End of Days (12 page)

“There is no one watching and no one listening.”

Billy glided across the room until there was now nothing separating them but the desk—a distance he could easily hurdle.

“I’ve killed before,” Billy hissed.

“Many times,” the old man said calmly. “But never without reason or cause. Why would you kill me? What would you have to gain?”

His calm demeanour surprised and even troubled Billy. Why wasn’t he afraid? What had Billy missed? Was there a danger here that he hadn’t spotted? Was the old guy holding a gun underneath the desk? No, his hands were visible, folded on top of his papers.

“I’d want to kill whoever is responsible for me being brought here,” Billy said.

“Kill? I should think you would want to
thank
the person who arranged that,” the old man said. “And that person is me.”

“You had me brought here?” Billy edged closer, leaning over the desk.

“Would you like to know why you were brought here and why you’re not going to kill me?” the old man asked. There was a hint of a smile on his face.

“What makes you so sure I’m not going to kill you?” Billy said, his voice equally calm.

“First, because you really do want to know why you’re here. Your curiosity is greater than your anger. Second, because you realize that if I am the person who brought you here, I am also the person who can arrange for your return. And finally, because I know you would not simply take a life that was not a threat to your own.”

Billy laughed. “You really think you know me after being in the room with me for two minutes?”

“Not really, but I have read everything that has ever been written—and survived—about you.” The old man held up a thick folder filled with papers. “Would you like to hear about yourself?”

“I know who I am,” Billy snapped. He took a small step backwards to show his lack of interest, although he desperately wanted to see those papers.

“Then allow me a small indulgence … perhaps to confirm that we have orchestrated the capture of the correct individual.” He put the folder down and opened it.

“William Robert Phillips,” he began. “You were born on April 23, so you will be sixteen in two weeks. I think we should have a party to mark the occasion.”

“Assuming I’m here.”

“Yes, assuming that. Your parents are Robert, a computer expert and successful businessman, and Thelma, a nurse who was also a very proficient athlete … both golf and tennis.”

It felt so strange to hear their names, to hear about his parents. They only came to him in his dreams these days.

“You are the first-born. Your younger brother, Jeremy, was born two years later. If he were alive he would have just turned fourteen.”

Billy could picture his brother better than he could his parents. He often saw his face in the kids in his gang—his family. Sometimes when he was alone he would sit and stare at a photograph of his family, the only picture he had—and now it was thousands of kilometres away, hidden behind a loose brick in one of the apartments in the building where they’d captured him.

It wasn’t just the only picture he had; it was the only
thing
he had of his family, the only thing to remind him of what his past used to be, of who he was. And now it was gone. He felt a surge of anger.

“A very attractive family,” the old man said. He was holding a photograph.

“Is … is that … them … us?” Billy asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, of course. Take it, please,” he said, handing it to Billy.

Billy recognized the photo immediately. It showed the four of them sitting on a rock by a lake where they used to spend their summers. They were all smiles and happy, but why wouldn’t they be? It was from a time when people still believed Earth could be saved, before things degenerated so badly. Hardly anybody could believe how quickly it had all happened, how everything had fallen into ruins and chaos and violence.

The man handed Billy an envelope. He looked inside. It was filled with photos. There was one of his mother, and one of him and his brother, his parents in their wedding clothes, a picture of a baby. He felt a rush of emotions—emotions he couldn’t afford to feel. He stuffed the photos back into the envelope.

“How did you get these?” Billy demanded.

“A team was dispatched to your family home.”

“You’re lying. Our house was destroyed,” Billy snapped. “Robbed and looted and burned to the ground!”

“Not much remained,” the old man confirmed. “The team sifted through the debris, through the remains, and
found a metal security box buried underneath. It contained these pictures, family records, some jewellery, and a diary … your mother’s.”

“I want to have them. They’re mine!” Billy said defiantly.

“Of course they are. They will all be brought to your quarters.”

“My quarters?”

“Where you’ll be staying. Your room.”

“You mean my
cell,”
Billy snapped. He still wasn’t sure why he was here or what they wanted—what this old man wanted—but he wasn’t going to be lulled into a false sense of security by a few trinkets. Besides, why had they gone to so much trouble?

“I can understand your fears,” the man said.

“I’m not afraid.”

That was almost true. Billy had lived through so much that he didn’t fear much anymore. Certainly not death.

“There is no lock on the door. You are free to go.”

“Free except for an electric fence and two hundred kilometres of trees to lock me in.”

“You were an exceptional student,” the man went on. He appeared to be holding one of Billy’s report cards. “As well as an exceptional athlete, like your mother. And always a leader, both on and off the playing field.”

He shuffled some more papers.

“Ten is such a young age to lose your family,” he said.

Billy laughed—his response surprised them both. He hadn’t “lost” his family; they’d been stolen from him. Billy had spent hours thinking of what he would do if he were ever
able to find the man who had killed his family. And almost as many hours thinking about the chance element that had caused him, at the last minute, to choose not to go with them—an assignment for school he’d wanted to finish. He knew it was luck. He could never decide, though, if it was good luck or bad luck that had spared him from their fate. He had stayed home with a sitter. Sometimes he thought how much easier it would all have been if he’d been killed too.

“Those first few months in foster care were difficult for you.”

Billy didn’t answer. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think about those horrible people who had pretended to be parents. He hated them almost as much as he hated the person who had killed his parents and his brother—at least that had been sudden.

“I survived” was all Billy could say. He couldn’t let anybody see the hurt, see the vulnerability.

“You did far more than survive,” the old man said. “And you got out.” He paused. “Would you like to know what happened to those people who fostered you?”

“How would you know that?”

“There’s not much I don’t know or can’t find out. In searching your history we found them, or more precisely, what has become of them.”

“Are they dead?” Billy asked. He tried to hold his emotions in check, careful not to let on that he
hoped
they were dead.

“He is. She found God.” He smiled. “Or at least what passes for God these days. Those Judgment Day people have
certainly chosen which commandments to follow and which to ignore. Apparently, ‘Though shalt not kill’ is not big on their list.”

Billy had heard the stories about religious death squads killing people who didn’t agree with them, as well as destroying high-tech facilities that they felt could be used by scientists to destroy the asteroid. They were just nuts, but dangerous nuts.

“She apparently spends her time at one of those church compounds, praying for redemption for her sins,” the old man said.

“There isn’t enough time left in the world for that,” Billy said. “If there is a Hell she’ll rot in it.”

“That would seem fair. Yet despite what happened to you, you somehow managed to not only survive them but thrive. Through your strength, cunning, ruthlessness, and most remarkably, your kindness, you were able to put together a group of children who were in the same situation as you … living on the street.”

“They’re my family now.”

“A rather large family, numbering over two hundred.”

“Two hundred and eighteen,” Billy said. He knew that because the children weren’t just numbers. They were all individuals, all valued. He knew each one of them.

“And you were able to lead them, provide protection and food and shelter. Create a system of internal justice for it all to function. How exactly did you do that?”

“We all worked together.”

“But under your leadership. In a world of chaos,
violence, despair, and depravity, somehow you created a little bubble of caring and compassion for all of those children. They were willing to kill, or die, for you.”

“And so would I for them,” Billy said.

“My final report, the one on your capture, indicates that you surrendered only to stop a bloodbath in which members of your … your … 
family
would have been hurt or killed.”

“And that’s why I have to get back. They need me,” Billy said.

“They did need you, but no worries. Because of what you have taught them they will survive … for now.”

The old man paused as those words sank in. Nobody was going to survive for much longer.

“I want you to provide me with a list of supplies, food and other items that would make their lives safer and more comfortable. I will arrange for them to be delivered. It’s important that they live out their remaining days in better circumstances.”

Billy looked at him in disbelief.

“You doubt me?”

Billy shook his head. “No … I don’t. I think you’ll do what you said. I just don’t know why. Why would you do that?”

“I took something of great value from them
—you
. The least I can do is make the remaining days of their lives more bearable. There is still room for kindness in this world.”

The old man rose from the desk. Billy was surprised by his height. He was thin but tall, almost a head taller than Billy.

“I think it’s time for a formal introduction,” he said. “My name is Joshua Fitchett.”

He offered his hand and they shook.

“Have you heard of me?” he asked.

“Um … no.”

Fitchett laughed. “How fleeting is fame?” he said, and laughed again. “At one time I was perhaps the most famous person in the world.”

“I’ve never heard of you,” Billy said. That gave him some satisfaction.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not simply the lack of schools and education but a whole attitude. For most people, desperate to survive today and aware that there will probably not be a future, it is too painful to look back. But believe me, I was famous … well, at least before my
death.”

“What?”

The old man smiled. “My
arranged
death. It was necessary to fabricate my own demise—”

“Wait … you faked your own death?” Billy asked. “Why would you do that?”

“I had no choice. I was being pursued by members of the International Aerospace Research Institute. You’ve heard of them at least, haven’t you?”

“Of course I know
them.”

“You know
of
them, but you definitely don’t really know them. They are very dangerous, ruthless people who will stop at nothing. There is hardly anything more dangerous than somebody who feels he has the moral right to do whatever he wants. Multiply that by a hundred
thousand people and place them within an organizational structure that allows them to pursue those goals and there is no end to the havoc they can create. There was no choice but for me to pretend to be dead. It was the only way for me to accomplish all of this,” he said, gesturing around him. “Of course you must be wondering what all of this is. So far I’ve done all the talking. You must have questions.”

Billy had hundreds of questions, most of which were too scrambled, stunted, or stillborn to be put into words. But there were some he could articulate, and one, the most important, he’d leave for last.

“Where am I? Where is this?”

“We are located in the American West, in Idaho. We are sheltered on one side by the mountains and on the other by wilderness. This location was used for research and as a launch site for satellites and—”

“Satellites? This place was used to launch satellites?” Billy asked.

“Telecommunications satellites. Telecommunications and aerospace technology were two of the major industries within my network of companies.”

“You had a whole network of companies?”

“So many it was hard to keep track of them. My fame was based on my wealth. I was the richest man in the world. But that’s not what you asked me about. This place—I selected this location as the centre of my ongoing work because of its remoteness from civilization and its distance from oceans. Oceans are going to be problematic.”

This made sense to Billy. He’d heard all sorts of rumours about groups making plans to survive the impact. They figured they’d need to be away from oceans so they would not be swept away by the tsunamis—gigantic waves hundreds of metres high that would race hundreds of kilometres inland following the impact.

When he’d first heard about that, he’d thought about trying to relocate everybody away from New York to higher ground, but he’d soon realized that two hundred kids, exposed, without shelter or food or familiar territory, would simply perish on the journey—a journey that would probably prove to be pointless anyway.

“The other factor in favour of this location is, of course, the mine itself. It has been extended to a depth of over six hundred metres, and it is set in extremely hard rock that will minimize the possibility of cave-ins or collapses.”

This only confirmed what Billy was thinking. He’d heard that around the world, old mineshafts were being used to build homes below the surface. That’s what they were doing here. Somehow they thought they could survive the impact by burrowing beneath the surface. Maybe they could.