Prometheus Road (5 page)

Her fingers gripped the sides of his coat. “I will.”

Then the lights went out. No moonlight came down the light pipe.

“The power’s out!” Zeke yelled.

Ukiah kissed Luna and whirled toward the door, slamming his knee into the corner of a table as he lurched through the darkness.

The door was locked. They were supposed to unlock automatically in the event of a power outage. Try as he might, Ukiah couldn’t yank the door open. In his frenzy, Ukiah could think of only one reason this would have happened, and he didn’t like his conclusion. He pounded his fist against the metal. “Weed! Run, Weed!”

“She can’t hear us down here!” Luna yelled behind him in the blackness.

“Zeke! Try the light pipe!”

“I’m there,” Zeke said, pounding on something. “The window’s locked! It won’t open!”

Running his hand along the wall to guide him, Ukiah stumbled into the kitchen, grunted when he ran into the end of the countertop, then shoved his head under the hood above the cooking area and looked up into the vertical vent pipe. “Weed! Run, Weed! Get away!”

“GOOD boy,” Tom said, scratching Helix’s favorite spot on the back of his furry brown neck. In appreciation, Helix half closed his eyes and stretched out his neck. The little dog had spent the entire day where Tom had left him before sunrise, where the broad stream met the China Camp marsh at the edge of the bay. Now, the sun had dropped below the western horizon, leaving a dim golden glow in the sky above the mountain of the gods. Tom’s feet were sore and blistered from the long walk north on the crumbled and grassy remnants of the road they called “101,” but the walk was preferable to riding in the car anymore with Magnus, even if he could have driven his vehicle out of the Sausalito BART terminal. Although Tom’s experience of such things was limited to this one trip, the crazy old man had turned out to be a terrible driver, steering with one hand through the dim tunnels with his other arm propped in the open side window, driving fast enough to blow his hair in the wind, chattering constantly as the insides of the car’s tires bounced off the center mag-lev rail, first one side, then the other, back and forth, until Tom thought he was going to vomit. By concentrating on the pain of his fingernails digging into his palms, he managed to keep the butterflies contained in his stomach.

Magnus had used the time in the Buick to regale Tom with stories about the ruined cities and the people who lived there, having traveled around the western region for a few years after his escape from the rehabilitation unit in Las Vegas. Magnus had also planned to visit the cities of the Midwestern Preserve, but he had not managed to find an unprotected passage through the western barrier wall. Only delegates chosen by the gods were allowed to leave the western region for official visits to Washington, D.C., and Magnus had not wanted to risk death at the barrier portal with his forged identity chip. There were always rumors that citizens of the west had found ways to escape to the Midwestern Preserve, but Magnus had not uncovered any evidence of successful attempts during his travels. And so, he had returned home to hide and live in obscurity under a new name, building a home underwater, where the gods had less chance of finding him.

Tom pulled the marsh grass camouflage free of his skinsuit and changed into work clothes, then stuffed his gear into a backpack and started home. His boots raised dust on the game trail that wound through the weeds and tall grasses near the water’s edge. The branches of the valley oaks that covered the rolling hills around the marsh were extended over the grass like long gray tentacles. Evergreen coast live oaks, their small leaves bellied like stiff little boats, dotted the landscape along with bay trees and madrones. Many of the trees were dead, their twisted and mostly bare branches grasping at the sky, providing little cover as Tom walked among them. Helix padded along faithfully beside him, keeping his eyes peeled for birds, lizards, or other small creatures that he could protect Tom from along the way. The largest creature they had ever seen in the area was a turkey vulture, but Helix had not threatened the large bird, possibly because it could have picked up the little dog and carried him away without any trouble. Helix had a good heart, but he wasn’t stupid.

Helix stopped to growl at something he saw or smelled in the distance. Tom assumed the dog had spotted one of his sworn enemies, perhaps a blue scrub jay or a raven, but it turned out to be neither.

When he heard the voices of several men just beyond the next rise in the trail, Tom had the presence of mind to duck and soothe Helix’s nerves with a pat on the head. The voices were getting closer, and Tom recognized the deep snarl that belonged to Humboldt Gustafson. Helix started to whine, his tense body ready to spring into barking action to scare away the threat.

“It’s okay, boy,” Tom whispered.

Helix glanced at him briefly with his wide-eyed stare, as if to point out the obvious. They were obviously not safe, and Helix was ready to take charge if Tom proved to be mentally incompetent during this emergency.

Tom nodded. “You’re right. Let’s get off the trail.” As soon as he stepped off the dirt path, he knew he couldn’t go very far without attracting attention. Dry twigs and leaves snapped under his boots on the uneven ground. Tom stopped, looked around, picked up Helix under one arm, and awkwardly climbed one of the larger oak trees. When he was about twenty feet off the ground, his mouth open to minimize the sound of his heavy breathing, he stopped and looked around the trunk of the tree at a group of six men from Marinwood. They were all carrying shovels or heavy lengths of pipe, looking around warily as they walked.

“What makes you think we’ll find Tom out here?” Tom recognized Jaq Butterbean’s voice just before he spotted the hulking figure walking next to Humboldt.

“This is about where I saw him this morning,” Humboldt said. “And he has to come back sometime. When he does, we’ll nail him.” He emphasized his point with a jab of the metal pipe he carried.

“What about the wards? Won’t they spot us?” Butterbean asked.

“Not until we come out of the trees. If they happen to see us, my father will take care of it. Hermes may already know we’re here.”

Humboldt’s last remark seemed to calm the group as they passed directly under Tom’s tree. Helix started to open his mouth to bark, but Tom hugged the dog close to his chest and covered his mouth with one hand. Helix snorted instead. Beneath the tree, Humboldt frowned and turned his head to look back along the path the way they had come. “Any of you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Butterbean asked, stopping to look back.

Humboldt shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s bag Tom and get home. It’s getting dark.”

Once the group had passed around the next bend sloping toward the marsh, Tom worked his way back down the tree with Helix under one arm. As usual, Helix didn’t mind being hauled around like a sack of potatoes, accepting his fate with quiet dignity. “Good boy,” Tom whispered. “I’ll put you down in a minute.”

Tom got a good scratch on his left arm when he jumped down from the last branch, staggered on the uneven ground, and had to turn quickly to avoid smacking Helix against the trunk of the oak tree. Helix whined briefly, then realized he was okay, and stood on the path with a quizzical expression when Tom set him down. “Come on, boy. We should have a few minutes before they come back.” He jogged up the hill with Helix following at his heels. The moon wouldn’t rise for a couple of hours yet, so he wanted to get back before it was too dark to see the trail. Along the way, he could work out how he was going to explain his long absence to his parents.

WEED Eliot sat on a hay bale behind the barn and studied the story crystal that seemed so large in her small hand. Tom had found the crystal on one of his moonlight journeys; when he gave it to Weed he said it had come from a faraway land beneath the sea and that it would tell her stories if she was very good and played with it carefully. He also told her to keep it hidden so it would just be a secret between the two of them. So she kept it buried in one of her pants pockets under a wad of string, some red flower petals she had picked, and some shiny green rocks she had found along the road on one of their trips to the village market.

Looking around to make sure no one was watching, she lifted the story crystal up to her face and watched the sunlight make little rainbows in her hand. Something dark fluttered deep within the crystal’s many facets, then bright colors began to swirl and shift around inside of it. Weed held her breath, wondering what kind of story the crystal would choose to tell her today. The swirling colors inside merged with the rainbows in her hand, and an image of two little girls standing beside a Shetland pony appeared above the crystal’s top surface.

“I’m Rumtumtumbleberry,” said the little girl with black hair. She was dressed in a black hat and a long black coat of the type that Weed’s father wore.

“And I’m Bumbleberry,” said the little girl with the brown hair who looked a lot like Weed. She also wore black pants and a white shirt similar to Weed’s outfit. Weed gave them a knowing nod, aware that the people who lived in the story crystal always wore familiar clothes and looked similar to her family members. She wasn’t sure why that was the case, but accepted the fact and concentrated on the stories.

“And I’m Bumpus,” said the horse, with a happy little whinny after he said his name. “Bumpus T. Rumpus, at your service.” Bumpus didn’t look like one of Weed’s family members, although he did have a face that reminded her of Helix, their dog, who had been away with Tom all day. Now that she thought about it, she briefly wondered where Tom and Helix had gone, but her attention was quickly diverted back to the unfolding story in front of her.

Bumpus smiled. “What kind of a story would you like to hear today, Weed?”

“A good story,” Weed said with a giggle. She covered her mouth so no one would hear her.

“Oh, well,” Bumpus whinnied. “We have plenty of those, don’t we, girls?”

Both girls nodded, then Bumbleberry winked at Weed. “Would you like to hear about our adventures in the Dingly Dell today, Weed?”

Weed shook her head. The Dingly Dell stories always had mean people in them.

“Okay,” Bumbleberry said. “I have an idea. I bet you’d like to hear about our adventures in the Bungle Jungle, isn’t that right? You like the Bungle Jungle, don’t you, Weed? We know your brother likes our Bungle Jungle stories.”

Weed nodded. The Bungle Jungle had funny little animals in it. She liked little animals.

Bumbleberry clapped her hands in delight. “Righty-rootie, the Bungle Jungle it is. That’s where our friend, Bun-Bun the Bunny lives.”

Weed rolled her eyes when she heard the bunny’s name. Her friends inside the crystal were good at telling stories, but their predictable names all started to sound alike after a while—Kappy the Kangaroo, Hip-Hop the Hamster, Pimpy the Puppy—it was enough to drive a little girl mad.

An odd noise in the sky caught her attention. At first, she thought it might be the screech of a hawk, but the sound kept going. Then she saw a long, black sausage shape that didn’t look like a bird at all. It seemed to be floating like a balloon, but if it was a balloon, it was a very big one.

“One day,” Bumbleberry began, capturing Weed’s attention again, “Bun-Bun was out hopping in the jungle with Piggle Wiggle and Melvin the Monkey. It was a bright and sunny day, and for once there were no hungry crocodiles waiting on the path beside the watering hole where they liked to swim.” An image of the three smiling animals, holding hands and bouncing down the jungle trail, appeared above the story crystal. Bumbleberry, Rumpus, and Rumtumtumbleberry were watching the story unfold along with Weed, who thought it was nice to have friends watching the story with her. Remembering the floating black sausage, Weed glanced up at the sky again, but it was gone. That seemed strange to her, but she didn’t think about it much because Goofy Gazelle, one of her favorite jungle characters, had just appeared on the path, and he had put up a sign so he could charge admission to the watering hole. The other animals were busy hunting for money in their pockets until they realized they didn’t have any pockets. Weed smiled at first, then her expression switched to a frown. The animals were funny, but she felt bad because they wouldn’t be able to swim on a hot day. Then Goofy Gazelle laughed and said he was only kidding, and they could all swim together in the watering hole for free.

Aware that this was just the beginning of the story, Weed wanted to get more comfortable. The straw in the bale was poking into her legs. She slid down behind the bale, resting her back on the cool grassy berm that formed the back wall of the barn, leaving her feet propped up on the straw. The breeze was getting cooler now that the sun had gone down, and the bale gave off a pleasantly sweet fragrance.

As the jungle animals dove into the watering hole, surrounded by jungle trees that were damp from the mist in the waterfall, Weed heard another odd sound—a kind of high-pitched shriek—and the dark sky suddenly began to brighten. That was strange, since the sun had just gone down, and the glow was brighter than moonlight. And getting brighter. She heard a low rumbling like thunder as the earth trembled beneath her. The jungle characters continued on about their business, laughing and splashing, but Weed’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened.

The thunder spoke.

And then the light was everywhere.

Weed shut her eyes tight.

TOM and Helix were about a mile from home, coming down the last hill in the deep darkness beneath the tall pine and oak trees, when a bright flash caught his attention. Helix yelped, then a huge, invisible hand from a shock wave knocked them both flat on the ground behind an outcropping of granite. Startled, Tom began to sit up again when a wave of intense heat rolled past, partly deflected by the granite shelf. It took only a few seconds before he realized which direction the blast had come from. He rolled over and hauled himself to his feet, using the granite shelf to support him as his head spun. The back of his head hurt, so he assumed the dizziness had something to do with that, but he could work that out later. He had to see what was going on.