Guinea Pig (28 page)

“Not something you need to worry yourself about. And William will be all right. But more than that I can't tell you.” She was still smiling at him, as though she was pleased with him for some reason. “Now please tend to your patient and stop worrying so much.”

Maybe she was right to say that? Reginald didn't know. But as he did as he was instructed only one thing mattered; that she had said that William would be all right. What “all right” meant he didn't know. But it surely had to be better than dead. Better than suffering. Maybe even better than slowly having his mind shredded by the changes ripping through his brain.

It was wrong. It was probably the worst place in the world for it. But suddenly as they drove through the fog heading for who knew where, Reginald experienced a new feeling:

Hope.

Chapter Thirty Three.

It was a strange sight Elijah thought, but a good one. William was lying on the ground, more or less, somewhere between waking and sleep, his head nestled in the lap of one of the white haired people while others tended to him. Bringing him food and drink, washing him, caring for him. How much William understood of that Elijah didn't know. But he had the strange feeling that for the first time in a long time the young man was more at peace than he had been. Out in the sunshine, being held and comforted. Whether this was medically any better for him than the broken down hospital he didn't know. But he was sure that emotionally it was a huge improvement.

Meanwhile the seven of them sat on the grass overlooking their new home, watching the white haired people as they tended to William, and wondered what they were supposed to do. Not to mention what happened next. They had so many questions and no one seemed to be in a hurry to answer any of them.

Instead, after six hours of driving down all sorts of back country roads they'd simply arrived at a cabin in a clearing in the middle of a forest and been told that this would be their home for the next little while. There was no explanation as to why. Elijah wasn't even sure where they were exactly. He doubted anyone else was either. He also had no idea of what they were supposed to do, or what would happen. All he knew – all any of them knew – was that they were here for a while and that the white haired people would be caring for William from now on. Apparently they were to make themselves comfortable.

The log cabin was actually quite pretty, but it was small, too small for all the people – both human and white haired – who would be staying there. Three bedrooms wasn't enough for eight people and nearly a dozen white haired angels – and Elijah expected that most of them would be sleeping in the living area. As for the single bathroom, that was going to be a challenge. It was also quite primitive, a woodsman's cabin at a guess that had been built around the nineteen hundreds and never really updated.

But it was well stocked. There was food, fresh water and it was even heated by the solar tubes on the roof, an outdoor barbecue and most important of all no people with guns. It was also quite comfortable. Best of all perhaps was the coffee. Someone had provided them with a huge canister of ground coffee, and as they sat there staring at the cabin while the white haired people tended to their charge, they all had huge mugs of steaming hot coffee in their hands. After their time in the hospital this place seemed like paradise.

“Do you really think we're safe? No more soldiers? No more disasters?”

Sister Jones asked the question. It was the same question they'd all asked many times as they drove through the fog. But no one could answer her. Elia had said that they were. That this place was far enough away from the city that if the Fallen did try to attack them again, that whatever they did would not affect anyone else. And that they probably wouldn't try anyway. Not when there were already a dozen angels all standing watch over William and there were more coming. The Fallen would know that they couldn't harm him no matter what they did, so they wouldn't bother trying. She'd also said that the soldiers were no danger to them. Even if they found them they were powerless against them. That at least Elijah believed. Anyone who could control the fog like that had immeasurable power.

No one answered the sister though, because none of them could. They were all beginning to understand that they were out of their depth.

“Are they really angels?”

James asked the next obvious question. The one that everyone was wondering. But which no one could answer. The simple fact was that they didn't know. They were simply people with white hair who had the power to control the weather and maybe a few other things as well. They didn't call themselves angels though. They claimed kinship to both the Fallen and the Choir but didn't call themselves angels. And where were the wings and halos? William actually had more of those things than they did.

“They aren't demons.”

Elijah spoke from the heart. He didn't know what exactly these Walkers as they called themselves were. Angels of some sort apparently. But he knew as he watched them caring for William that they weren't of the Fallen. They clearly felt genuine concern for him as they looked after him. Feeding him, helping him drink, making him comfortable, whispering to him constantly that he would be all right. And somehow that just didn't fit with his understanding of fallen angels.

“They aren't doctors either.”

Reginald complained once more about what he considered their medical neglect as he sat on the grass beside him. He was annoyed that they had simply discarded all his medical equipment as useless and instructed him not to put in any more feeding tubes, catheters or drips. He felt he had been made redundant. Denied his ability to help his patient. He was right. And yet maybe, Elijah thought as he sat there watching them tend to William, they were right too. This wasn't a medical issue.

“No, they're his family.”

Was Sister Jones right Elijah wondered? It didn't make sense that they were. And they were nothing alike. And yet as he watched them he thought there was something about them that did speak of family. In the way that they were gathered around him, holding him so tenderly and so close. Maybe though what it spoke of was love. The bond that held family together.

“But still not doctors. He needs medical attention.” Reginald wasn't about to let that go.

“No. He needs time, fresh air, sunshine, food and water, and above all else the connection with his brothers and sisters. With all of us.”

Elijah looked up to see that Elia had joined them, and as ever she seemed certain of her words. She was the only one of the white haired people – the Walkers – to speak with them. So far at least. Why that was Elijah didn't know. Maybe she was their leader. Maybe she was simply the only one who could speak. The others didn't seem to say a lot, even among themselves.

“Will he live?”

“Yes. Of course.” She sounded surprised that he could ask the question. “No one will try to kill him again. Our rebellious brothers know that they can't any more. Your military people don't know where he is and in any case they can’t. And his health is not in doubt.”

“He will live and in time he will become.”

“Become?”

“What he is meant to be.”

Her words really didn't clear things up for any of them, but Elijah knew she wouldn't explain them. That wasn't her way. He was already beginning to realise that there were things she simply wasn't going to tell them. And maybe that she didn't know herself.

“And then?”

“That Elijah is the sixty four thousand dollar question as your people say.” She smiled at him, but he wasn't completely deceived. There was worry there too. She really didn't know.

“But the one thing you can be sure of is that this will not be the end of the world. Life for your people will return to how it was.”

“A thing easier said than done.”

And when he thought of his congregation Elijah knew it would be a much harder thing than anything her words could describe. His flock was small but they were probably a perfect sample of what was happening in the rest of the city. And they were suffering. Some were dead. Life would not return to how it was. Not quickly or easily.

“Yes, and I'm sorry for that. On behalf of my people, I am more sorry than I can say. This was never something that should have involved your people. It is of mine and mine alone. And even for my own part, small and innocent as it is, I apologise.”

Elijah believed her. The truth was in her face and her voice as well as her words. But that was the way of life. When people did bad things it wasn't just them and their victims that were harmed by their actions. These things often dragged in everybody who knew those involved.

“But I can tell you little of what is happening or why. There is much that I do not know, and what I do know is not for human ears. And most especially not for William's ears. So for now I would just ask you to stop worrying about it, and to try and help William as his transformation continues. As we will.”

“And the Fallen?”

“Will not attack again. We are too many and their chance to kill him has passed. If it ever really existed.”

Elijah and the others stared at her as she added the last, all of them suddenly wondering what she meant. And all of them no doubt thinking the same thing. All these dreadful attacks, the widespread death and suffering, all had been for nothing as the Fallen had never even had a chance of killing William. That seemed even more wrong somehow. Elia obviously understood.

“From the start I've been with William. Protecting him. My brothers and sisters have joined with me as time went on. That's why those who disobey could not attack him directly. They could not go through us. They would not dare since among us an attack upon one is an attack upon all. So they tried all these other attacks. Mass attacks hoping that we could not protect him from everything, hoping that something would get through by chance.”

“And perhaps they should have succeeded. The attacks of our brothers and sisters have been overwhelming, each one more powerful and more terrible than the last as their fear grows. There is in the end only so much we can do. We are fewer than they. And we are limited in many ways. We must obey the laws that they refuse to. We could not stop the agent that harmed him for example because we cannot generally interfere in human matters. Only the Choir is permitted. And we did not truly understand how terrible his attack would be. For the same reason we could not stop William from being taken by the army. And in the end while we helped you to escape with him, we could do so only because you made the decision. And we have been very careful only to protect.”

“Because of that William has suffered terrible harm and yet still he survives. He has been attacked in the most shocking way as our brothers sought to tear him from this world root and branch. Yet that which should have killed him even with our being there to protect him, has failed – four times. And that makes me wonder. But I do not know why he has survived. I obey but I am not of the Choir. Because of that some knowledge is denied me. And so I do not know if there has been more at work than I know of. More keeping him alive than just you and we. But I wonder.”

Her words troubled Elijah. They probably troubled everyone else as well. And they left him with an obvious question. If the Fallen were trying to kill William were the Choir trying to save him? And if so why weren't they doing a better job? But in the end none of that mattered. Only one thing did. What they did next. He asked.

“We look after him. We help him to recover his health and continue his transformation. It will go faster now. The confusion of his flesh has nearly sorted itself out. Most of the internal changes have been made and what is left is only some more healing and the wings. They grow faster now. There are only a matter of days, perhaps a little more than a week before he is reborn.”

Reborn. It was an interesting word Elijah thought, and more than that one filled with disturbing connotations. But then she had also described him as becoming. And William himself had said many times that he was frightened of no longer being himself when this was all over. Maybe he wouldn't be.

And if she was right they would know in a week.

Chapter Thirty Four.

William was awake again, and for once he almost felt good. He wasn't sure why. The pain of his injuries was if not gone then at least mostly subdued. The rumbling in his guts had settled down, mostly. The waking nightmares had ended. And the discomfort of his transformation had eased. Now it was more an itch. An infernal, annoying, unending itch that occasionally threatened to drive him out of his mind, but still that was infinitely better than what had been.

Being out of the hospital and out of the chains helped. For a while he had suffered being bound. Endured it without protest. Partly because he was afraid that he was somehow responsible for all the death and destruction happening around him. Partly because there had been a terrible fear within him of what he would become and he had secretly hoped they would kill him before that happened. But mostly because he had been losing his ability to care about anything. The transformation as it had picked up pace had left him in a permanent state of shell shock. Tired to the point where he had been hardly able to think.

And maybe the cabin in the woods was a good place for him. There was something to be said for fresh air and the feel of sunlight on his face. A lot actually. Out here he felt alive. Awake in a way he hadn't known before.

Knowing that his transformation was nearing its end also helped. Though he wasn't really very much like the man he had once been at least he knew or could hope that what lay ahead was not so difficult as what had been. In the end he was still William Raphael Simons. Even through the confusion he knew that. For the moment it was simply as though he was simply waking up from a long night filled with confusing dreams. The cobwebs of them were lingering, but they would vanish as they always did. Adjusting to his new form might take longer.

The weight loss had ended and he felt stronger now. Physically there was a bounce in his stride when he walked, and his reflexes were sharper. Of course walking came with its own problems. Because much of his weight had moved upward – to give him a better centre of mass for flying he assumed – he was top heavy. His sense of balance hadn't yet adjusted to that. And it would get worse as his wings grew. His vision was another thing that would take time to adjust to. What he saw with his eyes was very different to what he had once seen. There were more colours, edges of things were sharper, he spotted movement instantly and if he focused on something he somehow magnified it. It could be very tricky walking and then spotting something interesting on the distant horizon. He tended to fall over.

Of course what he saw without his eyes was more difficult to understand. It would take longer to learn to cope with. But at least he now knew that they were real. The delusions weren't delusions after all. And that brought him some peace.

The wings were probably the hardest thing to understand. They weren't really arms, but they felt a bit like them. And they moved, sometimes by themselves, sometimes when he thought about moving them. It was a hard thing to understand having these extra limbs and controlling them. His brain was slowly being rewired so that he could move all the extra muscles, but his mind would take longer to truly accept having six limbs. Or feathers, for the Walkers claimed that the long white hairs that were growing out of his wings were the start of feathers. It was ironic really. This nightmare had begun for him when he'd lost his body hair and he'd instantly missed it. Now he had new body hair – for a while at least – and he wasn't sure he wanted it.

Still, he knew he could adapt to what had happened. And that was important to him. To have had to have lived with all these changes and never have been able to adapt to them would have been intolerable. He even had hope that one day he might be able to get back some of what he'd lost. To learn to read again. And how to drive a car if he could ever find a way to fit in one while standing. Sitting was not likely to be something he would ever be able to do again. His back simply did not bend that far.

Maybe what helped him most though were the Walkers. Though the word they used to identify themselves didn't really describe them at all. He wasn't sure anything did.

He knew that because when the others looked at them they saw people. Normal everyday people with long white hair. Assuming they saw anyone at all. The Walkers would not be seen if they didn't want to be. Not by normal people. He though could see them a little even then, as long as he didn't use his eyes. That was why he'd kept seeing them when his eyes couldn't see anything at all. He couldn't see them as they truly were, not yet anyway. But he could see that they were more than what they appeared. That they had two distinct forms in the one body. Or maybe that was two very different images of one body. He couldn't really explain it. It was like looking at an optical illusion. You looked at it one way and you saw one thing. A few seconds later you saw something else. Yet nothing had changed about them. Only the way you understood what you were looking at.

One form was the human looking one. The other glowed like the sun and had huge golden wings. It was as good a description of an angel as he could imagine. But both were the same being.

“Hungry?”

He turned around as Elia tossed him a pineapple and caught it easily, surprised at how easily he did. But that was nothing new. Daily, almost hourly he was discovering new things about himself that surprised him. Things he'd lost, things he'd gained. And yet the one thing that was finally bringing him some comfort was the fact that he was still him. Maybe he couldn't remember how to do things like read or use technology. And he suspected that speaking would soon be beyond him as well. Already it seemed like a strange and awkward thing to do. And maybe he did understand how other things worked in a strangely intuitive way. But he was still William Simons.

“Thank you.”

He bit into the fruit, enjoying the sweetness of the flesh and the tough dry bitterness of the wood like skin. They went together in a way that he would once never have been able to imagine. But then once he would never have been able to bite through it.

“You need to keep your strength up.”

“For the end, I know.”

And he did, but it didn't scare him as much as it once had. Then again he suspected he had already endured most of the change anyway. All that was left were the wings, and they were a foot long now and growing at an incredible rate. An inch an hour. At most there were only a few days left to him before he had become whatever he was destined to become.

“No. Not for the end. Just for the change. Your body is rebuilding itself cell by cell. Being broken down and rebuilt in a way it wasn't ready for. That takes strength. But once it's complete you'll lose that hunger. Or else turn into a giant doughnut!” She giggled a little at the idea. Almost like a little girl. A strange thing in a white haired woman of advancing years. Stranger still in an angel. But he'd come to accept it.

That was something he had never expected of angels. That they would have a sense of humour. Laugh at the silliest things. Enjoy life in such a frivolous way. He'd always imagined them to be serious sorts, if he'd thought of them at all. Full of love he'd supposed, and the word of God, but not laughter. And yet that was who they were. Light hearted, almost care free beings who would love nothing more than a good joke and to picnic in the sun.

“I may turn into a doughnut anyway. You don't know. That could be my final form.”

“I doubt it. You're close to the end and everything about you so far says winged man.

“But not angel.”

And that was one of the things that bothered him. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to be an angel. But he wanted to be someone. To belong to a people. He wasn't human. Not any more. He didn't need to look in a mirror to know that. He could see it in the faces of the others as they stared at him. But he wasn’t an angel either. He didn't belong.

“No, not an angel. And not a nephilim as that silly Bishop Benenson keeps saying. Not even a mixture. You are human, though not completely. But in time you will probably be able to walk among the others of your people again as we do. Whatever you are becoming it is something new. But it is still something human. And whatever form you eventually wear you are and always will be family. It was that that drew us to you in the first place. You may not be an angel but you are of our lineage. Raphael's lineage. A half-brother maybe. He'd like that.”

It was a strange thought actually. To have an angel as a brother. But then there were so many strange thoughts running through what passed for his mind these days. And questions too. But one above all else.

“I don't suppose you can tell me what's coming next? What happens when the transformation is complete?”

He worried about that. He knew that something happened. Something important. Because the Fallen had been desperate to stop the transformation before it reached the end, and at the same time the Walkers were determined to make sure it ran its course. He would have liked to have stopped it himself, though not by dying. Not any longer. There had been a time when death had looked comforting, but somewhere along the way he had turned a corner and now he wanted to live.

“You know I can't.”

“You mean you won't.”

“Won't then. You know that. What will happen will happen. But anything I tell you could influence you. Make you do what I think is the right thing or the wrong thing, and I can't allow that. When the time comes whatever you do you must do completely of your own free will. If it was guided in any way it would be meaningless. Everything you have gone through would have been for nothing.”

“It was without purpose anyway. The doctor was insane.”

And now he was guilt ridden because of what he'd done. Sometimes, though he would never have thought it possible, William felt sorry for Doctor Millen. He was so miserable.

“Maybe.” She sounded uncertain, which was a surprise. She hadn't sounded that way before. Not about the doctor's actions anyway. And he had to ask.

“What? Now you think he wasn't mad? That he was guided after all?”

“I don't think that. But I don't know enough to say that it didn't happen either. There are so many coincidences. So many unlikely events that had to come together in order for him to do what he did. And I begin to wonder. Maybe it was both. Madness and design.”

“Great.”

But it wasn't really. If she was right then he either had two lots of people to blame for what had been done to him – the doctor and whoever had guided him – or he had no one. Neither option seemed that good to him.

“Enough talk young one! It's time to work. Come here and stand on the log as before.”

Will suppressed a groan when she said that – barely. He knew what she intended and he didn't like it. But still he went to her, stood on the fallen log and then extended his wings as far as he could when she asked him to. They were larger now. Extending at least a foot out to each side and running all the way from his tail bone where they were just a raised lump of skin to his shoulder blades where they were as thick as his arms and powerfully muscled.

Two more white haired people arrived perfectly on time – they were good at that – and reached out to catch his wings as he leaned forward. After that it was a matter of exercise as she made him push against their outstretched hands with his wings. And as always she made him lean forwards further and further until it was as though he was doing push ups. Actually he was doing push ups, just not with his arms.

“Lower.” Unexpectedly the two walkers went down on their knees and he was suddenly left hanging there almost horizontal, but with no chance of sagging in the middle as he normally would. The stiffness of his back wouldn't let him bend. He guessed that that was intentional – part of his design. He was stiff for a reason. It was necessary for flying.

“And continue.”

Obediently, though he didn't really want to, he carried on, lifting almost his entire body weight with his wings, pumping them up and down, somewhat surprised that he could. He had never been the most athletic of people. But his wings at least were strong, perhaps even stronger than his legs, and somehow he found himself doing as he was commanded. Flapping them down and pushing himself up again and again, even finding a rhythm while she kept urging him on.

It was hard work, and Elia as always made it harder. She made him extend his wings as far forward of his head as he could and then push down and back until he was almost swimming through the air in a strange version of butterfly. Then he had to do them with his wings lowered until they were almost at his waist.