Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack) (65 page)

It’s me. Christ, it’s me.

Glaeken’s eyes bored into his, penetrating to his soul. Bill and Ba too were staring at him.

But their faces were replaced by Gia’s and Vicky’s. Even if, somehow, they were still alive, if he cut and run now they’d have no chance. If this hilt-and-blade thing worked—still a big if—things could never be the same between him and them, but at least he’d be able to give them a chance of survival.

“Damn it!” he said through his clenched teeth. “God
damn
it!” He stepped forward and snatched the hilt from Bill. “No sense in wasting any more time. Let’s get this shit over with.”

With a single swift motion he positioned the hilt over the spike and—paused. He didn’t want this.

But if it’s gotta be, it’s gotta be.

He set his jaw and pushed the hilt onto the spike.

And waited.

And waited.

He jiggled the hilt. Loose. No fusion.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe cry. Because the inescapable truth was that the instrument, the sword, whatever it was, didn’t work. No signal would be going out.

We’re all screwed.

He looked up and saw Glaeken gaping at him.

Glaeken balled his fists to keep from shouting.

No! This couldn’t be! He’d done everything right! The sword was fresh, new, and ready! Why didn’t—?

“Well, then, who is it?” he heard Carol say in a high voice verging on rage. “It’s got to be somebody!” She turned to Glaeken. “And who said it has to be a man?”

Glaeken had no answer for that, and Carol wasn’t waiting for one anyway. She reached past Jack, lifted the hilt, and slammed it back down.

With no more effect than anyone before her.

“Don’t tell me we went through all this for nothing!” she said. “It’s got to—” She turned to the figure watching from the far end of the room. “Sylvia! Sylvia, you try it. Please.”

Sylvia wiped away a tear. “I don’t…”

“Just come over and do it.”

Leading Jeffy by the hand, Sylvia approached the instrument. She made eye contact with no one.

“This is a waste of time,” she said.

The words proved too true. She released Jeffy, lifted the hilt, and rammed it home.

Nothing.

How pathetic they are.

Rasalom’s expanded consciousness has witnessed the members of Glaeken’s circle stride up to the odd conglomeration of metals and spirit standing in the center of the room, each so full of hope and noble purpose, and watched each of them fail. He relishes the growing despair in the room, thickening and congealing until it is almost palpable.

And something else growing there … anger.

When their trite little totem fails, they will begin to turn on each other.

Luscious.

The Bunker

Burrowers, living and dead and dying, littered the floor. They ran six to seven feet in length and moved with an obscene, undulating motion. They’d backed Gia, Vicky, and Abe into the corner by the bathroom. Gia had Vicky hidden behind the bathroom door while she and Abe did what damage they could to the invaders. The burrowers would have overrun them by now if the live ones hadn’t paused to taste the dead and the nearly so.

Gia’s gorge rose at the sight of them tearing into their inert brothers, knowing they’d soon be doing the same to the three humans down here. The dying burrowers jerked and spasmed as they were eaten. Unbidden images of Vicky at their mercy, eaten alive, flashed through her brain.

For the first time in her life she almost felt it might be a good thing that Emma hadn’t made it.

Almost.

She couldn’t imagine, couldn’t allow her child to die like this. Better a quick clean death than …

But could she do it? Even if it was the best thing for Vicky, a merciful gift, could she aim this shotgun at her daughter and pull the trigger?

Listen to me. I’ve got us dead already. And we’re not. Jack and Glaeken are still out there. They’ll come up with something. They’ve got to.

But when? Oh God,
when
?

Manhattan

Glaeken watched Sylvia tug the hilt free of the spike and turn in a slow circle. This time she made eye contact—and her gaze was withering.

“This is it?” her voice bitter, brittle. “This is all we get? Alan loses his life, Jeffy sinks back into autism, all for what? For nothing?”

“Maybe it’s Nick,” Bill said.

“No,” Sylvia said, her voice rimed with disdain. “It’s not Nick.”

Jack shook his head. “Maybe it wasn’t refurbished right. Or like Glaeken said, maybe it’s too late. Maybe the signal can’t get through.”

“Oh, it’s too late all right.” She continued her slow turn. “Too late for Alan and Jeffy.” Finally she stopped and glared at him. “But it’s not too late for you, is it?”

Glaeken felt his mouth going dry. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do.” She lifted the hilt higher, straining against its weight. “This is yours, isn’t it?”

“Its predecessor was, before it was melted down and—”

“It’s
still
yours, isn’t it?”

Glaeken swallowed. Sylvia was trespassing along a path he dearly wished her to avoid.

“Not anymore. Someone new must take it up now.”

“But it wants you.”

“No.” What was she
saying
? “I served my time—
more
than my time. Someone else—”

“But what if no one but the wonderful
Glaeken
will do?” She spat his name.

“That’s not possible.”

She lifted the hilt still higher, her expression fierce.

“Try it. Just try it. Let’s see what happens. Then we’ll know for sure.”

“You don’t understand,” Glaeken said. His arthritic lower back was shooting pain down his left leg so he eased himself into the straight-back chair against the wall behind him. “It can’t be me. It’s not possible.”

He saw Jack step closer to Sylvia. He kept his voice low but Glaeken made out the words.

“Chill, Sylvia. Look at him. He’s all rusted up. Even if he’s the one it wants, what can he do against all that’s going on out there?”

Sylvia stared Glaeken’s way a moment longer, then shook her head.

“Maybe. But there’s something else going on here.” She handed the hilt to Jack. “You figure it out.”

Jack glanced down at the gold and silver hilt in his hand, then looked at Bill.

“Only one other person left to try. It’s crazy, but what’s new about that?”

As they led Nick to the blade, wrapped his hands around the hilt, and guided it over the butt spike, Glaeken rose stiffly and walked down the hall to the rear of the apartment. He needed to be alone, away from the oppressive despair in the living room.

He stopped at Magda’s bedroom and looked in. She was sleeping. That was all she seemed to do these days. Maybe it was a blessing. He took a seat at her bedside and held her hand.

Sylvia and the others didn’t—couldn’t—understand. He was
tired.
They didn’t know how tired one could be after all this living. To have engineered one last victory, or merely to have launched a final battle against Rasalom would have been wonderful. He could have gone blissfully to his death then. But that was not to be. He would die in the darkness like everyone else—no …
worse
than everyone else. Rasalom had something special reserved for him.

Still, he couldn’t risk even going near the instrument. Who knew what the reaction might be? It might start everything over again, and once more he would be in the thrall of the ally power. Its champion. Its slave. Forever.

I’ve done my part. I’ve contributed more than my share. They cannot ask for more.

Someone
else
had to carry on the fight.

The Bunker

“Are we going to die?”

Gia looked down into Vicky’s wide, terrified blue eyes. Abe had pushed her into the bathroom with Vicky, saying he’d hold off the burrowers as long as he could, then come in and join them for a final defense.

She could hear him out there, back to the door, firing round after round at the advancing creatures; she imagined the flying bits of maggot flesh, the splattering yellow goo. Part of her felt she should be out there with him, but another knew her place was here as her daughter’s last defense.

“No. We’re not going to die.” She hoped she sounded convincing. “We’ve got Jack working on it. Remember?”

She nodded but didn’t smile. She almost always smiled at the mention of Jack’s name. “Yeah, Jack. He’ll fix it.”

Oh, the faith of youth.

“He sure will. And when—”

Gia yelped and Vicky screamed as something heavy slammed against the steel door, rattling it on its hinges and leaving a soccer ball–size dent.

The gunfire from the other side stopped.

“Abe?” Gia banged on the door. Oh, no!
“Abe!”