Prometheus Road (6 page)

The landscape was on fire. Many of the trees lower on the hillside were burning, bright flames licking at the night sky, dark smoke streaming away on the salty breeze. Yet it wasn’t a simple fire or explosion that Tom saw farther out on the flat fields—a crater was forming, growing as it went, the ground collapsing like mud or hot lava into a deepening pit. The air over the crater shimmered with a soft blue glow, crackling with static electricity in the night air, smelling of ozone, burning wood, and the heat of shattered dreams. The earth rumbled, swaying back and forth in a slow rhythm that upset Tom’s stomach. Glowing mud pots formed in the soil of the fields, bubbling and hissing as the ground continued to liquefy and steam, adding sulfurous fumes to the air while the gates of hell widened to devour the Eliot farm.

Helix whined, watching the sight beside his master, so Tom picked up the little dog to comfort him, wondering who would pick him up for comforting as his life sank into the boiling crater of his past, taking his parents, his sister, his brother, and their home along with it. There was nothing that could have prepared him for this sight, nothing to give the unreal moment a frame of reference so he could retain his sanity, nothing that could stop the screaming he suddenly realized was coming from his mouth.

There would be no going home again.

SUSPENDED in her liquid of life, her white robes drifting on the surface of the orange-lit pool like some huge butterfly trapped in amber, the Oracle’s body suddenly tensed and began to convulse, her physical form seized in the grip of a time-space shock wave that only she could sense fully, living in the spaces between the worlds where the sudden, definitive event in this history of Marinwood rippled out through many worlds and many paths, sealing off threads of futures to come as it created new threads of dynamic potential, shifting universes and reflecting futures past. Her heart hammered in her chest as her white eyes rolled back into her head. Storms of time raged against darkness and light, fighting for superiority, creating new combinations of tomorrow and tomorrow.

Waves rocked the Oracle’s life tank, causing shadows to jump across the ceiling, chasing each other in a wild dance through crevices and stalactites. Then her body began to settle, convulsions became twitches, and the waves became ripples. Her heart slowed, her breathing became more regular, her exhausted eyes gently closed to seek the peace of sleep and dreams.

Her vision turned inward, and she knew the end had begun.

“THERE he is!”

Tom turned at the shout so close behind him, just in time to see the massive form of Humboldt hurtling toward him. The man looked like a demon in the flickering light from the flaming trees. Stunned from the sight he had just witnessed, Tom gazed dully at Humboldt, seeing it all in slow motion, wondering if he would even bother to try dodging the blow. The rest of Humboldt’s group stood a few feet away, their eyes wide and intent on Tom, unaware that the world was burning at the bottom of the hill or too dull-witted to care. These were the boys he had gone to school with, been tormented by when he was younger, and who now chose to hunt him down because he was too different from the rest of them. Tom saw all of them as being built on the same human model, almost as if they were clones like he’d read about in his father’s books, with small, glazed brown eyes sunk in piggy faces atop hulking bodies, too big and slow to do anything but physical labor. And the biggest of them was about to smash Tom flat against the granite outcropping where he stood, a long metal pipe gripped in his left hand like a spear.

Tom stepped to one side, grabbed the passing metal pipe, and tripped Humboldt, who continued on past Tom and sprawled against the rocky ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Butterbean step into the fiery glow from downhill, and turned just in time to see a shovel close to his face. Tom ducked and raised an arm, deflecting the shovel’s path but feeling intense pain in his arm as he stumbled backward and fell on top of Humboldt, who grunted under his weight, then tried to grab Tom’s arms and hold his back flat against his chest. Seeing another opening, Butterbean moved in with his shovel and took another swing, and Tom remembered what his father had taught him about turning the other cheek—just long enough to surprise an attacker and fight back. Now his father was dead along with the rest of his family, and people like this were responsible for it, and that made him angry.

Tom took the blow from the shovel in his ribs, then he saw popping lights in his vision, but he managed to roll over Humboldt’s head and swing upward with his pipe, catching Butterbean under the jaw. Butterbean nearly flew over the granite outcropping. Humboldt rotated and kicked Tom in the side of the head, then Tom glimpsed the rest of the group running toward him as he rolled a few times over broken sticks and rocks that cut his arms and face.

Helix had been watching the entire fight from a safe perch on top of a log, which was fine with Tom because he didn’t want the little dog to get hurt. However, Helix had only been biding his time, waiting for an opening. With Humboldt off-balance, Helix ran forward, bit him on the leg, rolled his eyes happily when Humboldt screamed, then released his prey and darted back to his log before the big man could hit him. With Helix running back and forth, several of the men stumbled against each other to avoid tripping over the dog, leaving only three to swing pipes at Tom from different directions. Tom blocked two of them with his own pipe when he jumped up out of the dirt, but the third caught him on his left side, knocking him back against a tree. The rough bark ripped open the back of his shirt.

Then Tom remembered his family again, his anger submerged the pain, and the steel pipe he carried became an extension of his arm, whistling back and forth in wild arcs, cutting through the clusters of men in the flickering light as if they were stalks of wheat waiting to be harvested. And they fell like wheat, except for the yelling and screaming. Then he had no more attackers, which was good since he was perched on the edge of a granite ledge jutting out over a long, rocky slope in the darkness. Helix cocked his head in Tom’s direction, then snapped to attention again and growled.

That was when Humboldt hit Tom with an oak branch that snapped across his shoulders. It wasn’t as hard as one of the pipes or shovels, but it was heavy, and it was enough to knock Tom off the ledge.

He landed on his feet, hurting one ankle, then rolled down the steep slope, slamming into logs, bouncing off rocks, filling his boots and his mouth with loose dirt as he spun through the darkness, desperately trying to flail his arms and legs enough to stop his descent, feeling every part of his body that had been damaged in the fight along with the new pains he was collecting on the way down. It was a welcome relief to smash into a large bush that halted his flight.

Helix bounded down the slope and slid to a stop next to Tom’s head before sniffing his hair and finally licking the side of his face. Tom groaned and raised two fingers to scratch Helix’s chest, and that seemed to satisfy the dog’s curiosity, because he sat down to lick his front paws.

Tom heard moaning and voices at the top of the slope high overhead. “Did you kill him, then?” someone asked. It sounded like Butterbean, but Tom wasn’t sure at that distance.

“Think so,” Humboldt said. “Not sure. But I’m not climbing down there in the dark to find out. We can check in the morning. Let’s collect the lads and drag them home.”

“What if he gets away?”

“After a fall like that, and the beating we gave him? If he can still stand up, he’s a stronger man than I am. He’s not going anywhere.”

Tom agreed with Humboldt. He didn’t feel like going anywhere. For that matter, he didn’t have anywhere to go.

“PSSST!”

Tempest was lying facedown across her bed, on top of the blankets, her head hanging over the side. She had finally found a position she could fall asleep in, and had been resting peacefully for about half an hour when the odd noise at her open window woke her up. At first, she thought she had dreamed it. She lifted her head, but saw only the moonlight on the little flower garden at the bottom of the light pipe outside her window. Then she heard it again, a whisper in the darkness. “Psssst! Tempest!”

She sat up, then pulled the blanket in front of her to hide her body. The silhouette of a head with wild hair appeared in the glass, backlit by the blue moonlight. “Can you come out?”

Tom. She shuddered, wondering how to respond. If her father found out he was there . . .

“Tempest?”

“Ssshh!” She motioned for him to be quiet, then stood to approach the window, feeling the soreness in her back muscles from her time in the shock box the previous day. “Go away,” she whispered. “You can’t be here.”

“I can’t be anywhere,” Tom said. “Let me in.”

“No! I can’t!”

“You come out, then.”

“Are you crazy? If my father sees you, or if Humboldt hears you—”

Tom snorted. “Humboldt already found me once tonight. We had a nice chat. He made some good points, I made mine, and we came to sort of an agreement.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m not worried about your father, either. What’s he going to do if he finds me here, blow up our farm?”

Tempest caught the tone in Tom’s voice. “What an odd thing to say.”

“I guess you haven’t heard. They’re blowing up Eliots left and right around here this week.”

She shook her head. “What? What do you mean?”

“They—bombed our farm. Nanobomb. Nothing left.” His voice broke. He sighed heavily and leaned against the windowsill, then rested his forehead on his arm.

“By the gods,” Tempest said, moving forward to place her hand on his head. “You’re serious.”

He nodded. “Never been more serious.”

“But that’s never, I mean, it must be a mistake. It couldn’t have been—” Tempest noticed her fingers were wet. Her eyes widened when she raised her hand and saw the shiny blood. “You’re hurt!”

“You could say that. This hasn’t been the best night of my life.” He slumped more heavily against the window.

She looked around for something to use as a bandage, then started to tear up one of the sheets from her bed. Tom waved his hand. “Don’t bother. Too many cuts. I’d end up wrapped like a mummy.”

She paused, then stood and started toward her bathroom. “Wait. I’ve got something.”

Tom sighed, but he patiently waited until she returned and sprayed some healing foam on his head and the other cuts she could reach. She took a deep breath, then helped him climb through the window and lie down on the floor so she could spray the wounds on the rest of his body. He had dark bruises forming almost everywhere. While she worked, he closed his eyes, waiting for her to finish. He looked exhausted, and she couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if she were in the same position with no safe place to hide, nowhere to run, his family and home gone, an outcast in his own village.

“Where will you go?” she asked, offering him water from the pitcher by her bed.

Tom blinked, took a drink, then squinted at her in the dim moonlight from the window. “Where do you want to go?”

“Me?” She gasped and sat back on her heels. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“We could leave together. This is our chance. You’d be free of your father and your brother.”

“I can’t leave. Not now.”

“You mean, not with me.”

“Have another drink,” she said, looking away. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“We could find a nice place to live,” he said. “In a different village where they don’t know us. It happens.”

“Only when the gods need to redistribute the village populations to make better use of the land,” she said. “We’d end up living in a cave in the wasteland.”

“Only for a little while,” he prompted. “Then we’d disguise our identities to be accepted in another town. It can be done. I know people who have done it.”

She frowned at him in disbelief. “Who?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “I shouldn’t say.”

“I see,” she said, biting her lip. She swallowed, then took a deep breath. “You’d better leave, Tom. I’m worried that you’ll be discovered here. And I’m worried about what will happen to me if they find you here.”

Tom closed his eyes. “So, that’s it, then? All those dreams we talked about, the things we said to each other, the moments we shared. All gone, just like that?” He snapped his fingers.

“Certainly not,” she said. “We still have those memories, and I’ll always cherish them. But things have changed.”

“They sure have,” he said, rolling over to get up on his hands and knees. Using the bedpost for support, he wobbled to his feet. She stood and tried to put her arms around him, but he backed away and turned toward the window. “I hope you’re sure about this, Tempest. You’re making a big mistake, and this is your last chance. If I go out that window, you probably won’t see me again.”

She almost changed her mind then. She looked out the window at the moonlight, remembering things they’d said to each other in the darkness, and the security she’d felt in his arms, and the way he made her feel.

Then she heard a thump in the hallway. Someone was up.

“Go,” she whispered.

Tom nodded, then slowly climbed out the window. He looked back once, and she wished he hadn’t because of the terrible, hard expression on his face. A door had closed between them. He nodded, then climbed up the ladder into the moonlight.

Tempest sat down on the floor, buried her face in the heavy blanket, and cried.

THE front door of Memphis Gustafson’s home swung open slowly, as if allowing the entry of a gentle breeze, revealing the silhouette of a specter in the moonlit doorway. The mirrored face reflected Memphis’s own scowling expression as he strode to the door, but that expression changed to alarm when he recognized the black-cloaked figure standing there. Memphis awkwardly dropped to one knee, hampered by his long nightshirt, and bowed his head. “My lord Hermes! How may I assist you at this late hour?”

“An interesting question,” Hermes hissed. “You assume that I need assistance, implying that you have knowledge of something that might be amiss. This arouses my suspicion. And your posture displays subservience, yet you apparently think that you are in control, an observation that is reinforced by your reluctance to supply me with full and complete information regarding Tom Eliot.”

Memphis cleared his throat and started to raise his head, then thought better of it. He tried to remain balanced on his knee. “I respectfully disagree, my lord. I have told you everything I know about the Eliot boy and his family. Tom is a troublemaker, just like his father.”

“Was.”

Memphis looked up into the cold eyes. “Excuse me?”

Hermes stepped forward through the doorway, looming over Memphis like the angel of death, or something worse. “Troublemaker like his father was. Ukiah Eliot is no more. A similar fate lies in store for you unless I am convinced that you did not warn or otherwise alarm the Eliots with regard to our nanostrike this evening.”

“Your nanostrike?” Memphis lurched to his feet and took a step back, his eyes wide. “The Eliot farm?”

“Is also a memory. Yes.” Hermes sighed in exasperation. “Do you wish me to believe you had no knowledge of this? The flash lit the sky like daylight. The air turned to fire. The ground shock traveled for many miles.”

Memphis shook his head. “I was asleep, my lord. My home is underground, and the Eliots are many miles away. There was nothing—”

Hermes held up his hand for silence as his eyes narrowed. “Enough. I believe you. Yet the question remains, why was Tom Eliot not at home this evening? According to your sighting information and your speculations regarding his daily routine, the Eliot boy should have been home at the hour of the strike. Now I’ve heard rumors that he wasn’t there. Do you realize that I will have to explain this to Telemachus? I do not like to fail, Elder Memphis. If Tom Eliot is not discovered quickly, I will return here and take your son away.”

“No, my lord. Please,” Memphis gasped, dropping to one knee again. “If there has been some mistake, I will do everything within my power to help you correct it.”

“See that you do,” Hermes said. With a swirl of his cloak, he turned on his heel and went out the door, shutting it tight behind him.

“Father?” Humboldt staggered into the room while Memphis stood up.

“You!” Memphis whirled and pointed an angry finger at him. Humboldt stepped back and bumped against the wall as if he’d been struck. “You bring shame on us all!”

Humboldt blinked. “What? How could—”

“I should have turned you over to Hermes, but I seem to have some self-destructive urge to protect my offspring! Why didn’t you bring Tom back here like I told you? Were you trying to think for yourself again? Could my directions have been any simpler?”

“I know where he is, Father. And he’s dead. Probably.” Humboldt backed into a chair and sat down heavily.

Memphis loomed over him, his fists clenched, barely managing to contain himself. “Probably isn’t good enough, you fool! The gods will not be mocked! They nanobombed the Eliot farm tonight because I said they’d all be home. And this all started because you saw the young hooligan on his way to the forbidden zone. We were removing several thorns from our sides all at once, then you had to go and blunder around in the forest with your idiot friends. Ukiah should have been removed long ago, but at least he mellowed with age. The boy is a loose cannon. You don’t think he’ll be able to figure out who turned him in? Judging by your appearance, it looks like you lost the fight, and the boy will be on his way here to get revenge as soon as he can.”

Humboldt shook his head. “I’m sure he’s dead, Father. I saw him fall, and I know that hill, even in the dark. If he survived, somehow, he must be trapped there.”

“Then you won’t have any trouble finding him. Get to it.”

Humboldt frowned. “Now? It’s the middle of the night. I can get help in the morning.”

“You’re a big boy,” Memphis said, poking him in the chest. “You don’t need any help. Just bring Tom Eliot here before Hermes comes back; otherwise, I’ll tell him what happened, and you’ll be on your way to a rehabilitation unit.”

“But I was only trying to help,” Humboldt whined.

Memphis clouted him on the side of the head with his open hand, bouncing Humboldt’s skull off the wall. “Telemachus helps those who help themselves.”

EXHAUSTED, Tom dragged himself into the cemetery in the meadow on top of Big Rock Ridge, then sat down heavily on a white marble crypt with an enormous winged angel draped over it in mourning. Two vultures watched him from a long-dead oak tree nearby. A wide variety of crypts and monuments, in shades of white, gray, and black, crowded together on top of the hill to keep each other company and admire the view. It was an old cemetery for the Marinwood area, populated before The Uplift, but not old enough to contain pioneer gravesites or the bones of historical celebrities. Helix sniffed around at the base of the winged angel crypt, then followed his nose on across the cemetery to explore their surroundings. The golden glow in the east told Tom he’d been up all night, wandering around the outskirts of Marinwood, trying to figure out what he should do and where he should go next. His brain felt fuzzy and numb. His body hurt with every movement. But the worst part of it all was the hollowness he felt inside, as if his spirit had been killed along with his family in the bombing.

“Good morning. Have we met before?”

Tom jumped to his feet and looked around for the source of the female voice, but no one was there. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Remembering what he’d heard, if he’d really heard it and it wasn’t a dream, the voice had not sounded threatening, only curious.

“Hello?” Tom ventured.

The head of the winged angel lifted and turned to regard Tom with a placid expression. Tom took a step back, stumbling over a rock. “I’m Blythe,” the angel said. “Some of the others call me ‘Blithe Spirit,’ but my real last name is Sheffield. Thank you for coming to visit me.”

“Sure,” Tom stammered. He wondered if he was having a religious experience like he’d read about in some of his father’s hidden books.

“I don’t get many visitors anymore,” Blythe said, shifting to a more comfortable sitting position with her wings folded behind her back. “There’s one who visits on occasion, but it’s been about thirty years since someone new spoke to me, and he just stopped to ask directions. You don’t need directions, do you?”

“Not at the moment,” Tom said, wondering if this was real or if he was talking to himself.

“Interesting answer. There’s a bit of the philosopher in you, isn’t there?”

It was creepy how the angel never blinked. She just stared at him with those huge blank white eyes. “Are you real?” he asked.

“Ah, an interesting question to follow the interesting answer. This is quite a lively discussion, if you’ll forgive the pun. I guess it all depends on what you consider real. Are you dreaming me, or am I dreaming you? I minored in philosophy at Berkeley, you know. Majored in business. I guess that’s why I never fit in very well with the corporate world—I kept wanting to ask those uncomfortable questions. So I opened a juice bar that was pretty successful, at least until I drank some bad apple juice. Live and learn. Have you ever studied at Berkeley?”

She had a pleasant voice, and she didn’t sound much older than Tom. Her stone face made Tom think she was in her late twenties. “Oh, no. That’s in the forbidden zone way over in the east bay. I never would have made it that far without the wards spotting me.” Come to think of it, she had to be older than her midtwenties if someone had visited her here thirty years ago.

“Wards? You mean the police declared Berkeley a forbidden zone?”

“I guess you could say that. In any case, the gods won’t let us go there.”

“The gods? Oh, I get you. The Man doesn’t want us to be educated, right? You couldn’t afford Berkeley, and you couldn’t get financial aid, and the politicians would rather have uneducated masses that are easier to control. Is that your argument?”