Exodia (23 page)

“
Well, Dalton, you were
raised as sort of a modern aristocrat. And what I know of you,
brother, it seems you have high moral character. Principles. I
guess that makes you noble.”

A cloud of rats comes over the hill,
backlit by the purple haze of a strange dawn. They run straight for
us. “It’s amazing that this plague of rats is all part of David
Ronel’s plan,” I say.

Harmon shakes the rod. “And I told you
what else this stick can do.”

We walk through the roiling mess of
animals, some as large as cats, and though they show off shining
incisors and mouth our ankles they don’t do us any real harm at all
thanks to how Harmon has lowered the pitch of the humming rod.
They’re as annoying as buzzing flies. We reach the first of the
slum streets and the rats run off to torment those walking toward
the capitol grounds. I direct Harmon down the B streets and head
for Lydia’s–the only place I want to be.

* * *

Mr. Luna leaned on both Lydia and
Barrett and hobbled the last half mile. Something happened as the
sun came up and people started venturing out into the streets and
yards. Rats, small and large, healthy and crippled, young and old,
converged on Exodia from every direction. Lydia’s heart was in her
throat and Barrett was feeling the same anxiety. Always before the
rats had kept to garbage dumps and were seen mostly at night. To
see so many in the bright morning sunlight disturbed both of
them.

Mr. Luna mumbled, “It was in the stars.
It was in the stars. Don’t be afraid.”

The rats snapped at them, tore at their
pants, jumped on them, and scratched their legs with claw or
tooth.

Lydia kicked them away from herself and
Mr. Luna. Barrett reached in his belt sack for a knife, bent down
and jabbed at the boldest ones. Some ran off, but some he managed
to kill. The remaining rats turned their attention to the dead and
dying.

“
One more block,” Lydia
said. They stepped it up and when the house was in sight they began
to yell for Mira, Katie, and Kassandra. Mr. Luna drew on what
reserve strength he had at the sound of his daughters’ names.
Barrett kept four rats at bay as Lydia and Mr. Luna slipped through
the side door, but as Barrett entered a small one stole in between
his legs.

“
Catch it!”

Kassandra raised the baby over her
head, Katie screamed, and Mira grabbed the rat by its tail and ran
to the other door to toss it out.

“
What is going on?” she
shouted as she returned. She stopped short and closed her mouth at
the scene in the kitchen. The bedraggled man that Lydia had pushed
into the kitchen stood with his arms around the sisters, weeping
and praising God.

Barrett explained the rescue to Mira,
trying to speak over the happy sounds of the reunion. By the time
he finished, those happy cries had turned to wails as Katie poured
out the gruesome truth.

Mira, Barrett, and Lydia moved into the
living room. The cries from the kitchen were much worse than the
squealing chaos outside.

“
What’s with these rodents?”
Mira asked.

Barrett shrugged. He had no idea what
had made the rats get so bold.

“
Maybe it’s because of the
bad water.”

Lydia went to the window and watched as
more rats gathered. She could see three or four at each neighbor’s
door. Squeaking. Aggressively chewing. Clawing. Gnawing. As far
down the street as she could see there were packs spreading out in
every direction, hundreds more than they had encountered coming
through the slum.

“
How can anyone go
anywhere?” she mumbled. She saw two men striding down the middle of
the street, the nipping rats running back and forth around them but
giving them a measure of free space on every side, as if there were
a force field enveloping them. She gasped and glanced quickly
toward the kitchen. She whispered to Mira and Barrett,
“Look.”

* * *

I enter first and then Harmon. He keeps
his hand outside holding the long staff downward which keeps the
rats away from us. He slips the rod through the last inch and slams
the door. Instantly he stops the rod’s humming, but there are
stranger sounds now, sobs and stuttering sighs.

I see Lydia first, her face etched in
fear, but her eyes soft with relief. Mira stands next to her, arms
crossed against her chest. Her expression is unreadable. Harmon
gives me a little push and I step fully into the room. My
father-in-law is collapsed against Katie and Kassandra. They pull
apart and I see Gresham, nearly crushed against Kassandra’s side,
looking twice as big as the last time I saw him.

The only greeting I get from Kassandra
is something about my lack of hair, but Mr. Luna clasps my hand and
pulls me closer into an embrace that falters. I have to hold him
up. I am livid at how the Blues must have worked him too hard, fed
him too little. His voice cracks out the individual names of his
wife and daughters who are not here. I realize it’s not the lack of
strength that breaks him.

I hold him tighter.

Chapter 12 Guilt and Lust

From the fourth page of the
Ledger:

They died in the houses, in
the streets, and in the fields. They were piled into heaps and the
land reeked of them.

THE HONKING DOWN the road was
continuous and matched the volume of the barking dogs that were
attacking the rats. The horn stopped as an armored government truck
pulled up in front of Lydia’s house, crushing dogs and rats beneath
its wheels.

Harmon smirked at Mira and Dalton.
“It’s not even noon yet and Truslow’s come begging for us to call
off the dogs.” He laughed at his own joke and moved away from the
window.

The morning had been uncomfortable.
There was a half an hour when Mira rocked the baby and Dalton and
Kassandra locked the bedroom door. When they came out the eight
adults split into two groups. Mr. Luna and his daughters remained
in the kitchen to grieve while the other five sat in the small
living room in an awkward debriefing. All the while they endured
the awful woofs and snarls outside and the constant scratching at
the doors, with Lydia bouncing up from time to time worried that
her mother had returned and was desperate to enter.

Lydia leaped up to see the truck and
unintentionally bumped Dalton as he took Harmon’s place at the
window.

“
Sorry.”

“
No problem.”

She had to put a hand on the glass to
steady herself against the intense energy radiating off Dalton
along with the scent of Kassandra. She looked from the army truck
back to Dalton’s face.

“
I’m sorry for this, too,”
she said. “I guess this isn’t exactly a safe house. We should’ve
moved you all somewhere else.”

“
It’s all right, Lydia.” His
voice was soft, gentle, a sharp contrast to his rigid body. He
turned to his brother, raised his voice, and said, “Grab the pole,
Harmon. It’ll be better if we go out to meet them rather than have
them burst in here, bringing who knows how many rats with
them.”

Two soldiers emerged from the truck,
firing nano-guns in accurate spurts at the animals around them. The
rats that had been scrabbling at the doors changed focus and ran
toward the soldiers. They were quickly eliminated. One soldier
shouted hurried instructions for Harmon and Dalton to come out,
that Truslow wanted to make a deal with them.

Harmon and Dalton didn’t wait another
second. They opened the door and ran out to the vehicle, Harmon
disassembling the long weapon on the fly so they could leap easily
into the truck.

* * *

The ride to the capitol is unnerving.
We pass several victims of the rats.

I half expect the capitol grounds to be
free of the trouble, but there are scores of rodents scampering
around the area and more follow the truck through the
gate.

“
Proud of you, brother,”
Harmon whispers. “You know he’s going to imprison us again, don’t
you?”

“
Maybe. Maybe
not.”

I deserve punishment for what I did
this morning. Guilt for lust. It has been months since I’ve felt
married. A season in Truslow’s cell will be penance for picturing
Lydia’s face when I looked down at Kassandra this morning, her
blond hair whorled across the pillow.

Two soldiers poke our backs and push us
up the steps. A third guard fires nonstop at the rats as we go
through the doors.

* * *

Barrett meant only to give Lydia an
encouraging hug, but she turned away, raced upstairs, and left him
standing alone in the living room with Mira.

“
You’re never going to dance
with her.” Mira said. The metaphor stung though he saw the sympathy
in her eyes. He didn’t know how to answer.

He walked back through the kitchen
where the Lunas were sitting like statues, staring off into space.
He grabbed his pack. He didn’t belong here, he thought. There were
other things he could do during this crisis. He swung the pack onto
his back and slinked out the side door. He wasn’t worried about
outrunning the rats. In fact, he could probably beat the truck back
to the capitol.

* * *

I look around Truslow’s office which
had belonged to the man I thought was my grandfather for all of my
life. Nothing is different.

Truslow stands behind the desk flanked
by two men. Magicians or scientists or weapons specialists. One
holds another rod like Harmon’s.

Truslow speaks with his usual
arrogance. “The men in my Krona can produce the same effect.” He
nods at the one to his left and the man twists the end of the pole.
My head reels from the harmonic discord and I cringe, ball my
fists, and grit my teeth. From the halls we hear the scuffling.
Animals throw themselves against the door; nails click along the
ceiling.

“
If you can stop this curse
I’ll let the Reds go.” Truslow’s lips move in sync with his
eyebrows which twitch upward in anxious demand.

I’m tempted to bow and give this
irreverent toad the worship he desires, anything to stop the shrill
calling.

“
What about your men here?”
I say, forcing myself to block the pain. “If they can duplicate
what we have done–poison the water, call the rats–can’t they undo
what’s done?”