Pure (45 page)

“Durand Glassings,” his mother says. “He’s important. Our closest link to you.”

“He’s my World History teacher.”

“He was the one who was going to lay it out,” she says.

Partridge is astonished. “But I’m no leader,” he says. “I couldn’t command sleeper cells and take down the Dome.”

“We were waiting to see a sign that you were ready. And we got one.”

“What was that?”

“Ironically, it was your escape.”

“What do we do now?” Partridge asks. “They want us to hand you over, along with everything here in your labs.”

“And if we refuse?”

“There’s a hostage,” Partridge says. “A girl named Lyda.” His voice is rough as he says her name.

“Lyda,” his mother says. “She means a lot to you?”

He nods. “I wish she didn’t mean so much.”

“No you don’t.”

“She risked her life for me. I’m willing to risk mine for her. But I’m not willing to risk yours.”

“Maybe we can give them what they think they want. I can take in some pills and by the time they find out they’re worthless, maybe you all can get away, to safety,” she says. “Buy some time. Eventually, though, you’ll have to fight, Partridge.”

“I can’t. I’m not Sedge. He was the leader. Not me.”

“
Was
the leader?” she says. “What’s happened to him?”

“I was told he was dead. A suicide. He’s alive, though. He’s up there. He’s on the other side—the soldier holding the hostage. The Dome has turned him into a machine, but also a kind of animal. I can’t describe it. I can tell it’s him, though, from his voice. I’d know it anywhere.”

“I want to see him,” she says.

“Does that mean you want to go up? Hand yourself over?”

“I’m not afraid of facing your father.”

“But he could kill you.”

“I’m mostly dead already.”

“That’s not true.” There is something about his mother that is more alive than anyone he’s ever met.

“You can do this, Partridge. You can take over and rebuild for everyone. A Pure, that’s what they call you. But what does that really mean?”

He doesn’t know how to answer. He wishes he did. He wishes the words sprang up from him. But there’s nothing.

“Our communication with those in the Dome is very weak, and since your escape it’s stopped completely. If we knew that the people from within were still with us, that would help.”

“They are,” Partridge tells her. “They sent a message through Lyda. It was simple:
Tell the swan we’re waiting.
”

“The Cygnus,” she whispers.

And then, overhead, there’s pounding. The cicadas stir and flit nervously around the room.

Machine-gun fire.

EL
CAPITAN
HAS
HIS
HANDS
ON
HIS
HEAD
, and so does Bradwell, who is slightly downhill. They order Helmud to put his hands on his head too, but El Capitan tells them it’s a waste, he’s a moron. “Doesn’t have a thought of his own in his demented head.”

“Demented head,” Helmud says.

The soldiers should know this. They’ve watched him and Helmud in the woods, where they seemed so elegant and strong and strangely peaceful. He spots the one who may have given him a plucked hen and eggs. He’s sure it was the one who arrived holding the girl in white—so new to being outside the Dome that her clothes are whiter than any cloth he’s seen since the Detonations. That soldier is the one who seemed to look at him sometimes in such a human way. Actually, he trusted all of them, but he was wrong to. They’ll probably kill him and Helmud out here in the woods. All of them. And that will be the end of it.

They’ve been stripped of their weapons. They sit in a pile like kindling. The girl has gone placid. In fact, El Capitan wonders if she’s in shock. She’s pretty, dangerously so. Do Special Forces have sexual urges? Should the girl be worried? Or are they neutered like dogs?

The soldier who’d shown up holding the girl lets her go and walks up beside El Capitan. He finds the rungs of El Capitan’s ribs above Helmud’s thigh and digs in with the muzzle of the gun. The soldier says to the others, “I don’t trust this one.”

El Capitan wonders if this means he’s going to shoot him. He braces, but instead the soldier just keeps the gun snug in his ribs.

“Noises on the perimeter,” the soldier says. “Do a quick recon. I will maintain control.” This one is the leader, clearly.

The other five soldiers do as they’re told, immediately setting off, silently, through the woods, in different directions.

With his high-tech weaponry glinting up his arms, the soldier then whispers to El Capitan, “When they return, protect the girl. Take cover.” The girl is meant to hear this too.

El Capitan wonders what this could mean. Is this soldier on his side?

“You’ll do it?”

Is he going to turn on the other soldiers? Should El Capitan be prepared to reach for a gun? “Yes, sir,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” Helmud says. Sometimes when Helmud repeats, the echo feels like it comes from a twitch in El Capitan’s own brain. Helmud isn’t only his brother. They are one and the same. El Capitan looks at the girl again, this time seeing a ferocity in her eyes that wasn’t there before. If this is their only chance, she looks willing to die for it.

And Bradwell, who stands with his fingers knit on top of his head, gives off a heated energy. He’s restlessly fuming. He’s ready for anything. El Capitan raises his eyebrows, trying to get his attention to let him in on the plan, but Bradwell just looks at him and mouths,
What?

As silently as they left, the squad returns within a few moments of one another. They have nothing to report. No
OSR
. No wretches. No other beasts. All is quiet.

“Check your scanners,” the leader says. “No mistakes. No errors.”

And as they each look at their arm attachments, the leader shoves the girl into El Capitan’s arms. El Capitan lifts her by the ribs, takes three or four running steps, and dives. Sedge opens fire on the other soldiers. Bradwell jumps to a crevice in the rock, taking cover. The closest soldier’s chest erupts. He spins and sprays ammunition into the brush wildly.

The leader aims coolly with both guns on his forearms. He fires. And then sights unfold from his shoulders and gunshots blast, alternately from each weapon, kicking his shoulders back, one then the other, as if he’s rocking.

Another soldier fires back in El Capitan’s direction. The reports are almost simultaneous, and one soldier gets caught in the cross fire, shot in the skull.

Two down, El Capitan thinks. He starts to crawl to his rifle in the stack of weapons on the ground, but Lyda grabs him and pulls him down, forcefully.

“Wait,” she says.

Bradwell has made it to the weapons first and picks up El Capitan’s rifle with its clip of ammunition. He turns and starts blazing at the other three soldiers. One gets hit in the neck and lurches sideways, behind some rocks. The leader hits another one in the gut with two or three shots.

This soldier seems to understand as he drops down into the dust that he must fire on his leader, that there’s something wrong. It’s as if he realizes he has to override some programming. He loads his weapon and fires, hitting the leader in the thigh. The leader buckles, but does not fall. The soldier with the wounded gut retreats behind a tree.

El Capitan sees that the one Bradwell hit is reloading behind a huge, gnarled stump. He’s overridden his programming, too, and he locks in on his leader. El Capitan can see from his protected position that the soldier is badly wounded, but will not lie down to die. The uninjured soldier has escaped, and El Capitan has a good idea that he’s not a deserter. He’ll be back.

Lyda says, “Get me a knife.”

El Capitan crawls to the pile of weapons. He grabs a knife first and tosses it to Lyda, who catches it by the handle.

He sees Bradwell make a dash to finish off the man he wounded before the soldier can fire on the leader. Bradwell shoots him in the arm, striking the flesh of his bicep, blood glistening as it disappears into his uniform. Is he still fighting?

El Capitan reaches for another knife and a meat hook, but instead he’s kicked in the stomach by the soldier bleeding from his belly. The blow is so hard that it lifts him from the ground. All the air has been knocked from Helmud’s lungs; he gasps.

Bradwell charges the soldier who won’t die. The soldier backhands him, knocking Bradwell to the ground. The soldier then grabs Bradwell by the shirt, but the shirt is so shredded that the soldier comes away with nothing but fabric. Bradwell, bare-chested, sprawled in the gravel and dust, kicks the soldier’s knee, but the soldier barely flinches. Calmly, he levels the pistol lodged in his right arm, loads it, and aims at Bradwell, who curls to his side. The birds on his back go still.

El Capitan hears a report and thinks that Bradwell must be dead, but the soldier is the one who falls. El Capitan can see that the leader worked his way into a shooting angle as Bradwell’s rush bought him some time to move on his injured leg. This leaves the soldier who grips his loosened abdomen. He looms over El Capitan, who scrambles backward, unarmed.

The leader shoots, blasting the soldier’s hands and crippling his guns. The soldier howls. The guns in his shoulders take over as he turns to search for the leader. The bullets fly. One grazes Bradwell’s shoulder—the one not already wounded—kicking his gun from his hands. Bradwell grabs his wound, seems dazed by the blood and noise. He staggers behind a rock, his eyes squeezed shut.

The leader shoots again, although he’s lying on the ground, unable to get up, his blood pooling around him. His bullets perforate the soldier’s chest and the guns on his shoulders. The soldier tries to shoot, but all his guns are jammed. He’s weak, staggering in a circle. Crazed, his eyes lock on Lyda, and he lunges for her. El Capitan leaps onto the soldier’s back, setting him off balance and taking him to his knees. It buys Lyda time to run, but otherwise it’s useless. The soldier is so strong that he staggers to his feet. El Capitan holds on, choking him.

And then Helmud’s skinny arms appear. He’s holding a thin piece of wiry thread—something that seems to be made of wool and human hair. He casts it out and then pulls it around the soldier’s throat. El Capitan grabs on to the wiry string too, and jerks with all of his weight and Helmud’s. The wiry string gouges into the soldier’s neck. Rearing back, he paws at it with his stubs.

And then Lyda appears. She stabs him in the lower stomach and then yanks the knife up as hard as she can.

The soldier staggers. She pulls the knife out, wipes it clean on her white jumpsuit, ready to stab again. But she doesn’t have to. The soldier falls forward with El Capitan and Helmud on his back.

El Capitan pulls the string out with one hand and holds it—a bloody thing, now clotted with flesh. He remembers all the times he told Helmud to stop his nervous fiddling, that old agitated motion he made behind his neck. “Helmud,” he says, “did you make this so you could kill me with it?”

And this time, Helmud doesn’t repeat his brother’s final words. His silence means yes.

For the first time in as long as he can remember, El Capitan is proud of his brother. “Damn it, Helmud! Shit! You’ve been planning to kill me!”

And then he hears noises. They all freeze and brace themselves. Maybe it’s the soldier who got away doubling back.

But no, it’s coming from the crescent window in the earth.

Two hands grip the sides of the window frame and then Partridge is pulling himself up, as if climbing from a grave.

WHEN
PARTRIDGE
GETS
TO
HIS
FEET
, he takes in the carnage. El Capitan and Helmud are bloodied and bruised. Bradwell is bare-chested and bleeding again from the shoulder, but the other shoulder this time. He’s on his knees, his head bowed, his chest heaving. Is he praying? His hands are clasped. Lyda’s white jumpsuit is splattered and streaked with blood. She’s breathless, stunned. She stares at Partridge with her bright blue eyes and then at all he sees.

And there are the bodies of soldiers. One’s chest is exploded. Another, sliced up the middle, has bloody stumps instead of hands. One has been shot in the skull. There’s a small hole in the back of his head, but as Partridge walks around him, he sees that his face is gone.

“What is this?” He feels sick, his knees weak. “What is this?”

And then he sees his brother, half hidden by underbrush. He runs to his side, falls to his knees. “Sedge,” he says. The muscle of Sedge’s right leg has been chewed through with bullets. There’s blood under his ribs. It seeps into the knees of Partridge’s pants. “God,” Partridge says. “No, no.” His brother’s chest rises and falls unevenly. He bends down to Sedge’s head—his oversize skull and heavy jaw. “You’re going to be okay,” he whispers. “Mom is here. She’s coming. You’ll see her.” Partridge yells to the others. “Get my mother! Help Pressia get my mother up here!”

Pressia is already aboveground. She looks at all the bodies. “My God,” she says. “My God, no.”

Bradwell staggers up and runs to her. “Pressia,” he says, but she’s obviously shaken, unable to respond to him.

El Capitan shouts to Bradwell, “Help me here!”

Together they lift Aribelle up from the window, her thin trunk and useless limbs. Caruso is pushing from below, but he doesn’t follow her aboveground.

Partridge lays a hand on his brother’s chest. The blood is wet and warm.

Sedge looks at Partridge and smiles. “Partridge,” he says, “you’re the one.”

“No,” he says, “it’s you. It’s always been you.”

Partridge calls to Pressia again. “Is she here?” He turns and sees Bradwell cradling his mother. He carries her to Partridge, setting her down beside her two sons. Her eyes are wild.

“Baby, what happened to you?” Her voice is ragged and sharp. “Sedge. Look at me. Sedge.”

“Look, Sedge,” Partridge whispers. “It’s her. She’s here! She’s really here!”