House Immortal (11 page)

“If you are not here to sign papers with me or with another House, you, your property, and everything on it, including, I am to assume, the advanced and unregistered communication system we are at this moment conversing on, will be forcibly acquired.”

“But the land doesn't belong to me,” I said. “It belongs to my grandmother and she's human. House Green.”

“Forcibly acquired,” he repeated. “I am sorry. This must all be happening rather quickly for you. But this is the safest course of action for all of you, including your grandmother. Abraham, bring Ms. Case here. Immediately. I'll see what I can do to clean up this mess you've made.”

“Thank you,” Abraham said.

Oscar smiled briefly, then the screens went black, flickered, and snapped back with the feeds they were usually plugged into.

“Fuck it to hell,” Right Ned said.

Pretty much my sentiments.

“Matilda?” Braiden's voice called out over the line.

“I'm here. Are you okay?”

“The bombing stopped,” he said. “The sky is quiet. They're gone.”

“Good. Now listen to me. I had to call in favors with House Gray to stop them.”

“Oh, God, no.”

“Which means I owe them repayment. You are to leave the compound tonight.”

“But—”

“Right. Now. Pack up the kids and head over to Pocket of Rubies. We're letting them know you're coming their way.” I glanced over at Neds, who was already putting in the call to the girls at Pocket of Rubies. “Do you have vehicles and supplies to make it?”

“We do,” he said quietly.

“Go. And hand me over to your boy, Thad.”

There was a pause, then Thad's baritone answered. “Thank you,” he said. “I don't know what you did, but thank you.”

“I traded favors with House Gray.”

Into his shocked silence, I said, “Your father doesn't want to leave. But this is only a temporary reprieve. Promise me you will get yourself, your families, and your pigheaded father out of there tonight.”

“The girls are happy to put them up,” Right Neds said.

“Pocket of Rubies is ready to take you in,” I said. “They're good people.”

“I know,” he said. “I know. We'll be packed and out of here in an hour, I promise. And Matilda . . . I'm so sorry about House Gray.”

“Just get somewhere safe and we're gold.”

“Our homes?”

“Take a few pictures. You won't ever be back.”

“All right,” he said quietly. Then, stronger: “We'll be fine. May the earth rise to your feet.”

“And the wind to your back,” I replied, finishing the old House Brown blessing.

I broke the feed and pressed my cold fingers over my eyes, swallowing back the mix of fear and anger and sorrow. They had lost their land. Just like I was going to lose mine.

I stood there long enough, Abraham had time to walk through the room, quietly inventorying all of our equipment, all of our secrets.

There was nothing standing in the way of House Gray shutting us down. Like Neds had said, Abraham was galvanized—the ears, eyes, and mouth of his House. Whatever he knew, his boss, Oscar, must have known.

I pushed away my fears. I had a situation to handle and there was no time for crying. I set the main system back out of emergency status. “I'll need a few minutes to pack my bag.”

Left Ned swore.

“Tilly,” Right Ned said.

“I want you to stay here with Grandma.”

“No.”

I glared at both of him.

“Wherever he's taking you”—Left Ned stabbed a finger in Abraham's direction—“we're going.”

“You could bring your grandmother.” Abraham patted the short-wave radio receiver fondly and strolled over to the telegraph station, bending to study the straight key's setup.

“This is her land and home,” I said. “Going in city would be too much of a shock. As long as the land is safe, she stays here.”

“The land will be safe when you claim a House,” Abraham said.

“I'll hold you to that,” I said.

“I'm not staying with her,” Left Ned said again.

“Fine. I'll call Boston Sue. Go get your gear.”

Neds gave Abraham one last hard look, then walked up the stairs, leaving the door open at the top.

“Listen,” I said after Neds were out of earshot. “That was very kind of you, to put your House on the line for the Fesslers. I understand what kind of a risk that is. Thank you.”

“It was the right thing to do.” His gaze wandered over
the room, and a longing softened his eyes before he looked back at me.

It was almost like he missed all this rebel-underground living.

“Not bad for out in the scrub, right?” I said.

“It's impressive,” he said, “I'll give you that.”

He walked over to a flat, underlit table in the corner. “I recognize all the equipment except this.”

He didn't touch the table, but the white light beneath it cast his face in a ghostly glow, shadows from the gears and swinging hands slipping angles across his face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Something my brother was working on.”

“It's a countdown clock?”

“Is it?” I walked over and stared at the confusion of brass gears and needles that spun slowly in clear oil.

“I can't make out the markers,” he said. “But it is either almost at the end or almost at the beginning of its cycle. Your brother didn't mention what it was?”

“He always had some pet project he was working on down here.”

“Hm. Maybe we'll get a chance to ask him soon.” He cleared his throat. “I'll be waiting outside. I'll give you some time to say good-bye.”

Abraham walked up the stairs, leaving me behind with the impossible task of saying good-bye to my land, my grandmother, and my home.

They were not human, not exactly so. Raised from the edge of death, the twelve men and women who had survived the mad man's experiment were rebuilt, piece by piece, until they were stronger than any human. Perfect for the war effort. Built for it. And sent into battle for their country.—1941

—from the journal of L.U.C.

B
oston Sue was my nearest, paranoid, highly armed neighbor lady. I rang her up on the landline, and she answered on the vid.

“Bo,” I said, shifting so I was in view of the camera. “I need a favor.”

Bo was a large woman, with dozens of neat, thin black braids that draped around to fall in loops at either side of her pierced and decorated ears. Her eyes were deep set and dark and missed nothing. Her skin was darker than mine and so smooth and unstitched, it was like she was carved of the softest clay.

She was probably twenty or so years older than me and wore a gun the way most women wore purses—as a deadly accessory. Today's little number was a semiautomatic, nestled in the folds of her brown and green tie-dyed dress.

“You heard the drones pass over?” Bo asked.

“I heard them,” I said. “It's trouble I kicked up.”

“Trouble?”

“House trouble.”

“Tilly, what did you do that requires drones flying over our privacy?”

“Better you don't know. But I do have a favor to ask,” I said. “Can you come stay with Grandma for a few weeks? I promise I'll get in touch after a day or so.”

“Sure, sure,” she said. “Anything you need, baby sweet.”

“The beasts are fed and should be fine for a couple weeks. Neds are going with me.”

“Don't tell me any more. Simple is better. Take care of yourself and come home safe, you hear?”

“Promise.”

“How can I reach you?” she asked.

“I'll take the walkie-talkie. You know how to reach me.”

“I do, I do. Good luck, Matilda.”

“Thank you.” I ended the link then tromped up the stairs, turning off the light before I shut the door behind me.

Time to say good-bye to Grandma.

“Grandma?” I said, pushing open her door and turning on the table lamp. “I'm going to be gone for a little while.”

“It's today?” Grandma asked.

“Yes, it is,” I said. “I'm taking a trip.”

She sat up, and the sheep tumbled down the quilt. I saved one from going off the edge, tucked it in the crook of my arm, and rubbed its soft little ears.

“You aren't going looking like that, are you, dear?” she asked.

I realized I was still in a tank top and shorts. Great. I'd been mostly naked in front of Abraham. Well, I guess that made us even.

“I'll change and pack a bag,” I said. “But I'll be back in to say good-bye, okay?”

“Yes, yes,” she said. “Get your things.”

I dropped the sheep on her bed. All three of them panicked in a circle, then wedged themselves headfirst into her pillow.

I hurried to my room and pulled on a soft tan tank top and shrugged into my favorite shirt—a green military with cutoff sleeves that had been Quinten's. I slipped into khaki pants, then wrapped my gun belt around my hips and holstered my old Colt revolver. Yes, I was going into a city, but I was not going unarmed.

My coat hung over the back of the old willow chair next to my bookshelf. I put my coat on, then dug around my dresser top, looking for where I'd left my fake ID chit.

Found it, stuck it in my pocket.
What else?
I spun a slow circle, taking in, maybe for the last time, all the things I could call my own. Books, the little circus animals Neds had carved for me, a string of glass beads looped across my mother's lace curtains, my bed with the down coverlet.

A change of clothes seemed practical, so I pulled an old canvas duffel out of my closet and shoved in a pair of jeans, underwear, a shirt, a sweater, socks, and, just in case, I threw in a spare of each. Then some extra bullets, my hunting knives, and the ancient modified walkie-talkie I'd brought up from the basement. Just for good luck, I added in a silver charm bracelet that had been my mother's, and a couple of packets of seeds I'd been saving.

Good enough.

I slung the duffel over my shoulder and turned to leave.

“You aren't going into town looking like that, are you, dear?” Grandma stood in the doorway of my room.

She must have thought she was going with me, and had dressed in a dark walking skirt, sensible shoes, and a warm sweater over her lacy pink blouse.

I took her by the arm and guided her down the hallway a bit, back to her room.

“This will be fine, I promise. It doesn't matter what I look like.”

“Oh, my dear child,” she said. “It all matters. Very much. This is our chance to make things right.” She caught at my hand and pulled me the rest of the way into her room, tugging me over to her bed.

“We don't have time, Grandma,” I said.

“We always have time,” she insisted. “We are Cases, after all.” For a little thing, she had a strong grip. “Now, let's see to getting you properly outfitted. You are going to the city, aren't you?”

“Yes. But you aren't. You'll be staying here.”

“I see,” she said.

“Do you know what's happening?”

“Not at all.”

“I'm going to find Quinten and make sure our property is registered so we can keep it. I might have to . . . take a job with a House in the city for a while. Bo's going to stay here with you. She should be here in a couple minutes. I promise I'll call.”

She pulled the ridiculously long cream scarf off her bed. I couldn't tell if she was listening to me.

“Here you are,” she said. “All the spare seconds I could find.” She draped the scarf around my neck three times and it still dragged the floor.

“Grandma.”

“Let's loosen this a bit and get another round in.” She tugged and wrapped, and I let her.

This might be the last time I saw her for a long time.

“This is your special scarf,” I said.

“Yes, and that is why I am giving it to you.” She stopped fussing with the scarf and placed her palms against my cheeks.

“You are so unexpected,” she said. “A miracle and hope. Your parents loved you dearly. Do you know that?”

I nodded, surprised. She never spoke of Mom and Dad.

“This will not be easy to do. But I think you are the key, Matilda. You can change our future. Don't be afraid to do what you know is right, no matter what that stubborn brother of yours says.”

“What do you mean, I'm a key?” I was totally lost. I had no idea what she was talking about.

“Do you understand what this scarf holds? What the wool can give it?”

“Time?”

“Time,” she agreed.

When I was younger, she told me that the little sheep had a way of attracting wasted moments sort of like dry air attracts static electricity. She believed those fragments of time were caught in the thread that made the scarf.

And while it all sounded like a load of hooey to me, I did have a dragon that could distill the healing properties of nano in its scales. There might be some truth to what she said.

“I've given you as much time as I can. If you need it, when you need it,” she corrected, patting the scarf again, “pull the stitches out.”

“All right,” I said, humoring her. “Thank you, Grandma.” I gave her a big hug, and she squeezed me back.

“Good luck, my dear.” She turned and stooped a bit to shoo the sheep back toward her rocking chair by the window. Then she picked up her needles, and with the sheep at her feet, cast on new stitches, as if I wasn't even in the room with her.

“Good-bye,” I said softly. I left. Picked up my rifle in the kitchen and threw two large jars of jelly, a couple of good needles, and the spools of life thread into my duffel, then I was out the door.

Neds were already at the barn with the truck. The
engine was running, and he leaned on the open passenger's door.

Abraham stood a slight distance away from him and the truck, staring at the night sky.

“Problem?” I asked.

“A sky dark enough for stars,” he said. “I miss that.”

“Where did you leave your car?” I asked as I got in the truck.

Neds hadn't gotten in yet. He was giving Abraham a double-barreled glare.

There probably wasn't room enough in the cab of the truck for all of us.

Abraham must have figured that out. He stepped up into the truck bed, the springs dipping under his weight. He leaned toward my open window. “Just down the north road. I'll let you know where to turn off.”

I nodded at him in my side-view mirror, and he settled himself, scanning the sky. I hoped he really was looking for stars and not satellites or drones or some other thing up there that could blast my land apart.

I drove along the pasture to where the rutted trail met up with a slightly less rutted lane.

“You're going to trust him?” Left Ned asked over the rattle and rumble.

“He's offered us protection. I'm not trusting him. I plan to read the fine print.”

“Other Houses would take you in,” Right Ned said.

“I don't want any House to take me in. I don't want to be owned or claimed. And if there's any way out of it, I'll take it. But there is something bigger than me to protect: House Brown. If they destroy that communication hub, a lot of people are going to suffer.”

“And if they find your father's beasts?” He lowered his voice, “And the pump house?”

I nodded. Illegal, all of it. Especially the technology in the pump house. “Quinten will be jailed. Grandma too. The land will get stripped. And I'll lose . . . everything.”

“You'll lose everything if you claim House Gray,” Left
Ned said. “You're something new, Matilda. Valuable. A modern galvanized. That House will use you as a bargaining chip to get what they want.”

“I am not a thing. And I am no one's chip.”

After a short silence: “We should have sent him packing,” Right Ned said.

“Well, we didn't.”

Left Ned grunted. “You should never have taken a stranger in.”

“Really?” I glanced at him. “I trusted you, a stranger, when you first came walking up my property. Gave you a job with no references—remember? Even though you weren't claimed by a House and weren't carrying papers.”

He winced, and I caught the slight smile from Right Ned.

Maybe that would be the last of that.

The road switched from rutted dirt to cow-swallowing potholes between patches of pavement. Took some concentration to keep us wheels down until Abraham signaled where he was parked.

“There's something you should know,” Right Ned said. “Back when he first showed up. When I touched him, I saw something.”

“A vision?”

He shrugged one shoulder. In all the time Neds had been on the farm, he hadn't ever told me, specifically, what he saw when he touched another person.

“I get, I see . . .” He shook his head, as if there were no words to explain it all.

“A person's fear, guilt, regret,” Left Ned picked up. “The thing they want to hide. The truth of what they are. That man is not a good man.”

“That man,” Right Ned said, “has not
been
a good man. I don't know what his moral standing is now.”

“What, exactly, did you see?” I asked.

“Him,” Right Ned said. “Younger, unstitched. He was locked behind bars, breathing steadily with a gun in his
hand. Blood pooled out from the other side of the bars where another man in a uniform—law enforcement from way back—lay in a heap, dead. He shot a lawman. He's a criminal, Matilda.”

I nodded. I should be surprised, but, well, the galvanized had organized an uprising and almost overthrown the Houses. Breaking the law hadn't seemed to concern them then either.

“You said he was unstitched? So the vision you saw was from a long time ago when he was just a human. That's more than three hundred years ago. Long before the Restructure. People change.”

When the whole world went through the Restructure back in the early-2100s, everything changed. Corporations, countries, powers, joined together to grapple with overpopulation, dwindling resources, and the growing unrest that would have set the world into a crippling worldwide war.

Well, that's the way the historians wrote it. What most folks whispered was that a few rich families and a few powerful corporations got together and made some deals, drew lines in the monetary sand, erased a few political borders, and staked their claim in wide-reaching resource management worldwide.

The Restructure didn't go over well with most people the first ten years or so. After twenty years, people had forgotten the way things used to be. After fifty, only crazy fringers and the occasional charismatic criminal brought up the idea that things should go back to the way they had been—individual countries monitoring and monetizing their resources.

In the old world, you lived in a country you claimed as your own.

In the new world, it didn't matter where you lived. You were claimed by a House—one of the eleven main powers in the world—or chose the twelfth, nearly powerless House Brown. You worked for them, and, in return, they provided for you.

That was the sales pitch anyway.

“Yeah, well, he's not people,” Left Ned said. “And back when he
was
, he killed in cold blood. What do you think about that, Matilda?”

I thought Abraham was a very dangerous man. But I'd thought that since I'd met him.

“I think I'll stand and face this problem straight on. I'm done hiding.”

Abraham pounded on the back window. I slowed down a bit and glanced at him in my rearview. He pointed to the left. “Turn here,” he shouted over the wind.

No road, no pull-off, just a break between the trees where a few had fallen in the windstorm we'd had last winter.