Repairman Jack [05]-Hosts (34 page)

But that's the game, he told himself. They of all people should know you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.

"I'll see who's still in town."

"We've got to milk this, Sandy. Every extra issue we put out brings in more advertisers and more readers, many of whom—we hope—will stay with us when we go back to weekly."

Back to weekly… suddenly he was depressed.

"And I want you to know," Meschke said, lowering his voice and leaning forward, "I talked to Harness about you. How you deserve recognition for what you've done for the paper. He's ecstatic about how things are going and agrees completely." He winked. "Be prepared for a surprise in your next paycheck."

"A bonus?" Sandy said. "Cool!"

But his thoughts were ranging ahead. Calvin Harness was the publisher and major stockholder. No doubt he was ecstatic because the bigger profits and higher profile from Sandy's articles enhanced the chances of
The Light
being bought up by one of the big national chains. Harness would clean up. Meschke's stock options would put him on Easy Street as well. But Sandy… what did he have?

Time to get out the old resume, he thought. Bring it up to date and start sending it out. Strike while the iron was hot. But until he wrangled himself an offer at one of the big three in town, he'd have to find ways to keep his name in the news.

And the only way he knew to do that was the Savior. He had to push the amnesty for all it was worth, find a way to make it national.

But how…?

7

Hot.

Jack kicked off the covers. The chills of an hour ago were gone. Now his skin seemed to be steaming. Sheets were soaked, sweaty T-shirt and boxer shorts plastered against him.

Thirsty. Mouth parched, lips flaky as he ran his dry tongue over them. Needed something wet. Tried to sit up. Almost made it half way. Flopped back onto the soggy pillow. Tried again with the same result. Last time he'd felt this weak he'd been bleeding to death… last summer… sitting in a chair in the next room… and the last time he'd had a fever like this had been directly after that… from infection in the wounds… Doc Hargus had pumped him full of antibiotics and pulled him through, but it had been tough going.

No wounds this time, just dying of thirst. And water, lots of icy bottles of gloriously wet Poland Springs, lay stacked on the bottom shelf among the beers and Mountain Dew in his fridge just a dozen or two feet away in the kitchen.

Might as well be in Westchester.

This was scary. Sick and sweating without taking in any fluids… he could wind up dehydrated… leaving him weaker still… a steady downward spiral…

Jack closed his eyes, gathering strength for another try.

"Here," said a voice.

He turned his head and started at the sight of an older woman standing at the side of his bed. She was thin, her thick black hair streaked with gray and pulled back into a bun, wearing a gray sweatsuit with pink piping. Couldn't see her feet but he'd bet she was wearing sneakers.

Questions about who she was and how she got into his locked apartment rose in his brain but were pushed aside by the sight of what she held in her hand.

A glass of water.

"Drink," she told him. She rolled the r.

Jack was already reaching for it as she spoke. The glass was wonderfully cool against his palm. He raised his head as far as he could and gulped it down, spilling precious drops in his haste, then let the enormous weight of his head drop back.

"More," he rasped. "Please."

"In a moment," she said. Her accent… Russian. Take Natasha Fatale, add thirty or forty years, stick her in a jogging suit… this was her. Where was Boris?

And then Jack saw the dog sitting beside her, an enormous pure-white malamute. It cocked its head and stared at him.

Hadn't Kate said something about an old woman with a Russian accent and a dog… the woman who'd given her Jack's number?

He tried to raise himself up on his elbows but sagged back. The water had left him less thirsty but no stronger.

"Who are you and how'd you get in here?"

"That does not matter. You must—"

"It sure as hell does matter. This is my place and my door was locked—quadruple locked."

"Listen to me," she said urgently. "You must fight infection and you must win."

"Only a flu of some sort."

"If only that were so. Is not flu. Is same virus that is in the others, in your sister's lover as well as in your sister herself. Is in you too."

Fielding's virus? The contaminant? Never mind how she knows about it; if she's right…

"That can't be. Fielding said it doesn't cause symptoms and it's only spread through blood."

"And did you not bleed yesterday?"

"No. I—"

Oh, hell. Holdstock. The scratch on my hand as he passed by on his way out of the apartment with Jeanette.

"Jeez, did you say Kate…?"

The woman nodded; sadly, he thought. "Four days ago."

"Wait. If I was infected only yesterday and already this sick, why didn't she—?"

"She cannot fight it. None of them can fight it."

"You're talking crazy. If she couldn't fight it she'd be sicker, and she's fine."

The woman shook her head. "Only you can fight it."

"Yeah, right," he said. He closed his eyes. All this talk was exhausting.

"Do not speak," the woman said. "Save strength and listen: virus will spread. It will infect many, and the many will infect many others. There will be war between those infected and those not, war such as we have never seen, turning man against woman, parent against child, child against parent, brother against brother."

"It didn't happen with AIDS so why—?"

"Is different. Virus will spread like wind. All harmony, all trust will vanish as uninfected kill infected, kill those they merely suspect of being infected. But infected will fight back, striking from within, spreading their disease. The bloodshed, the death, the hatred, the terror—this planet has seen terrible things but never on such a scale. For there are so many more of you now, and no one—
no one
—will be spared."

"What's so bad about this virus? What does it do to you?"

"That is no matter. Virus is not end, virus is simply means."

"Means to what?"

"To what I have told you: war, hate, death, fear, pain, destruction."

"Who the hell wants that?"

"The Adversary."

Jack forced his eyes open and looked at her.

"And who's that? The devil?"

She shook her head. "You know. You have met. Adversary feeds on human misery, on discord, on chaos. Virus will create feast."

No doubt about it, the lady was a loon. And she'd invaded his home—brought her damn dog too—and Jack was powerless to make her leave.

But she had another glass of water in her hand. He took it and gulped it down. Maybe she shouldn't leave.

"How do you know all this?"

"I watch. Always I watch."

"Why tell me? I'm just one guy. Go to the government."

"Government cannot stop virus. Only you. You
must
stop virus. You are only one."

"I couldn't stop a lame kitten right now."

"You must. Is war and you are warrior."

"I don't join armies."

"Is no army. Just you. And one does not join. Is chosen. Others go before you. All dead except one, and he is too old. You have been chosen."

"Like hell I have."

"Stop virus before it spreads, or all you love will perish." She turned and headed for the bedroom door. "I leave you now."

Jack felt the temperature drop. No… more chills. He pulled the covers back over him.

"Lady, who are you?"

She and her big white dog stopped at the door and looked at him. "I am your mother."

Nonplused, Jack struggled for a reply. She was nothing like his mother. Finally he resorted to a simple statement of fact.

"My mother's dead."

"She was your birth mother," she said. "I am your other mother."

And then she was gone.

Jack felt a shiver of fear slip among the fever chills. He knew he'd imagined the woman, but her words had struck resonances that still rang through his brain. Her warning about something that fed on misery and hate…

And then the phone rang. Jack snaked a wavering hand over to the night table and wrapped his fingers around the receiver.

"Hello," he croaked as he shuddered with a chill.

"Jack, is that you?" Gia's voice. "You sound terrible."

"Sick," he said. "Fever. Delirious. Wouldn't believe the hallucinations I'm having."

"I'm on my way."

Good, Jack thought as he heard the click on the other end. Gia will know what to do.

He tried to hang up the receiver but didn't have the strength.

8

Kate jumped at the sound of the key in the door, thinking, Jack's back. Thank the Lord.

She'd been a wreck all morning. Jack had tried to ease her mind by telling her that the bomb he'd found had been meant for him, not her. Had he expected her to be relieved that her brother was some madman's target? Well, she wasn't. But he'd said he had a good idea who the bombers were and how to protect himself and her from them.

At least that had allowed her to go back to sleep. But then Jack had been up at dawn, looking terrible, all sunken-eyed and exhausted, saying he had to go out and instructing her to stay away from the windows and not worry if she heard a loud noise.

A few minutes later a car exploded on the street below.

Not Jack's, thank the Lord. His was still out there when she'd looked, and he'd waved up at her. She'd hoped he'd come back up, to tell her he hadn't blown up that car. She didn't want to believe he'd done such a terrible thing. Even if someone had been trying to kill him, he'd endangered everyone on the block.

But he must have done it, must have known it was coming. Why else would he have warned her to stay away from the windows?

But then instead of returning, he'd walked off.

He hadn't told her where he was going, but it didn't matter. He was back now.

But it was Jeanette who stepped through the door. And Holdstock. And others, six more men and women of varying ages, trooping in, all smiling at her with the open friendly faces of old friends. She knew them, she'd seen them through Holdstock's window.

Jeanette had brought her cult home.

"Hello, Kate," Jeanette said, beaming. "I've asked some friends over to meet you."

Kate swallowed. "That's nice."

They didn't seem threatening—if anything their expressions virtually glowed with amiability. So why then did she feel this cold dread seeping up from her stomach?

"I was so worried about you," Jeanette said, taking Kate's left hand and pressing it between both of hers.

Kate felt rather than heard a strange hum in her head, a faint, faint echo of Jeanette's voice.

"Were you? Why?"

"Why, the explosion, of course. When I heard about it and realized it had happened right on our block, I wanted to fly here. But then I learned that no one had been hurt except two men with criminal records, and I was so relieved. But still, I didn't think you should be alone."

That odd hum continued, but Kate sensed that she truly had been in Jeanette's thoughts, and that warmed her.

"That's nice, but—"

"So I brought my dearest friends to keep you company. You remember Terrence, don't you?"

Holdstock stepped forward, smiling warmly as he offered his hand. "I know we didn't get off on the right foot, but I'm sure I can make amends for that."

Kate didn't want to shake hands with this man, but how could she snub him with a radiant Jeanette still clutching her left hand? She extended her right, Holdstock grasped it—

—and the hum in her head grew louder.

Something wrong here! She tried to pull free of Holdstock but his grip was like a steel clamp.

"Let me go!"

"Don't be frightened, Kate," Jeanette said, smiling reassuringly while clutching Kate's other hand. "It's all right. Trust me, it's all right."

"No!"

The others were moving forward. Holdstock held out his free hand and one of them, a woman, took hold of it—

—and the hum in Kate's head increased—

—and then someone took the woman's hand and stretched out his hand to another—

—and the hum in Kate's head further increased, a roar now, like the ocean, and her heart was a panicked rabbit, battering itself against the cage of her ribs, trying to break free—

—and someone took his and another took hers and the roaring doubled and tripled and she felt her strength slipping away and through her blurring vision she saw Jeanette free one of her hands from gripping Kate's and reach it out to another hand, the last free hand in the world, and Kate saw them touch, closing the circle—… and suddenly all is peaceful.