Embrace The Night (17 page)

“Go get yourself taken care of,” Simon said, conscious of being watched. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone came looking for him. They’d probably want to check his sperm count or something obscene like that.

Sage looked at Simon, a flash of helplessness in her eyes that was quickly masked, then turned meekly to follow the other woman.

As soon as Sage was gone, Simon sauntered off toward the Community House himself. The moment he was alone, he shimmered into invisibility.

The first thing he wanted to do was find a place where he and Sage could meet and talk without being overheard or seen. After that, he’d leave the compound and retrieve their electronics and other items and bring them back through the gate while invisible. He wasn’t sure how far his capabilities would extend when carrying items, but he thought that since his clothing disappeared on command, anything he might be able to slip under his coat or shirt might also become transparent. If not, he’d find another way to get them in…or to get Sage out.

In fact, as he walked around the perimeter of the stone barrier, Simon knew there had to be another way in and out of the compound. He just didn’t know if he should waste his time looking for it when he had other ways.

What had once been an obviously extremely affluent neighborhood still maintained its air of pretension. The houses were massive—eight thousand or more square feet, made of brick and stucco, with single-acre yards that allowed a clear view into the neighbor’s living room. Or bedroom.

Most of them appeared to be inhabited, and cloaked in his invisibility, Simon passed hordes of children in the yards, playing the games that children played. At least, children who didn’t grow up on narrow streets and dark alleys, in hot, smelly one-bedroom apartments that housed fifteen people at a time. And who didn’t have to watch for cars and drive-by shootings in their neighborhoods.

Those other children played with guns and knives and didn’t know what an MP3 player or Xbox was until they were stealing them or making enough money dealing to buy their own.

As Simon observed the residents of Falling Creek, he noticed that certain mothers or older daughters were supervising the children. Others were obviously on garden duty, for they worked in small patches where vegetables grew. Still others were likely inside, cooking, cleaning, sewing, whatever.

Where were all the men?

He walked farther, realizing that his ability to remain transparent waned and weakened the longer he held it. So he allowed himself to fade in and out instead of trying to hold it for too long. He was still learning his new power’s quirks and limitations, but one thing he had to be grateful for was that his gamble with Sage in the stairwell at the Beretta had paid off. He hadn’t known if it would work to make her invisible too, and it had been a big risk.

And apparently, she still didn’t realize what happened.

He should probably tell her. Maybe.

By now, Simon had reached the far west side of the settlement. The sounds of children playing had faded, and he could tell that this was the section that hadn’t been maintained like the other areas…which of course made him suspicious and curious.

A large house with broken windows and a sagging door sat amid piles of debris. It appeared that this was the place unwanted remains were dumped. Old cars—many of them Hummers, Beamers, Mercedes, and SUVs—sat in what had been perfectly manicured, landscaped yards. Grass grew between them, invading flagstone pathways. Untrimmed bushes had long overtaken the flower beds, merging into large, long clumps of growth.

But the sense of abandonment only intrigued Simon even more. And when he heard a faint sound…a human sound…he knew he was right.

Remaining visible, saving his energy for when he needed it, he slinked around the outside of the nearest of the decrepit mansions. It was also, he noticed, the closest building to the protective wall that encircled the settlement, on the opposite side of the former golf course and current farmland. A large pile of more junk and waste sat beyond, on the north side of the wall.

From the front, it appeared dark and forbidding. Simon was certain the children and women were told to stay away because it was dangerous and uninhabitable. He got closer, using the abundance of overgrowth as his shield, and made his way around to the back.

The grasses were tall enough to brush his waist in places, and even at the rear, it was unkempt. But Simon could see where someone or something had passed through—the grass was flattened in places, leading to the rear door.

A patio had once stood there, probably equipped with a built-in stone grill—but now, he saw little but rubble and the broken away half-wall enclosure. Simon drew closer, listening, knowing there was someone in the house. What was the best way in?

Then he heard voices. Simon ducked automatically behind a bush. Two men appeared, and he realized that they were guards, patrolling the area. They looked around, and as soon as they passed by, Simon went over to the sliding door that had led to the patio from inside. It wouldn’t slide, so he moved on.

At last he found a small side door that opened with a minimum of fuss. Hidden behind a massively overgrown rhododendron, the door would have been easily overlooked. But from the way the backside branches of the bush were bent, and a few imprints in the dirt, he knew this was the regular entrance.

Inside the house, Simon found that it was not at all as decrepit as it appeared from the exterior—which was no surprise to him. At first glance, it seemed merely empty and uncluttered, but he saw that there was little dust and no stray plants or growth like he was used to seeing in ghost-town homes. A few small rodent and bird nests decorated the corners—likely to give the sense of abandonment realism, but the space was definitely not unused.

It was also where many of the men seemed to gather. Loud, jovial voices arose from below, all of them masculine.

Simon remained in his normal condition since he was certain no one was around to see him. They were all below. His fingers trembled a bit and his body was damp with sweat from the effort of not only turning himself invisible, but also maintaining that state while moving, and for long periods of time. It was a little like holding his breath. He could still move about, but after a while, it became more difficult to maintain—especially while moving—and it took practice to hold it for an extended time.

Learning that he had such a skill had been an accident, a surreal experience, and Simon couldn’t help but wonder what the drawback was, the
gotcha!
part of being able to turn unseen. He still hadn’t figured it out yet, but he knew…there was no free lunch. Thus he didn’t take it for granted and tried to be prudent about its use.

Using my powers for good.

Rah, rah, and all that.

He found the door to what must be the basement and was able to open it silently. Fully aware of the Waxnickis’ tricky staircase, where one tripped an alarm rather than a soft chime if one didn’t know better, he turned himself invisible and descended while stepping on the edges of the steps.

Even if he did step on a stair that set off an alarm, they wouldn’t find him.

Confident in his obscurity, Simon moved rapidly down without incident and found himself in what must pass for a post-apocalyptic man’s sanctuary.

Although what they needed to escape from, Simon wasn’t sure. Any man who lived in Falling Creek had to subscribe to the multiple-wife theory and sex on cue.

As he moved silently, completely unnoticed into the room furnished with sofas and armchairs likely scavenged from the other houses, he counted heads. Maybe twenty or two dozen men aged mid-thirties to fifty or sixty sat around in various places. A lot of Corrigan-hued hair, but some others as well. Large screens were on the walls, and on low tables with chairs or other seats clustered around them.

Some of the men pored over papers on a large desk. They looked as though they were reviewing plans, or paperwork of some sort.

Others played cards. Ate. Watched movies or football.

Football?

Yeah, it looked as though they were watching old football games. Simon didn’t allow himself much thought about that, as anachronistic as it seemed. Somehow they had tapes or DVDs of football. It didn’t matter how or why.

There were others in a corner of the room that seemed to be working on some sort of electronic project. Wires, metal pieces, tools were scattered over the table.

Beyond them, a room with computers, most of them old desktops…

…and, oh yes.

Simon had been fucking dead-on.

These assholes had live cams not only in his and Sage’s room, but in a variety of other places.

Fucking
coños.

As he sneaked up behind the two men who were obviously monitoring the computers, Simon saw that there were a variety of screens that flipped through feeds of not only his room, but other bedrooms, dining areas, as well as various locations in the settlement.

A garden abundant with vegetables where five women weeded and harvested. The children’s play area. A school-room? What appeared to be a nursery, complete with a slew of rocking chairs, cribs, eight nursing mothers, tables for changing diapers. The Community House, with a camera aimed at Lark Tannigan’s desk. And so on. Even what appeared to be the medical examination room.

Big Brother was definitely watching.

Sickened and yet disturbingly fascinated by the arrangement, Simon scrutinized not the screens but the men watching them. Why did they keep such close tabs? Was it simply for control, out of boredom, or for some other reason?

One thing was certain. He didn’t want to stay here any longer than they needed to.

July 30.

Almost two months after.

Finally have electricity again, so this is the first chance I’ve been able to write since my laptop battery was dead. They’ve repaired a bunch of generators and have them working, at least for awhile. There’s talk about sending a group to check out the Hoover Dam to see if it’s still generating power.

I’m living in a hotel room on the second level of
MGM
. Across the street is New York–New York, which is still fairly intact. We’ve all been assigned to task groups (on things like water, food, clothing, shelter, power, waste disposal and I guess what you’d call community) since about the first two weeks.

There’ve been no sounds of vehicles, aircraft, or anything like civilization since the day it happened. No Internet connection, no radio. Everything’s just…silent.

People I’ve only known for two months are people that I’ve bonded with and shared parts of myself like I never have before. Not a bit surprising, I’m sure.

I’m on the food task team, which is more involved than it sounds. Not only have we been searching as much through the city—every hotel room fridge, every kitchen, every store shelf, cooler, trunk, etc, that we can get into and salvage, but we’re also trying to find and save plants and seeds from stores, nurseries, even gardens. In case things have been destroyed.

Because who knows what’s left beyond our little circle of civilization.

All of the bodies have been taken to what’s left of an airport hangar outside the city. That’s another task group. Body disposal, I guess you’d call it.

There are thousands, too many to even imagine. At first, it looked like that scene in Gone With the Wind, where all the dead soldiers are lying there after the battle, as far as the eye can see. Except here, they’re not lined up so neatly. They’re just sprawled where they collapsed.

No one’s really sure if we’re the lucky ones, or if they were.

—from Adventures in Juliedom, the blog of Julie Davis Beecher

Sage didn’t know how she was going to tell Simon.

She paced the bedroom nervously, wondering where he was. People had been looking for him, but he seemed to have disappeared—at least, according to the frantic man who’d burst into the examining room while she was being given the results she didn’t want to hear.

That had been well over two hours ago, and the sun was high in the sky. Sage was expected to report for her daily duty—which today was working the rows of corn in the vegetable garden—in less than thirty minutes.

As she wandered the room, she alternated between annoyance with him for abandoning her, and hope that his disappearance meant he’d been able to accomplish something…like smuggling their other belongings into the compound. How he’d do that, she wasn’t certain, but Sage had the sense that if anyone could, Simon was the guy.

She looked nervously at herself in the mirror, smoothing her hair up and into a twist that would be practical for weeding chores. How was she going to tell him?

And how was he going to react?

Then, at last, the door to their room opened and he came in. Limping.

“What happened to you?” she asked, rushing to his side.

Simon held up a hand when she would have embraced him, and that simple gesture of distance made her even more nervous. “I hurt my leg,” he said, starting toward the bathroom.

“Badly?” she asked, watching him go.

“I just need to have it cleaned up. I’m fine.” He didn’t seem to be in pain, other than the limp. In fact, his eyes, dark and compelling, watched her steadily as he paused at the bathroom door. “They offered to patch me up, but I told them I’d rather have my wife do it.”

Sage’s breath stopped, and for a moment, she felt as if she wouldn’t be able to get her lungs to move again. He was so beautiful, it was difficult to look at him without feeling unsteady.

Her breath came out in a soft
whoosh
as her cheeks warmed. “Uh, all right,” she said when he jerked his head slightly, gesturing for her to follow him.

In the bathroom, he turned on the shower, then he closed the door partway and sat on the commode, making no move to take off his clothing except to roll up one of his pant legs. “Here,” he said. “Will you get a cloth and clean me up?”