Arkadium Rising (27 page)

Marcus let Delaney sulk. While everyone had already unrolled their sleeping pads in a tight cluster in the outfield grass, she grabbed her pack and stomped off to the infield. He set off alone, and the old impulses returned. His eyes twitched as he scanned for telltale signs, clues that would lead him to deliverance. Sweat broke out across his forehead, down the center of his back, spreading across his skin like crawling ants. His nerves became more sensitive to the slightest stimuli no matter how benevolent or harsh. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the taste, the changing of his chemistry, the becoming.

In his heightened sense of his surroundings, the Anaki's path of destruction became more distinct to him; they had swarmed into Rose Ridge on the same road he and his people had followed, and more likely than not, the one Jason had taken perhaps only a day earlier. They had set upon the town's infrastructure like locusts on a field of golden grain just shy of harvest time. The debris field fell in a southerly direction as the crazed marauders hit one building after another.

As he walked the street, he took in the destruction, marveling at the Anaki's ruthlessness, their thoroughness. He could face and conquer many challenges in this new world. But the Anaki? Not likely.

The Cleansing. Those two words coiled his bowels in a tight fist. He'd first heard about it during his time on Sanctuary Island after Adam had gotten him clean and started to trust him. After first giving him a broad overview of the Arkadium itself—its unaltered ties with the Bible, especially the Book of Genesis, dating back thousands of years—Adam had filled in other details to their belief system. The role of the Arkadium's leader, the "Adam," a position to which his teacher once believed Marcus might ascend to, possibly being his own replacement. Adam detailed any number of layers to the rich history, but the Anaki were the subject of the most chilling, the decedents of the Nephilim; fallen angels mated to humans. Just as the Arkadium had their duties to fulfill after the Divine Election Day, the Anaki had their duties—to strip the earth of any evidence of modern civilization.

Only now, as Marcus witnessed what had become of Rose Ridge, did he fully accept Adam's stories as the unmitigated truth.

Finally he spotted a clue to possible sate his need, his yearning to score. He noticed a house that had been retrofitted with a long ramp to make the front door handicap accessible. He nodded to himself as he strode up the driveway. The wooden ramp had been hacked to pieces and no single three-foot section remained intact. Marcus took hold of the splintered doorframe, stepped onto the damaged ramp, and carefully climbed inside. The gloomy interior of the house was just as ruined as he expected. The damage to the roof, walls, and windows was methodically and intentionally meted out to allow the elements to seep inside. While the Anaki created the foothold for Mother Nature, She would soon take over, reclaiming this land for Her purposes. Rain, snow, and the frost/thaw cycle would make the Anaki's handiwork look like a glancing blow by comparison.

His feet made squishing noises on the sodden living room carpet. In the living room a large bookcase had been overturned and its contents set on fire. As he walked past the kitchen he saw a slow flow of water still trickling out from under the sink. He could picture the water surging out from a freshly broken pipe toward the expanding fire, converging somewhere between the rooms. Evidently, the water had won out. The air was already musty as mold was starting to take root.

A darkened hallway led to the rear of the house. Something blocked the path, and as he drew nearer he realized what it was. A wheelchair, still occupied.

He wasn't about to let this dying place get the better of him. No, he was stronger than that. And so was his need.

After pressing himself flat against the wall, he stepped around the wheelchair. He couldn't help seeing the old man slumped over in the chair, or the black, tarry stain in his lap trailing down over his stick-thin legs—the gout of blood that must have gushed from his slit throat. Marcus tried his best to avoid inhaling the stench of death—the comingling of blood and shit and decay—but was only partially successful. He finally stepped clear of the hallway and stumbled into the next room, which happened to be the bathroom. He had to lean over and put his hands on his knees to stop himself from vomiting.

When he regained control, he saw that the medicine cabinet had been torn off the wall. The toilet had been shattered with what must have been a sledgehammer and shards of sky blue porcelain were now spread out across the floor. He kneeled carefully and sifted through the wreckage—creams, bandages, hydrogen peroxide, toothpaste. He came across a bottle of aspirin and tossed it aside. And then he hit pay dirt. Clumped together near the one foot of the untouched cast iron tub, he found three prescription bottles. The room was too dark to read the labels. He sighed, (hopefully) victorious, and pocketed all three before exiting the bathroom. He did a quick pass through the bedrooms, but didn't find anything else that might promise him some relief.

With the pressure building up at his temples and his thoughts muddled with half-articulate self-recriminations, he held his breath as he made his way back out to the front door. He jumped down to the ground outside, his pockets rattling with prescription pills.

The familiar guilt of his junkie years came sweeping back into his system. Only one thing could silence that guilt and that was using. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, before heading back to the street. He saw no movement, no sign of the overly loyal Hector Sanchez, or the obviously obsessed Delaney. He pulled the dull orange prescription bottles from his pockets. In the clear light of day he was able to read that he'd scored a heavy-duty laxative, which he tossed aside, a muscle relaxer, which was a decent find, and a full bottle of Percocet.

He pocketed the muscle relaxer and opened the Percocet. The bottle didn't even have a child-proof cap! This was the easiest score of his life. He dropped a couple of pills into his palm, hesitated, and then added a third. Before he decided to go overboard, he closed the cap and returned the prized bottle to his pocket.

He tossed the pills into his mouth and chewed them into a bitter paste. His mouth watered and he swallowed it down. It was too soon for the drug's gentle hand to touch him, but already his tension had dissipated. He felt like he could think, or not think at all—whatever his desire, he finally had a choice in the matter. His feet were moving beneath him and his head was bobbing to the point that he felt like he was walking on choppy water. The image popped into his head and it was hard to shake. Him, Marcus Grant, stoned for the first time in two years, walking on water, bopping along the waves like Jesus Christ himself.

Oh yeah!

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to fuck. More than anything he wanted to pop another pill. But he did none of those things. He just made his way farther along the street. He stepped over a dead dog with its head caved in like it was an everyday occurrence. He saw a woman's arm dangling out from a car door, looking like she was reaching for her dropped keys. But her fingers weren't moving and there weren't any keys lying in the street. Just a pool of dark blood.

Oh well!

Fuck 'em for being in the Anakis' path. Fuck 'em for being on the wrong side of history. Whatever the case, fuck 'em.

He couldn't help it; he did let out a giggle, and when he did, he noticed how numb his face felt. Like he could stick his knife through one cheek and out the other without feeling it. Pull the blade clear through the fragile skin like a folded up wet paper towel. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

He clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle his giggle. Somehow he noticed he'd come to the end of Rose Ridge. The houses ended—all destroyed and given over to Mother Nature—and seemingly endless corn field started again. He stepped around an SUV and saw a couple of garbage cans and a faded blue couch sitting alongside the curb.

"Don't mind if I do." He sat down on the couch and it emitted a soft, plastic crinkling sound. He stood and gazed down. And he started to giggle again. Couldn't help it. Not this time. No way, no how. His giggle became a throaty laugh, and he sat down again. It was either that or fall over. He laughed until his face hurt and tears ran down his cheeks. And then the numbness spread through to his limbs and he felt sleepy. So, he closed his eyes and smiled a dopey smile.

2.

"Marcus…"

He heard Delaney's concern, but he didn't care. He just wanted to sleep.

"Marcus!" She was shaking him, and before he opened his eyes his mind flashed red, wanting to take hold of her throat… "Please, wake up."

The tenderness in her voice quelled his anger. He opened his eyes.

Just Delaney. Just Delaney standing over him, looking concerned.

"What is it?"

"Are you…" She paused. He recognized her expression. He'd seen it in her own eyes over the years, as well as those of his parents, Jason, the occasional beat cop with more concern than his job description warranted.

"I'm fine." He sat up from the battered blue couch, probably faster than he should have. But that was part of the subterfuge.
I'm not using. Look how perky and awake I am!
"I'm great, actually. Just needed some rest, like the rest of you."

"Are you sure?" She tried to get a clear look into his eyes, but he didn't allow her the eye contact.

"Definitely." He actually felt almost as perky as he pretended to be. He stared into the sun, and then closed his eyes and turned in a slow circle, the heat warming his eyelids, making his fuzzy head swim with shades of crimson-infused gold. He opened his eyes and Delaney's concerned look had only deepened. He clapped his hands together and laughed.

"What is it? Are you sure you're okay? Because if you're not… if you've… you know…"

"You don't have to worry about me, not about that. I figured out where we're heading. I wanted to catch some shuteye before we took off."

"What do you mean?"

"Jason went this way. Right down this road and clear out of Rose Ridge."

"How do you know he came this way?"

"Because I know my brother. So go get the others, have them gather up their stuff. We have three hours of daylight; let's put them to use."

Delaney reluctantly left to tell everyone they were going to push on until nightfall. Marcus looked down at the couch, picked up an empty Snickers wrapper. A smear of chocolate was on the inside of the wrapper. He touched it, and it was still moist. Still fresh.

"I'm coming for you, brother," he said softly. "You think you can escape me, but that's only going to happen when one of us is dead."

1.

A few days after their arrival at Sanctuary Island, Kylie and Dawn sat across from one another at a long wooden table outside the kitchen building. They had already prepared and served the food for the members of the Arkadium. Now, it was finally the service staff's chance to eat. Dawn pushed the already-cold corned beef hash and creamed corn around her plate, but didn't eat any of it. Kylie choked down her share while dreading returning to the furnace-like kitchen to wash the lunch dishes.

Dawn glanced up from her plate and did a double take. She smiled, and Kylie saw her dimples for the first time since before Marcus and his people showed up at the Thompsons' door.

"What is it?" Kylie asked and turned around.

RJ was walking toward them. He carried a heaping pile of food on a plate and had the biggest smile on his face.

"Mind if I join you?"

"My God," Dawn said. "Junior!"

"Where have you been? We thought something bad happened at the quarry."

RJ sat next to Kylie. She felt butterflies in her stomach as well as the vague sense of hope just being close to him.

"No, something good happened at the quarry. Turns out these people know enough to get the stone from the ground, but they didn't realize they were about to undermine the integrity of the fort's outer wall by doing so."

"And of course you did." Dawn rolled her eyes.

"Structural engineering isn't my strong suit, but any idiot with some basic math and science would know you can't go about doing what they were doing without horrible consequences."

"So… what, are you some kind of science advisor?" Kylie asked.

"Something like that." He took a bite of food, winced at the cold, sludgy consistency. "I helped shore up the weakened wall, then I showed them a better place to quarry."

"And you knew a better place to quarry? You? I know you're a genius, Junior, but come on!"

"I can be convincing enough when I need to be."

"Yeah, right!"

"I was convincing enough to get the two of you out of having to become a couple of Eves."

Dawn's jaw dropped. "Wow… that was you?" Tears formed in her eyes.

When RJ nodded and looked sheepishly down to his plate, Kylie wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

"I knew I wasn't going to get you out by force. I've already proven I can't fight my way out of a paper bag. So, when I saw the structural flaw at the quarry, I spoke up about it."

"Thank you, RJ. You don't know what hell you saved us from."

"I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Kylie's heart ached and she was speechless.

"Can we at least expect to see you at mealtimes?" Dawn asked.

"It depends on how busy they keep me. Adam has me working in the keep." RJ leaned forward and whispered, "Don't say anything, but they haven't outlawed all text."

"What does that mean?" Dawn asked. She pushed her food around her plate and looked around to make sure no one was near enough to hear them.

"I'm not supposed to talk about it, but there's a... I guess you could call it a library. Adam calls it the Arkadium's Great Knowledge. It's a small room at the top of the keep. They store any text they deem worth preserving for posterity."

Kylie elbowed him in the arm. It felt just like old times. "So now you're a librarian?"