Spares (41 page)

That’s what I’d given them. That’s what their association with Jack Randall, Esquire had brought into their lives, and I’d only been trying to do the right thing. They say Jesus loves me, and I guess I can believe it. I’ve had weirder relationships—or as weird, possibly. My dad was pretty mean to me sometimes. But not
as
mean, I
don’t think, and the highs were better too. Maybe Jesus does love me, but sometimes I wonder whether it isn’t time for a trial separation.

And this other guy, God—Him I have a real problem with. Someone needs to tell Him to keep His eyes on the fucking road.

“Jack, don’t beat yourself up over this,” Vinaldi said. “I say that partly because you can’t blame yourself for everything, and partly because you going nonlinear is going to be no help to us in what is still a far from ideal situation.”

“How come you’re still alive?” I asked. “How come Yhandim didn’t just whack you?”

Vinaldi shrugged. “I don’t know, but I think things are getting fucked up for those guys. When they came through and grabbed me, first they chased you for a while—and by the way, you can
move
when you have to, I’m impressed—then they brought me here and tied me to a tree. The guys had a quiet couple of words with me about the fact I got out of The Gap back then and they didn’t, and they slapped Nearly around a little, like they felt it was expected of them, but that was it.”

“They spent most of the time in a huddle over there,” Nearly said. “There was a lot of shouting.”

“They didn’t do anything else to you?” I asked her.

“No. I think maybe sex isn’t Yhandim’s core interest in life, you know what I’m saying? They just sat there and looked pissed.”

“Maybe Maxen’s fucking them around,” I said.

Vinaldi nodded. “Things are going sour in Psychoville, and I think they had to bring you in as part of the deal.”

“Why?” Nearly asked, turning to me. “They’ve got all the spares. What is this guy’s
problem
with you?”

“Jack knows,” Vinaldi said. “Don’t you?”

I glared at him and avoided Nearly’s eyes. The gunship was cruising slowly into the clearing, which gave me something to look at. Ratchet set it down gently in the center, and extruded the two supports which kept it upright.

Vinaldi looked at the gunship for a while and then laughed, a sound not often heard in The Gap. He shook his head admiringly.

“I have to admit I was kind of expecting I’d see you again, Jack, and sooner rather than later, but shit—that’s really overachieving. How did you manage to find a gunship, get it working, and then
fly
the fucking thing?”

“You know my methods,” I said. “Brute, dumb luck.”

Vinaldi didn’t look convinced, but I had nothing else to offer.

“What do we do now?” Nearly asked. “I mean, it’s been a blast and all but I’d really like to get the hell out of here.”

“I’ve no idea,” I said. “We can either stay here and have a bad time, or we can have one somewhere else. It’s a matter of supreme indifference to me.”

“Jack,” said a voice. Ratchet’s. It was relayed from an external speaker on the gunship, the kind usually employed to inform villagers that they were about to be destroyed.

I didn’t blame Ratchet at all for what had happened, and strove to keep my voice calm. “Yes?” I said.

“I can get you out,” he announced, quietly.

“What? How?”

“This gunship is equipped with partial sideslipping capability. They all were—in case the brass needed to get out in a hurry.”

“Yeah,” Vinaldi muttered in the background. “That figures.”

“It’s not very powerful,” Ratchet continued, “but if you know where you got in we can probably still get out that way.”

“We don’t need the full sideslip gear?”

“No. A semblance of cat-ness is programmed into me. It’s only an approximation—that’s why we need a place where it’s happened recently. We should really go as soon as possible.”

“What are we waiting for?” said Nearly, and started
climbing the ladder. Vinaldi followed her, but I remained outside.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Ratchet said quietly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “Just part of the whole big fuck up.” I looked away for a moment, at the trees, the blue light, the strange world around us, and I wondered again if something had changed. Though I felt very sad, and depressed, and angry, for once I didn’t feel frightened. Maybe there wasn’t any room left in my head.

“It didn’t end as you would have wanted,” he said, suddenly. “But it was still the right thing to do. You did the best you could for the spares, Jack. Sometimes that has to be enough.”

“Thanks, but why are you telling me this? We’re going to have years to Monday-morning-quarterback this one.”

“No,” said Ratchet. “We aren’t. I’m going to have to pilot this ship right up to the last second. This time it’s really good bye.”

Great, I thought, as I climbed wearily up the ladder. At this rate, in a couple more days there wouldn’t be anyone left for me to lose.

A last flickering run in the forest; through endless night, past never-ending trees, buried deep under a sky I’d never seen. I let Vinaldi perch on the pilot seat for the journey, and sat next to Nearly in the back row of the passenger section. None of us spoke, but instead looked out of the window or stared straight ahead into whatever was coming next.

After a while I pulled my hand out of my pocket, found Nearly’s, and held it. She looked at me with surprise, then gripped my hand tightly in return.

I didn’t know what I meant, what was being said. Perhaps nothing, but it felt better that way.

When Ratchet told us we were nearing our entrance point I went to the control panel. I pointed out the precise spot. It wasn’t hard to find: There was still a lingering shadow cast by the truck in the other world.

Ratchet reversed the gunship, plotted his final
course, and calculated the exact moment at which he should trigger the sideslip effect. I sat down in the copilot’s seat and strapped myself in.

“Good luck,” Ratchet said, and Vinaldi and Nearly wished him well. I didn’t. I wasn’t saying good bye.

Because at the exact instant when the hurtling gun-ship crossed the line I lunged forward and clasped my hand round the chip under the “IQ” panel.

I’d decided that it was time to stop letting go of things.

A face full of snow. Pain in my temple. The sound of someone groaning quietly nearby.

“We’re back,” Vinaldi said, indistinctly.

I sat up slowly and looked around. We were at the bottom of the slope leading down from the Farm, near the remains of Vinaldi’s truck. The light was fading, and I looked at my watch to see it was five in the afternoon. We’d been in The Gap nearly twenty-four hours, impossible though that seemed.

I turned the computer chip over in my hand a few times, and smiled, then slipped it safely into my pocket and went to help Nearly. She was lying spread-eagled on the snow and muttering like a starfish that had been woken up much earlier than it wanted.

“So where the hell are we now?” she demanded as she flapped snow off her clothes. “Kansas?”

“About-half a mile north of Covington Forge,” I said, and she rolled her eyes.

“Back here again. Fun, fun, fun. Maybe we could go to Detroit next. Hey,” she added, peering at Vinaldi’s vehicle. “Is that the truck you got out here in?” The hood of the truck was so completely wound round the tree that for a moment I had a flash-memory of The Gap. It looked like the tree had grown up from beneath, to become part of the car.

“Yes,” Vinaldi said, reaching into the back to pull out a new gun. I guess Yhandim had taken his old one. “But I doubt it’s the way we’re going back.”

“You’re telling me. You guys really did it the hard way. All we had to do was follow some cat.”

“Stay here a moment,” I told them, setting off up the slope.

The cat was cowering in what used to be the control room of the Farm. It ran across the room and into the darkness under a table, so I just sank to my knees and stayed put, hand held out in front of me. While I waited I noticed its bowl over by the wall. There had been food in it, once. The cat made its way over eventually, sniffed my fingers, and decided I was unlikely to give it a hard time. I don’t know how they make that decision, but they generally seem to be right.

I undid the clasp on its leash, picked the cat up and headed for the main door. On the way, I noticed something lying against one of the walls.

It was a piece of machinery, about the size of a car engine but so finely wrought that it looked like a scale model of something larger. It was running, and it answered the question of how Maxen had been able to forge a link back into The Gap. From somewhere he’d laid hands on one of the original sideslipping devices. I thought they’d all been destroyed, but I guess the military isn’t like that. They’d keep cigars in Pandora’s box.

I put the cat down, and shooed it away. Then I pulled my gun out, slammed a full clip into it, and emptied it into the sideslip machine. By the time the ricochet from the last shell had died away and Vinaldi had come running in to see what was happening, it was very clear it would never work again. I felt nothing but relief and the sound of a heavy door slamming shut.

Nearly was standing outside the entrance, stroking the cat’s head and looking cold. I walked over to her and picked the cat up off the ground.

“Somebody’s taken Ghuaji’s car,” Vinaldi said. “I guess Yhandim and the others got out first.”

“We’d better start walking,” I said.

“You are, I take it, kidding?” Nearly inquired, head held sweetly on one side. “I mean, like, ha ha?”

“No,” I said. “And you’d better keep up, or I’ll make you carry the cat.”

We set off down the driveway out of the compound, kicking our way through what had obviously been a heavy twenty-four-hour snow. It’s impossible to describe the difference between walking in The Gap and walking here. It’s like going for a stroll after finishing an exam, even if the world in general is not exactly looking upon you with favor.

We turned the corner into the abandoned road and walked down it, past the remains of the gas pumps and the derelict picnic area. Nearly muttered darkly all the way. I glanced across at the rotted remains of the picnic tables, but there seemed to be nothing there.

“Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” Vinaldi said, startling me.

“Yes,” I answered, taking a deep breath of the crisp air.

“You guys just keep talking in riddles,” Nearly said. “No, seriously, it’s great. Have a good time. I’ll just keep walking through all this fucking snow.”

It was dark by the time we reached the main road, and my mood had worsened. I couldn’t get the faces out of my head. Having escaped from The Gap in one piece almost seemed to have made things worse. It was as if I’d confronted my worst fear and come out the other side, only to discover the world I’d been saved into was fucked, and that everyone I cared about had died while I had been away. Even the landscape looked like an old photograph: irrelevant, creased, dead.

And there was something else, something rising inside me. A need I knew I was going to be unable to deny.

A need for radical and extreme vengeance.

We walked down the road a few hundred yards, Vinaldi with his thumb held out despite the fact that there weren’t any cars. Even the picture of New Richmond’s premier “businessman” trying to hitch a ride couldn’t break my mood. Nearly soon picked up on this
and stopped complaining. She walked a little to one side of me, taking her turn at carrying the cat, and I sensed her glancing at me now and then. I hoped she wasn’t going to ask me anything, because there was nothing I wanted to say.

A car passed us after a while, but wisely resisted the temptation to pick up three weirdos out for a walk in the back of beyond in the middle of winter. Ten minutes later another car came by, and this one at least slowed; but then it swished off again, taking its yellow lamps with it and leaving us with nothing except the crunch of our boots in the snow.

Then finally a car did stop, driving up the road toward us and pulling to a halt when it was level. Loud trance country spewed out of the windows, and four drunks lurked inside. They were all very large, and wore microfiber-check shirts. Three sported the kind of beards which make you look like you’ve glued a raccoon to your face. The other’s face was so ugly he didn’t even need a beard. The driver peered at us, guffawed merrily, and conferred briefly with the guy in the passenger seat. Then the driver opened his door and got out of the car.