Nemesis: Book Four (9 page)

She sat down beside him, facing the motel room.

"I wanted everything planned out. I wanted college, and you, and a good job, and then kids one day. I wanted what everyone wants. That's all gone, though, now. My parents…." Her voice cracked as she said it, but she didn't move her hands to her face.

A deep guilt settled in the middle of Bryan's stomach. Her parents. Dead. He sat outside by himself, his head against a wall, while Julie would never speak to her parents again. Had he asked how she felt? Had he followed her anywhere, to ask any questions, to understand at all what she was going through? His parents still lived, were still breathing, and yet he took no stock in it. Indeed, he couldn't stand being around them, and yet his girlfriend of years didn't have parents anymore. She was alone, at least as alone as he was himself, but yet he remained in his own head.

"It's all gone," she repeated, having no idea the thoughts moving through his head. "And I guess the only connection I really have to any of that is you, Bryan. You and Michael. But something is different with him, has been different since… since you showed back up." She looked up at him. "I can't help you, and I know that. Not any more than you can help me. But I can be here, Bryan. I can be someone to talk to, and I want to do that, because if I don't, then there's nothing left. That's what I realized. There's nothing left if our communication is dead."

"He has to come back," Bryan said. "Michael has to come back."

He didn't look down at Julie, just kept his eyes closed leaning against his forearm. He knew by her pause, though, that she was surprised.

"Why?" she said after a second.

"Because I'm not sure anyone else on Earth is going to live if he doesn't."

T
he needles bloomed
like black roses in Michael's skin, each one carrying a poison that he felt seeping into his hand. His own blood picked the poison up and swept it through his body, where it infected the cells moving around it. Michael felt all of this, like some kind of detailed map inside his body, one that he could follow in intricate detail.

He felt it moving through him, and yet that wasn't what he concerned himself with.

Because he
saw
for the first time. He saw what Bryan had seen, what Bryan tried to tell him about. The poison moving through him was imprinting on him, leaving memories, leaving knowledge.

He saw her.

Morena.

Mother.

He understood Bryan's fear. He understood why Thera died. He understood why the ground shook and the dirt beneath their feet was displaced by white strands. Because of her.

Michael fought the poison, fought it even while he relished in the knowledge given to him. He knew that this floating thing in front of him was taking over, possessing him. He had been drawn here, to this magnificent being, and he understood why now, because
he
, Briten, drew Michael. He called for Michael—
Briten, his name is Briten
—for this very reason, because he needed passage. His body, the one hanging, was nearly dead.

Why? Why did he need passage?

The answer struck Michael like lightning strikes a metal pole sticking up alone from the ground. Bright and fantastic, followed by silence and electrically charged air.

This creature loved the other.

Her husband? Was that the truth? Michael thought so, though the words jumbled inside him, even as the poison traveled up his arm, spreading to his heart, to his head.

He loves her. He loves her more than I ever loved Thera. He loves her more than I loved my mother.
Michael didn't know if he had ever seen such a connection as the one he now witnessed. Flashes of memory passed over to him, colors everywhere—
Auras, Michael. They're Auras
—and violence. Something happened to these two, and now they were separated. He on this side and she on the other.

He wants to get back to her. That's all he wants, and he's going to use me to do it.

Michael had walked the entire way here with a sense of calm. He had traveled in reality while colors floated around him as if he was on some LSD trip—while the rest of his group could barely hold it together, he stayed level-headed. Now, as this stranger took over his body, fear finally took hold. Fear of the relationship he saw between the two of them, fear of what it meant for him to be wrapped up in it, to be used as an intermediary. Fear because he recognized that this thing would dispose of him with a blink if it meant moving closer to his love. Michael started fighting, tried to gain control again. Tried to will his body to reject the poison, to eject it out the same thousand holes it entered through.

He knew he would lose the battle, though.

He knew that this creature's will wouldn't be bent. Not for him, not for anyone except perhaps the being he loved.

Michael let go, and a world of red grabbed hold.

“
H
i
, everyone. I appreciate you all coming on such short notice, but I need to tell the American people what is happening in Georgia. I was alerted two days ago by my security counsel that there had been a nuclear reactor leak in Savannah, Georgia. Now, that’s a town on the coast of Georgia, with access to both the Atlantic ocean and the rest of our nation.

“Georgia Power did not adequately quarantine the area in the first hour of the meltdown, and consequently, radiation began to pour into our atmosphere as well as the ocean. I reacted decisively once this was known, ordering an immediate evacuation of the entire state. I would like to thank Georgia’s Governor and his entire staff for their willingness to work so easily with us on this. It saved lives.

“I want to be clear about what we’re doing. We are working around the clock, over a thousand man hours each day, working to control this reactor’s release, and we’re about twenty-four hours from having it completely contained.

“I know that people are going to want to know what it means to them, what it means to their health, to their families, to their livelihood.

“I want to say this once, and I want to say it firmly: Georgia will be livable again within the next two months. The nuclear material at the plant was one with a very,
very
short half-life, meaning that the radiation will be at undetectable levels in sixty days.

“So far, there have been no deaths or radiation poisoning from the reactor. If God is willing, there will be none in the future.

“The EPA acted quickly to contain this and remove the American people from harm’s way.

“Now my administration is going to act quickly to make sure that everyone displaced from their home, from their jobs, are completely reimbursed. For too long in America, corporations have taken advantage of the American people, the very people that pay their salaries. It’s not going to happen any longer, especially not with this horrible and dangerous situation. Georgia Power
will
pay for all the harm they’ve caused. They will pay any medical bill that comes up. They will pay for the living arrangements of those displaced, for the lost wages, and anything else that their carelessness has caused.”

H
elos looked at The Makers
.

No intergalactic sign told her she had arrived at the feet of gods, but then gods needed no sign. Helos knew she was in front of The Makers because….

One knew when one looked at forever. Like love, like the love her daughter felt for Briten, no one needed describe those feelings to Morena for her to identify love. Helos was perhaps the first Bynum ever to see the creators of all.

She stood in the middle of a globe, a circular shape encapsulating her form. Across the surface of the circle the colors of black and white moved interchangeably. They flowed into one another, creating gray, and back out again, taking on their original shades. The globe was massive, appearing limitless, and yet Helos felt she could reach out and touch the side, could stick her finger right into the swirling colors.

Were they The Makers? The colors? Were those the auras of gods?

Quiet,
she told herself.
It is not your time to think. It is your time to observe, and wait.

So she did, inside the massive ball, not wondering what came next, not making judgments. Only watching. Helos knew of the universe, knew that if you started traveling in a straight line across it, eventually—just like on a planet—you would return to your starting point. That's what she thought of as she looked upon the black entity that held her the way an ocean holds a grain of salt. That this thing was somehow the universe, and she was somehow seeing it from a vantage point that allowed her to see everything. Always expanding, always closed.

Time passed, slow or fast it didn't matter. At some point, different portions of the moving colors began to light up, brightening as if someone turned a light on behind them. They stayed bright for a few seconds, and then returned to their normal state.

They're talking
, Helos thought.
They're communicating with each other. They're watching me and communicating.
Nothing told her if any of that was true, but it felt so.

Why have you brought me here, out of death?
She asked the globe.

The entirety of it lit all at once, blinding her, forcing Helos down into a subjugated stance. She tried to shield herself from the light shining all around, from the heat emanating. It burned, and she thought, calmly, that this was the end. The Makers brought her back from death simply to kill her again. She didn't panic, didn't try to run or mount a counterattack.

She remained huddled within herself, only trying to live beneath the greatness pressing down on her.

Eventually the light faded, the heat relented, leaving her able to look around again.

No words. No more colors lighting. Only the soft, endless swirl they made as they moved across the surface.

Wait. That's what they meant by that. Wait and have patience.

M
arks had been
inside the tent with the creature for an hour. No one else was allowed in. Not guards, not even Knox.

The General didn't care, really. He had no interest in going in there and trying to converse with whatever the hell that thing was. Marks did, and that's what truly concerned Knox. Marks sent Will in, and got back something from another world. He
did
use the neutron bomb, but why would he spend so much time in there talking to it? The end game was simple: defeat the enemy. Yet for the past hour, no one had worked on that objective. It seemed that Marks was waiting for the time he had to report back to the President, hoping that the creature might be able to give him something more than
"It didn't work."

That's what Knox wanted to think, anyway, though he doubted it was true. Marks was plotting something else besides trying to kill the invasive species.

Knox put the binoculars to his eyes again, for what felt like the millionth time. Something changed each time he did it, though. Changed plenty—the white cake was moving, spreading out miles and miles beyond Grayson.

The bottom line, the neutron bomb did nothing, as far as anyone could tell—except perhaps make a large portion of Georgia uninhabitable for a little while. Perhaps wiped out whatever wildlife still remained.

And then Marks disappeared, leaving Knox with the Rigley woman and his assistant.

Neither of whom he wanted to speak with, at all.

"Lieutenant," he said, pulling the binoculars back down.

"Yes, sir?" The man stood behind Knox, to his right.

"Go see what Marks is doing. Don't say anything, just see if he's speaking with it."

"Yes, sir."

Knox waited, staring out at the coming dawn. The sun was on the way up, the moon on the way down, and when morning came, the world would be changed. No one could hide it after the sun rose. The President would get on television and say whatever he wanted, but other countries had satellites too, and they would see exactly the same thing Knox did sooner or later. Whatever hid this shit from aerial views right now wouldn't hold other countries back forever. They would know, and soon. The jig was nearly up, and real warfare would start. No more covert operations. No more bombs in the dark. The military would come in and wipe out everything not of this planet. He didn't know if Marks understood that yet, but Knox would tell him, and if he didn't listen, then surely the President would make him.

Marks' way of doing things was done here, and thank God for it. Marks' way had gotten a lot of people killed, and one possessed by something no one understood. Marks would change, one way or another, because Knox wouldn’t stand here and watch the whole world burn.

"Sir," the lieutenant said from behind him. "He is talking to the prisoner."

"Thank you," Knox said, turning around. He handed the binoculars to his subordinate and walked across the open tent. He paused, looking at the men and women hovering near the computer bank. They wanted to know the same thing he had: did it work? The answer stared them all in the face, just as it did Knox. "Get back to your posts. We're still at war."

He heard
Yes, sirs
go up around the room. The group dispersed quickly, as if realizing that they had been hypnotized by the computer screen's glow.

Time to go
, Knox thought, though he didn't want to. He hated being around Marks, but being around Will—or what was left of Will—somehow felt even worse.

He left the tent, walking outside under the moonlight, purposefully not looking in the direction of the white cake. The stuff was moving fast, and while Knox didn't
think
he would be able to see it with his eyes alone, he didn't want to look and find himself mistaken on that front. Instead, he focused on the tent he was heading to, the tent Marks stood in talking to the thing from another planet.

The guards on either side of the opening saluted as he approached. The flaps were down, but Knox reached forward, lifting the one on the right. It was heavy, a thick thing, but necessary for such a large structure. He looked in but didn't stop moving, either. He needed to be inside, needed Marks to see that things were going to move forward now—at a different clip than what he had been dictating.

The General let the flap fall behind him. The silence in the room was thick, like the humid heat of a rainforest. Marks had been talking to the prisoner, but no more. Neither of the two bodies in front of Knox moved, or said a single word. The flap had made noise when falling back into place, but Marks didn't turn around.

"Sir," Knox said from his spot at the front of the tent.

"General Knox."

"Our strike failed."

"Did it?" Marks asked, the levity normally underlying his words stolen from him—leaving him sounding empty, a husk. Knox said nothing for a second, because he knew the man was being a smart ass. He knew as well as Knox what happened, that's why he was in here and not out there staring at the computers like the rest.

"Why have you come here?" Marks asked.

"I want permission to do as I see fit in regards to the growth."

"The white cake?" Marks said, though Knox didn’t know whether the question was directed at him or to the air surrounding them.

"Yes, sir."

Marks turned around, his movements fluid, but still as crisp as any soldier Knox had ever commanded. His face was still, there were no lines of worry, no lines of stress. Rather Marks looked serene, as if he had just come out of a mediation session. Even now, he wasn't perturbed, wasn't scared shitless about what they faced. Marks wasn’t displaying leadership, but rather insanity.

"What would you like to do? Fire doesn't work. Radiation hasn't worked. What else do you have up your sleeves, General Knox?"

"I didn't come here to negotiate."

Marks smiled. "No, you didn't. You came to try and get ahold of the situation, one you feel that I've let get disastrously out of control. Is that about right?"

"Yes, sir," Knox said, sincerely hoping the nervousness ripping through his veins wasn't visible.

"Well, go ahead, then. Get control of it, General."

Knox stared at him for a few seconds, unsure what to say, not expecting the answer he received. Finally Marks turned back around and stared at the creature inside the cage, not saying a word.

K
enneth Marks listened
to the General leave. He looked at the creature in the cell, thinking not so much about what Knox said, but about what Kenneth Marks would do next. He didn't care in the slightest what Knox tried to do, or what the President wanted. They could send in the entire United Nations. It didn't matter. No one else understood what they were up against. No one else had any idea what this thing needed to see, what would bring it to reason.

Kenneth Marks didn't know yet either, but he was learning, and fast.

He couldn't deny, standing with his back to the alien, that he was vexed. He wanted the neutron bomb to work, wanted her offspring to wither underneath the radiation. She could fly, though the white strands couldn't, and so she could have escaped the falling death. He still had other options, but they put her at more danger than Marks wanted. Bend her to his will, but don't break her. Kenneth Marks knew he would never get another chance at this, that no other creature would travel in his lifetime—none with the power to raise him up.

Destiny.

Kenneth Marks knew all about destiny, because he could see into the future; he could follow the roads of inputs until their definite end. All inputs, all the time. Everyone had a destiny, and he stood in the presence of his. He only had to figure out the right inputs. For so long in his life he had picked the inputs out of the air as easily as one would a piece of fruit in a grocery store. The inputs were always clear, always right there for him to see, and yet now, that ability escaped him. He was missing something, and when he got right down to it, that was what vexed him.

Not the failed neutron bomb.

Not the creature refusing to speak besides that awful laugh.

Not Knox questioning his plans.

Not Rigley going off target.

Not the President being an idiot.

He couldn't figure out the right input, yet it was all around him. It wasn't hiding; he just wasn't recognizing it.

Kenneth Marks focused on the figure standing in the cage. All of the same attributes of Will, except Will wasn't there. The laughter still echoed across the room, the only noise the thing was willing to make. Kenneth Marks tried speaking to it when he came in, but realized quickly it was a fool's errand.

"You're going to see," he whispered. "Even if you don't now. Because I know what you are, more than anyone else on Earth. You're a mother, aren't you? The rest of this, the theatrics, the laughter, it's all just show. You came like any other migrating species, trying to make a home. Yet you brought children. I'll show you, then, since you refuse to see now. They'll all die. One by one, or all at once—it makes no difference to me. And in the end, it'll be you and I, and then you'll know I belong because I defeated you."

W
ill heard
Marks even if the creature with him didn’t.

Morena. He knew her name now. The time that he spent in silence let him explore some, though he didn't get too much further than her name. Otherworldly, without a doubt. What exactly she wanted, he didn't know—too many things were going on with her to truly understand anything. She seemed capable of thought that encompassed everything, beyond just space, but actual time.

Will watched, but only out of fascination. Like a high school student watching some math PhD figuring out formulas on a whiteboard. Beautiful, but utterly useless to the student.

Marks, though. Will understood him. They dropped a neutron bomb, but not for any reasons that the President might think. Safety of population. Time available after to march in. Lack of structural damage. None of that mattered in the slightest to Marks. He did it because he wanted to kill the thing's… colonization. Will didn't know any other way to think about the growth. Morena, the white strands, all of it trying to spread across the planet in a colonization effort. Marks wanted to harm that, but not to stop the creature, nor the advancement.

He wanted….

And Christ, Will thought he understood the man's insanity before, but it went deeper than any hole ever dug on Earth.

He wanted to scare it into… taking him as an apprentice?

Will would have laughed if he had the ability—a real one, not the effort the alien attempted. The idea was absurd, ridiculous on a level that no out of control dictator could ever truly consider. This thing possessing him, it held no regard for anything of this world. It was as cold as the space it descended from. She held no interest in Marks, didn't have any desire to teach someone from this place—and teach him what? How to fly? How to have color float around him? The whole goddamn thing felt like some childhood dream, like putting a cape on your back and running around the house as if you were Superman.

Will’s mind filled with those two thoughts: Morena and Marks. The third was how to end this. He never thought he would end up a prisoner, some POW in an unknown war. He wanted to watch Marks suffer, but was slowly coming to realize that he might want freedom—through death or actual life, it didn't matter—more than seeing Marks’ ending. Will no longer had any doubt that his end would come, and most likely before all of this was over. He didn't know if anyone could defeat the creature holding sway over his body.

He wanted a way out.

He didn't want to sit inside here any more, in this mental cage, having this creature use his vocal chords to mock someone that didn't even know how far out of his depth he had gone. Will had no control, though—no ability to end his life. He should have used the pill Knox gave him, rather than being caught up in the creature's majesty.

Morena had wanted to see Marks, and it couldn't
just
be to sit in a cage, laughing. She must have another reason, and maybe when she moved on it… just maybe he would find his release?

Will had only time, nothing else. Time to sit and think on his death.

That girl had been in a similar situation, hadn't she? Thera? Yes, he thought so—she had sat a prisoner in her own mind, with this creature, Morena, controlling her as it controlled him now. He wondered what she thought at her end? Wondered if she wanted blessed escape as badly as he did? Or did she want to live? Did she still think about the rest of her life left to live, and fear the darkness that surely would come?

W
ill had
no way to tell time, but the moon still shone when Rigley walked in. She moved under the tent's drape the same as everyone else, but… something was different. Everyone else, the guards as well as Marks and Knox, came with a weight attached to them. Like they dragged a massive anchor hanging from their necks.

Rigley walked as if her feet moved across clouds instead of the pavement that they set this operation on. She still
looked
like Rigley, her hair cut the same way, but changes underlay that as well. The way her face looked, the way her eyes danced, all of it a different person than the one Will left when he went into Grayson. So different that for a brief second, Will wondered if something hadn't also possessed her as it had him.

She came in, moving quickly, her feet making no noise on the asphalt. No one followed; she was alone.

Rigley stopped a foot from the cage, and Jesus, she was smiling. Not a sad smile, but a manic one. Something closer to Marks' smile than anything Will ever saw her wear before.

Questions roared through his mind, but his body stood still.

"Will?" she said. "Are you there?"

He didn't try to answer, didn't try to force any of his questions. All of that was pointless. She was talking to a mannequin.

"I didn't come here for you, if you're listening. I came for the thing that brought you here. I just wanted
you
to know, you were right about Marks. I finally see that. He doesn't control me anymore, Will. I'm free and it feels better than anything I've ever known."