Merciless (32 page)
“Alex, that’s an awfully big leap to think that Grant could still be . . .” Ethan said, shaking his head.
“But,” Nora spoke up, her voice clouded with doubt, “what if we can’t get through to Grant? Oblivion is too powerful for any of us. What if we can’t—”
“There are other sources of power in this world than death or telekinesis or magic Rings,” Alex replied. “And if you didn’t learn that in all the time you spent with Grant, then I don’t know why you’re still here. There’s power in words. There’s power in tears. And there’s power in
blood
. I promise you, this is not over.”
“There’s also power in steel, and that’s good enough for me,” Payton proclaimed, placing a hand on the hilt of the weapon at his side. “The rest of you can do what you want. I’m done waiting. Sit here and wait for the blast wave to reach you, for all I care. I’m going to find out what happens when that prophecy about a final confrontation between the Bringer and the Thresher comes true.”
“W
HAT IS THE POINT
of this, Grant Borrows?” asked the man Grant fought with, still tearing at him with all he was worth. “Why do you fight a battle you know you cannot ultimately win?”
Even as he struggled against this creature in this place of dark, black nothingness, his thoughts raced back to something Payton had said to him as they trekked together into the bowels of the Secretum’s underground city. And to what Payton’s observation about the nature of the universe had made him think to himself . . .
“Because,” he answered, “I believe our actions have consequences that reach beyond anything we can see. Because standing in the face of darkness and choosing not to succumb to it is the most powerful thing anyone can ever do.”
Mirror Grant pulled away and stood up, extricating himself from the fight.
Grant stood too, ready to tackle him again, but he froze at the sight. His twin was covered in blood, bruised, battered, and beaten.
“Why?” the doppelganger asked.
“Because . . . maybe the fight . . . is more important than the outcome.”
The duplicate man placed both hands behind his back. He didn’t smile, he didn’t frown, he didn’t argue. He looked upon Grant as though meeting him for the first time.
“You see it at last,” the other man said. “The answers have been in front of you all this time, but only now do you finally allow yourself to see the truth of who you are. Who you have always been . . .”
A bright light flashed against the emptiness, and Grant was staring at himself, running through the underground tunnel that led away from the Inveo Technologies plant. Hannah was far ahead, calling for him to hurry, but he was talking on his cell phone. “There are no coincidences,” said Daniel’s voice into his ear.
Another flash, and Morgan was sitting in one of the bedrooms at the old asylum, talking to an elderly Hispanic woman. “Your friend,” said the old woman known as Marta, “is part of something that stretches back throughout history. Those like him have been with us since the very beginning.”
Flash. Grant was sitting in his penthouse condo at the top of the Wagner Building, talking to Daniel face-to-face for the first time. “Where you see random occurrences,” Daniel said, “I see design. I see meaning. I see purpose. ”
Flash. Grant was on an airplane, sitting next to Morgan. “You are more than I ever had any right to hope you would become, after all you’ve been through,” she said. “You’re kind, compassionate, strong. You place the welfare of others above your own.”
The images faded away, replaced instantly by the horribly damaged face of the man who looked exactly like him. Grant was sickened by what he saw. He’d beaten this man, this being, to a pulp. He was no hero, he was a ten-year-old brat in a man’s body who had frequent temper tantrums.
How could he be responsible for hurting someone this way?
“Others see more in you than you see in yourself,” the double said. “This is always the way it is.”
“I’m sorry . . .” Grant blurted out. “I’m sorry about everything.”
The other man smiled through his broken teeth and bruised face. “You’re not the first to wrestle with me, you know. People do it every day. And in the end, it doesn’t really matter.”
As Grant watched, the injuries across the other man’s face and body faded and vanished, until he was whole once more.
“What matters are the choices I make,” Grant said.
The other man nodded.
Grant felt himself smile. It was a most pleasant sensation that he had nearly forgotten.
“I think I know who you are now,” Grant said. “It is you, isn’t it?”
“It always has been.”
“You’re nothing like I expected you to be,” Grant admitted.
The other man actually laughed, and it was a warm, gentle laugh that was soothing and refreshing to Grant’s soul.
“So what happens now?” Grant asked.
“This is your story, Grant,” the other man replied. “How do you want it to end?”
Alex watched the skies.
No birds sang in the air above Jerusalem. No leaves rustled, nor did the dying trees provide soothing shade.
The clouds above roiled and churned like never before, billowing to incredible size in mere seconds, and then vanishing in a blink. The fire behind the clouds burned with a new intensity as well, desperately seeking to break free from the clouds that held it back, and Alex could swear she felt greater heat than before radiating down on them from so high above.
Wild animals roamed across the black desert, savages searching for prey of any kind. Even non-carnivorous creatures had been driven wild and hungered for blood and meat instead of plants.
Jerusalem was dead or dying, breathing its last weary gasps before a restless death. Not even a breeze brushed against the ancient city to cool its wounds.
No longer resting on a hill, Jerusalem had collapsed into a valley shaped like a shallow bowl, just one week before the DarkWorld was born. Many of her ancient buildings had fallen during the event, reduced to smoking heaps of white Jerusalem Stone. The death toll was catastrophic. Now it was burning, destitute. Writhing in a pain all its own.
Jerusalem had succumbed to Hell.
The DarkWorld was an unnaturally quiet place, thanks to the way people fled from Oblivion’s coming. But pandemonium ruled Jerusalem’s streets as Alex led her people through the outskirts of the city. Hundreds of thousands of souls had fled in panic to the refuge Jerusalem provided, but now they were trying with all their might to get out.
Everyone knew that Oblivion had come to town.
Numerous languages were represented among the shouted exclamations from the people, but Alex made out a few snatches of “The Destroyer is here!” and “It’s the end of the world!” or “The Evil One has come to Jerusalem!”
There was so much to take in, but Alex kept finding herself watching the skies.
From an Eastern vantage point at the far edge of the Jaffa Road, the New City was a stark contrast to the Old, with modern architecture and automobiles, posh hotels, government buildings, and pocket neighborhoods tucked here and there. Very little of it was untouched by the sunken earth.
The Old City lay in the distance ahead, to the southeast of their position, near the bottom-most part of the bowl-shaped valley. Her historic walls made of white Jerusalem Stone were all but gone, blasted away by Grant when he was here last, in a fit of uncontrollable frustration. He hadn’t meant to do it, Alex knew. But after days and days of cleaning up dead bodies and destroyed historic sites, he could no longer keep his emotions—which had always had a strong link to his powers—in check. The display of raw, awesome force had terrified Jewish authorities, who then turned on him, no longer welcoming his help but threatening war should he refuse to leave the country’s borders.
A horrific thought occurred to Alex. What if she was wrong about Grant slowing Oblivion’s plans? What if Oblivion had selected this site from which to end the world because he was getting even in some way for this residual memory he still had? Or, as Devlin inferred, was this some inescapable bit of instinct or programming that he simply could not deter? He was an ancient creature; perhaps instinct drove him to this place.
No matter the outcome of the events about to unfold, she would probably never know why this location was chosen. She only knew she was not happy to be back here.
Alex asked Daniel, Tucker, and Xue to come with her. Nora, Hector, Mrs. Edeson, and her son Ryan she sent off in a branching direction that would run them parallel to their path. Hopefully it would mean at least some of them would make it through the unseen obstacles that she knew had to be blocking the way leading to the Old City.
Ringwearers, Alex guessed. Two hundred and fifty super-powered individuals who would blend in with those people who’d stayed behind, hunting them with their enhanced and diverse array of mental powers. It seemed impossible that they would make it into the Old City without being discovered. Sergeant Tucker had pointed this out earlier as they were leaving the house.
Payton, meanwhile, refused to travel with either team. He had broken off early, pushing Devlin ahead of him. Alex wasn’t entirely sure why Payton had brought Devlin along, but she was happy not to have the Keeper anywhere around.
And Ethan also had taken on a special solo mission.
There are so many ways this could go wrong,
she thought.
“How do you filter out all these strong emotions?” Daniel asked as they walked. She glanced back and saw that he had put his hands over his ears, as if trying to block the same sensation that she was now feeling: panic, fear, paranoia, and so much more, flooding through hundreds of thousands of individuals. Navigating the streets was challenging enough, what with so many frightened people rampaging through the city like caged animals that had been set free, without having to experience everything that they felt along the way.
“You don’t,” Alex replied.
“Then how do you deal with it? I mean, do you ever get used to it?”
Alex was about to reply when a sudden wave of nausea hit her, and she whispered, “Get down!”
Daniel, Tucker, and Xue each hit the ground just as she did, and the four of them crawled between the sea of feet and legs, behind the gates of a small dried-up garden adjacent to a tiny house.
Daniel lurched and vomited onto the ground next to him.
Tucker fought to keep his down, while Xue had reservedly turned her head away from where Alex could see. Such an instantaneous reaction could only mean one thing.
“What’s going on?” Daniel whispered, wiping his mouth with a sleeve.
“It’s got to be Trevor; he’s somewhere close by,” Alex replied. Her head popped up over the edge of the fence just enough to get a look around.
“Who’s Trevor?” Tucker asked.
“Trevor?” Daniel repeated. His expression changed.
The young British boy had the ability to nullify the powers of other Ringwearers, and an unfortunate side effect to this involuntary power was that they often felt sick in his presence. And now Trevor was under Oblivion’s thrall, no doubt combing the area for intruders . . .
Daniel squared his shoulders, glanced at her.
“Don’t even think about it, Doc,” Alex said, knowing what he was probably planning.
“Do you trust me, Alex?” he asked.
She froze. “That depends on what you’re about to do.”
“We
are
here to free the Ringwearers, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Go on without me,” he said, and Alex was already starting to protest when Daniel put up both hands to stop her. “Please, just do it. I’ll catch up. I made a promise and I have to keep it.”
He stood to a stoop and hobbled on his weak foot, hunched over, until he was around the corner and out of sight.
Alex sighed, looking helplessly at Tucker and Xue, the two people on the team she knew the least.
I really wish Grant were here.
Payton forced Devlin to crouch as they approached the Old City, and crouched likewise himself. Devlin’s hands were tied in front of him, but Payton relied on nothing else save his sword to keep his old mentor in check.
Unlike the others, who entered the city via main roads, Payton used back alleys and empty fields to make his approach, doing all he could to avoid the thousands of panicking people.
“Poor Thresher,” Devlin whispered as they knelt just outside the remains of the Damascus Gate. “Always fighting the hopeless, bitter cause.”
“It’s hardly hopeless if I’m still fighting,” Payton remarked, his alert, coiled body taking in their surroundings and making sure they hadn’t been followed.
“I shall never understand you,” Devlin said, ignoring their surroundings and the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd between them and their destination, and focusing entirely on Payton. “You hate this world as much as I do. Yet you keep fighting to save it, despite your disdain.”
“And what does that tell you?” Payton asked idly, with very little interest in hearing the old man’s answer. Tactically speaking, as long as Payton could keep his mentor talking, he wouldn’t be trying to escape and warn Oblivion.
“It speaks volumes to your greatest weakness, my boy,” Devlin replied. “After everything you’ve been through, all the times when those you loved and trusted turned on you . . . Even though you would
kill
another man for even suggesting it . . . Be honest with me now, at the end. You still believe that the human race is a thing worth saving. Don’t you?”
How Payton loathed this man. Why had he brought him along? Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely certain. Mostly he wanted to beat Devlin, to overturn all of his grand plans, and he wanted Devlin to be there to see it with his own eyes when it happened.
Yet he considered the words Devlin had spoken. None of his observations about humanity were incorrect.
Was it true?
Did
he believe that people were still worth fighting for? Payton was a legendary assassin, his skills honed to a razor’s edge and unmatched by any fighter in the world. He knew that by definition, humans were selfish creatures, given to letting their survival instinct outweigh nobler concerns.
