows around him.

Shadows.

Her
mouth ran dry, and her temples were pounding. Her pupils dilated.

She
turned slowly, but Victor was no longer there: he'd backed up against
the wall and stood there trembling. He wore the expression of a man
who has suddenly learned that there's no such thing as life after
death.

"Kill
me, Elisa," he sobbed. "I'm begging you ... I... I can't do
it myself. Kill me. Please..."

"No..."

Victor
stopped begging and shouted, in a mixture of terror and
determination, "Elisa! Do it before he
comes
back..."

She
just kept shaking her head, not saying a word, just shaking her head.

The
door burst open.

At
first, Elisa didn't recognize Harrison: he had blood on his hands and
clothes, and his face was red, crazed, his eyes bulging out of their
sockets.

"Look
at him..." He was aiming the gun at Victor but speaking to her,
frothing at the mouth. "I want you to watch him die, slut..."