Stones: Experiment (Stones #3) (57 page)

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Matt nods and slumps into his spot. His forehead drops onto the table. He hears Mom open the steam cooker. The smell of fresh rice bursts through the kitchen.

One eye flips open. “What are we doing today, Dad?”

“Let’s see. A whole Saturday all to ourselves. Been a while since we went fishing. Maybe we could take a drive up the Hudson and see if there’s a good spot.”

Both of Matt’s eyes open and he sits up straight. “Serious? That’d be awesome!”

Dad puts down his slate. “Where did you learn to talk like that? Sounds like my old grandpa.” He reaches over and pats Matt on the head.

Mom walks over to the table and gives each of them a heaping bowl of white rice with bacon and eggs stacked on top, adding some sprinkles of shredded seaweed. Matt and Mom drizzle soy sauce over theirs. Dad squeezes out long lines of red ketchup on his.

“What should we do tonight, Dad, after we get back?”

“Thought we’d grab a video off the Mesh, maybe some old sci-fi from when I was a kid.”

“With popcorn?”

“Sure.”

Matt sits back, looks at Mom and Dad, picks up his chopsticks and digs into his bowl.

“Hey, who’s got popcorn?” Yarah says.

Matt opens his eyes and squints in the sun. “Popcorn?”

Yarah jumps up and stretches her arms. “Yeah, you were just talking about it.”

“Did I talk in my sleep?” His gaze drifts through the homeless camp. People are starting to move, warming themselves at fires.

“You did it a lot.” Yarah licks her lips, scanning for something to eat.

Matt opens a bag, reaches in and grabs a cold pork bun. “I was dreaming about home. With my mom and dad, back when I was your age.” He tosses it to Yarah, and she catches it with both hands. “It’s not hot, but it’ll still be good.”

“Where we going?” She bites into the white ball, exposing a core of brown heaven.

“I thought we’d try to find another freedom camp nearby. If there is one.” He takes a pork bun out of the bag for himself, unwraps it and bites in. “Maybe that’s where Jessica went.”

Heal the people.

The sudden words in his mind startle Matt. He drops the pork bun on the ground, looks for the source of the voice and sees only Yarah standing near him.

“Did you say something to me?” He picks up the bun and bites into the center.

“Nope. But I’ve been wondering.” Yarah sits and pulls her knees up. “What if—” She breaks off the words and shifts her gaze away from Matt to her hands.

“What if Jessica didn’t make it?” Matt talks between chews.

“Yeah.” Yarah takes another bite. “Or what if Ryzaard has her?”

Matt nods his head. “I’ve thought about it. Just have a gut feeling she’s alive. Can’t really explain it.” He swallows the barbequed pork. “What do you think?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s alive. I think I’d know it if she wasn’t.” Yarah stares at the grass beside her. “Like Leo.”

They both look up at the sound of a woman shrieking and crying uncontrollably. People in the camp run by, gathering at a blue tent twenty meters away.

“What’s going on?” Matt says.

Yarah jumps to her feet and runs to the tent.

Heal the people.

The words play again in Matt’s mind, like an old song that he can’t shake. He runs to catch up with Yarah, finishing the pork bun on the way.

When they get to the tent, a crowd has already gathered. The flap of the tent is unzipped. Matt stands on his toes and looks over the heads into the opening.

“He’s dying.” A woman crouches over a sleeping bag, looking at a gray head sticking out. “Always had a bad heart, but we couldn’t afford doctors. Now he’s slipping away.”

Matt watches as Yarah worms her way through the legs of the crowd and stands in front, hands behind her back, staring into the tent. She walks through the open flap and kneels. Her small hands go up to her eyes, wiping away tears.

No, Yarah. We can’t.

“Do you love him?” Yarah says.

The woman looks at Yarah, smiling. “With all my heart. We’ve been together for sixty years.” Trembling with sobs, she drops her gaze back to the old man in the sleeping bag and buries her head next to his.

A big smile on her face, Yarah turns and looks through the crowd at Matt. Then she turns back to the woman.

“I know someone who can heal him.”

The woman’s head comes up. “A doctor?”

“No.” Yarah turns to face Matt again. “A healer.” She stands and walks back through the crowd. It parts as she approaches Matt. Her dark eyes meet his. “Can we? She needs our help. It won’t take long.” Yarah reaches her hand into the side pocket of Matt’s pants and finds the cloaking box. It comes out in her fingers. She holds it up to him.

Studying Yarah’s eyes, Matt kneels. “If we do this, he’ll know we’re here.”

“Don’t be afraid.” Yarah’s eyes beg for understanding. “We can’t let him stop us from being good.”

Heal the people.

This time, the words are louder, vibrating through Matt’s body. Reaching out and taking the box, he stands up. “Come with me. I’ll show you how.”

They walk through the crowd to the tent opening. Staring up through red eyes, the woman zips open the sleeping bag and draws it back, exposing the man’s chest. He’s drawing in quick, shallow breaths. Sweat beads up on his forehead.

Motioning for Matt and Yarah to come in, the woman moves aside. Matt stoops and enters the tent after Yarah and closes the flap behind him.

“You kneel on that side.” Matt carefully opens the lid of the cloaking box. “I’ll be over here.” Turning the box upside down, two Stones spill out. He hands one to Yarah and keeps the other for himself. “Just drop it on the ground between your knees and put your hands on his chest with me.”

The old woman’s eyes grow wide, hands go up to her mouth. She says nothing.

Yarah follows Matt’s lead.

“Now close your eyes and find me.”

When Matt opens his eyes, Yarah is suspended in space looking at him. The man floats between them, body horizontal.

“All we have to do is go inside and look.” Matt’s eyes drop.

“What are we looking for?”

“Anything that isn’t right,” Matt says. “Just follow me.”

Floating inside the man’s body, Matt sees a landscape of color open up below. Orderly rivers of blue flow and divide over an open plain of red. Glowing mountains of assorted hues lie scattered on the plain.

“It looks like a map,” Yarah says.

Matt casts his gaze from one side to the other. “See anything that looks strange or out of place?” He follows her eyes.

Yarah studies the scenery below her from horizon to horizon.

“Over there,” she says. “It looks wrong. Sick.”

“Let’s go have a look.”

In an instant, they are poised over a dark spot, looking down. Flowing rivers of color stagnate around it. The putrid odor rising up is unsettling and out of place.

“Let’s see if we can clean this up,” Matt says.

They both descend into black mists. Matt keeps his eyes on Yarah, marveling at her intuition. As she moves her hands from side to side, she discovers that she can move the mist. Pushing it aside, she uncovers the source of the stagnation at the bottom. Working together, they clear away the swamp, open the river channel and allow the colors to flow freely. The black mists fade and disappear.

From horizon to horizon, they gaze upon fields of beauty and clarity.

“I think we’re done,” Matt says. “Let’s go back and have a look.”

Returning to the surface, they open their eyes.

“See, you
can
do it!” Matt says. “You’re a natural.”

Yarah laughs with exuberance. “It’s easy! Think of all the people we can help.”

Matt lowers his voice. “But we have to be careful and only use the Stones in emergencies. We don’t want Ryzaard to pop in unexpectedly.” He grabs Yarah’s Stone and drops it into the open cloaking box. Putting his own in next, he snaps the lid shut. “Let’s go.”

The woman next to Matt is speechless, mouth open, eyes wide. Her husband’s chest rises and falls with regular motion. Color returns to his pallid face, and his eyes flutter open. Pulling himself to a sitting position in the sleeping bag, he runs his fingers over himself, as if incredulous that he is still alive.

“It’s a miracle,” he mumbles.

Matt touches his shoulder. “Please tell no one of this.”

“Thank you.” The man turns to his wife. “Come on Gloria. Let’s go for a walk. I feel like a million bucks.” Standing on his feet, he reaches out to his wife, pulls her up and throws back the tent flap.

Dozens of eyes stare back at them in silence as the man and wife move through the crowd.

When Matt and Yarah emerge from the tent, gasps and groans rise from the onlookers. Trembling fingers reach out to touch their clothes.

“Sorry for the disturbance, folks.” Matt takes Yarah’s hand and walks past the upturned eyes.

An old woman in a tattered dress steps forward. “He was almost dead. I saw him myself last night. Barely had a pulse. No color in his skin. Fingers turning blue.” She takes both of Matt’s hands, studying them, and then slowly looks up into his eyes. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’ve finally come. Just as Little John said.” She smiles, turns and walks away.

On the way back to their camp, Matt whispers to Yarah. “We better pack our bags and get out of here. Ryzaard could come any time looking for us. Good thing this camp is in plain view of the city. I’m guessing Ryzaard won’t risk an attack here.”

Matt bends to roll up his sleeping bag. He is startled by a tap on his shoulder.

“Could I trouble you for just a moment?” A young man with no teeth looks at Matt. He carries the stench of cheap whisky and speaks with trembling lips and a noticeable slur. “I saw what you did for the old man. If it’s not too much trouble, could you help me?”

Matt looks back at Yarah, a half smile on his face. “What is the problem?”

“It’s my leg.” He pulls up his pants and reveals a six-inch sore on his shin running with blood and puss. “Cut myself on some barbed wire hopping a fence. Three weeks ago. Just gets worse and worse. I can’t afford to see a doctor. Do you think you could—”

Matt checks the surroundings, seeing they are alone. “Sit.” With one thumb, he flips open the box and pulls out the Stone, casting an apologetic eye at Yarah. “This won’t take long.”

When he’s done, the young man stands on his feet and pulls up his pant leg.

No trace of the sore. The skin is firm and clear.

“Tell no one,” Matt says. “Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” the young man says.

Five minutes later, Matt finishes sorting the items to be packed away and looks up again.

Ten people are waiting in a line in front of him.

News of the healings spreads.

It goes through the homeless camp and out into the suburbs. It finds its way back into the City of Vancouver, drawing hundreds out of its streets and alleys. By noon, long lines form in front of both Yarah and Matt. Some of the people stand on crutches or canes, some of them ride in motor-chairs. Others carry children or old men and women in their arms. Many look perfectly healthy, but come to find healing for a secret inner malady.

With their Stones in hand, Matt and Yarah sit together under a blue tarp erected above them for shade. Off to the side is a growing pile of crutches, canes, motor-chairs, bottles, inhalers, injectors, body patches, pharmaceuticals, stimulants, narcotics and antidepressants, all discarded as people walk away, whole and healed.

After five hours of healing, both Matt and Yarah are exhausted. They take short breaks for food and water, brought to them by grateful patrons. But the lines only grow in length. Word of the mass healing spreads so far by mid-afternoon that people begin emptying out the hospitals in the city, bringing their sick relatives to the homeless camp.

Police arrive on the scene, at first not believing what they see. But within minutes, they are organizing the lines and keeping order in the camp.

At intervals during the day, Matt and Yarah heal each other so they have the energy to keep going.

By nightfall, Matt can see no end to the crowds in sight. Generators are brought in, flood lights erected.

It doesn’t end until 3:00 AM. The lines had only grown longer, winding several miles back along the road from Vancouver. But the people finally relent and leave, out of compassion for the two healers, promising they will wait and come back the next day.

As the crowds pull away, Matt and Yarah lie in sleeping bags inside a new tent erected for them. A pile of IMU cards, loaded with enough cash to comfortably retire, is near Matt’s head. Policemen stand guard outside the door.

“He knows we’re here, doesn’t he?” Yarah yawns as her head hits the pillow.

“No doubt about it.” Matt stares up at the ceiling of the tent. “But I don’t care.”

Exhausted with joy, he falls asleep.

“W
hy keep her alive?”

“Because those are the orders. Kill all the others, but keep the one with the walrus tooth necklace alive.” The soldier in charge knocks the other on his helmet. Then he stares down the barrel of his pulse rifle at Jessica, a big smile on his face. “We’ve been watching you for the past three days. Cameras everywhere in here. You had no idea, did you?”