Terraplane (33 page)

"Ya," he began, more slowly. "Ya ly-"

Before he might finish her arms squeezed round him as if to hug;
tightening, they set to crush. With difficulty he struggled free from
her coils. Oktobriana's limbs began wrapping around themselves,
drawing tight as she curled herself together. As her chest contracted
she gasped for breath, her mouth stretched wide until it bled at the
corners; blood flowed from her ears and from her eyes. As her arms
and legs gave under muscles' torque the sound of snapping bones
echoed throughout the car. She fell down onto the seat, her vertebrae twisting as they were shattered by her flesh's grip. Her silent
gasps came as if she were being leapt upon.

"Jake," I said. "You know what's essentialled. Move."

"I can't-" he said, sounding as if he were no more than six.

"It's a reasoned act," I reminded. Her lips quivered as she tried to
give word to her pain; her bones' crunch pierced my ears. Fairleavers streamed past us, oblivious to the scene within our car.
"Help her, Jake. You have to."

He couldn't.

"Lift her, Jake. This way."

Gripping her tight he raised her from the seat, leaving deeper
bruises wherever he lay finger, bringing her forward, resting her
shoulders against the back of the front seat. He turned away.
Oktobriana's bleeding eyes squeezed shut as if not to see the last.

"Luther, please-"

"There's no choice, Jake," I said, lifting my hands. "None."

Wrapping my fingers around her head, I closed my own eyes as I
twisted. She left before she slumped; my fingers burned with
mercy's scorch. Jake stared at her as she tumbled back into the seat,
her eyes half-open. From fair's direction I heard faint cheers and
applause. Wanda looked away from all of us, staring off into a
parking lot just to our right as if hoping to see someone she knew.
Jake hugged Oktobriana's body, making no more sound than did
she, showing no tear.

"Let it go, Jake," I said. "It's over. Come on."

Unresponding, he slowly pulled himself upright, staring into
her stillness, clutching her without cease, looking in wonder as if
realizing what was lost. His face showed no more than it ever did. I
eyed the dash clock as I caught my breath; I couldn't stop my hands
from shaking. It was eight twenty-three.-

"How quick can we foot it over?" I asked.

"You can't," she sighed, starting the engine.

"You'll drive us through?"

She nodded. "No other way. They don't allow cars in, so you're
going to have to play by your rules, going in. I can't believe this-"

"Trouble's handleable," I said. "Jake can cover our approach."

"It'll take a minute or two once we're through to get over to the
mall," she said. "How close you got to call this if it's going to work?"

"I don't know," I said. "All we have to do is aim for what appears,
and I'm uncertain as to what's supposed to appear-"

"Shit," she said, staring towards the gate. A police car had pulled
up and parked. Two patrollers stepped out, looking idly around as if
searching for those attempting to beat the admission. "You all
better be ready for anything."

"As ever," I said. Lightning's strobe lit the clouds overhead;
thunder's drumroll came no longer muffled by distance. "Weather's
holding as forecast. Just start pulling forward. Don't worry yet-"

They looked towards us; perhaps saw our shadows moving
within the car, several hundred meters away from where they
lingered. Patting their sidearms, they moved our way.

"Jake," I said, worrying. "You prepped? Action's coming."

No answer came; I turned, looked around.

"Jake?"

He held Oktobriana, stroking her shoulders as if to return life
with death-soaked hands. Looking towards her without sight, he
listened to me without hearing. The lights went up across the way;
the fair showed in full illumination, in crystalline light. Our
investigators drew closer, unhurrying, as if time were all they had
in the world.

"Weapon me, Jake. "

Without word he drew the Shrogin from beneath his jacket; after
he handed it across, I slipped it over to my right, between the seat
and the door. So nonchalantly as I could I rolled down the window
and unclicked the gun's safety. Wanda had slowed the car to a snail's
run as I'd readied myself; the two policemen prepped their own
toys. The fair's lights glowed now against the dark, lightning-lit sky,
showing in multihues; blue and orange and red and purple. The
Trylon and Perisphere glowed in purest ivory white.

"They'll shoot, Luther," said Wanda, quickening our roll
towards the gate.

"So'111. "

They lifted their guns and readied. The Shrogin held three clips
and could send forth a thousand bursts; thrusting myself out the
window, raising and aiming, I triggered before they could shoot.
The recoil was so unnoticeable, the feel and hold so smooth and
balanced. They burst into spray, dropping streetways; I barely felt a
thing. Perching myself on windowedge, with left hand gripping
the underside of the roof, with right I set my charge.

"Go through the stiles. They'll give when I send warning."

"They've got the lights on already, Luther-"

Go.

As if freed, I fired without cease for a moment or so, aiming not
to strike with death but with fear. The gatekeepers scattered into the
safety of the fair; those leaving or entering did so more quickly. Raindrops began pelting the car, began washing my face as we
crashed through, scraping by. I slid back inside, keeping the
Shrogin aimed without and forward.

"We too late?" Wanda asked, steering us through a curved alley
dividing two smooth-sided buildings; a caterpillarlike tram, its
passengers sheltered from the rain by a brighthued top, crawled out
of our path as we eked through.

"Don't think so. Go, Wanda. Come on."

As we pulled onto Constitution Mall, its aligned trees glowing
screen green with the lights positioned beneath their branches, its
pink-shaded buildings rising from either side, we saw the lights
round the fair's centerpiece fade from white and return again as sun
yellow; the Trylon gleamed like a golden javelin, the Perisphere
glistened like a boiled egg's yolk. Around the iron ring beneath the
spire's apex, bolts of artificial lightning crackled, shooting along
the metal wires supporting the ring; along the needle's length blue
flashes of unimaginable voltage ran wild. Greater applause than
previously heard rose from the distance as we headed towards the
light.

"This is it," I said. "Floor it, Wanda. I'll keep us cleared. Aim
straight. Stop for nothing."

Jake's hand appeared from behind; he began dropping his arsenal into the front seat as we rushed forward. On top of all he placed
his pocket-player. Why he had chosen such a moment to disarm I
couldn't guess and couldn't take time to ask even had I expected
answer.

"I don't believe this shit," Wanda said, her hands tight upon the
wheel except when she shifted; by the engine's roar I gathered we'd
entered highest gear.

"Keep driving," I said, firing again to drive any crowd from our
onrush. Beyond the trees' long line the Trylon showed as a maypole
bedecked with ribbons of lightning swirling round; the Perisphere
glowed more brightly, its shine rising from within as if it prepped to
blast. Bolts flashed upward into the rain-drenching skies. Without
warning a great flash shot from cloud to peak, the real electric
meeting the sham; a waterfall of charge cascaded downward, one
stream angling to right, coming to ground directly in our path, hundreds of meters distant. When it struck it showed as a high
white curtain rising from the earth.

"Luther-"

"That's it."

"Drive into that?" she asked, not slowing. "We'll be cooked."

"Drive. "

The curtain's white edges tinged with blue; ozone's scent perfumed the air. On our right I noticed a long reflecting pool lined
with statuary; the water seemed aflame with reflected light. Ahead,
between us and the curtain, red revolving lights suggested that our
progress might be interrupted. I readied to aim again, not noticing
pain, not feeling fear, knowing nothing but a feeling exhilarating
in its effect, horrifying in its implications as I prepped to kill.

"Road's blocked, Luther," said Wanda; with my free hand I
reached over to assist her guidance of the wheel. Keeping my eyes
low to avoid the blinding light ahead, I knew we couldn't stop at
this point. Even as we raced forward, the ones officiating surely
were trying to shut off the coil and bring this unexpected polytechnic to an end. There'd come no further chance.

"Aim left. Clip them if needed. I'll keep them down."

Guns fired our way; with free finger I released the trigger, firing
at optimum, uncaring of who or what might be hit, feeling within
my hand the warming shake of death as I flung it forward. On the
left was room enough to pass, just; the rear of our Terraplane struck
the squad car that nearly blocked our path, catching its front
bumper. We skidded away from the light, towards the trees. Dropping the Shrogin, its handle burning, I reached across, aimed the
wheel towards the glow and pressed Wanda's foot down with my
own upon the accelerator.

"Lord help us," she shouted. "Luther-"

No sooner had we entered the light than silence surrounded us;
the white painted all before and behind. My stomach roiled with
nausea; the hair on my neck's nape rose. Knowing that we would
experience some location displacement, wondering how far our
speed might shoot us through, I hoped that we would not emerge
in the Hudson River's midst, or break through full speed into the
side of Grand Central.

As the light faded, the rear door opened.

"Jake!" I turned; watched them sliding into unoccupied airspace,
without sound falling out between worlds, leaping into light.

"Luther!" Wanda screamed. "Hold tight-"

At once the white vanished; scenes showed once more. We were
airborne, or so it felt. Having landed at bridge's arc and bounding
upward, we crashed again onto its slope, striking the Fifty-ninth
Street ramp. The rear tires broke away as the axle gave. Sparks flew
up from beneath the car as the underpan scraped the longneglected pavement, slowing us but slightly as we skidded towards
the wall defending midtown from the Queensboro Bridge's sealed
approach, heading straight for the guardpost on First Avenue. The
city rose around us, its heights lost in nighttime smog. We slowed
before striking the wall, spinning as if loosed by top-string before
finally coming to a stop. No sooner had we come to our rest than
the guards reacted, firing into the windshield as we ducked, sending glittering shards onto our backs with wind chime's ring. I
fumbled for my wallet; finding Valentino's passport, I threw it
aside. The bootsteps neared; I held my true ID up on high, hoping
they might read it before they termed us; hoping that they could
read. A barrel pressed into my temple as my wallet was snatched
from my hand. Eyeshut, I wondered if death at home seemed truly
preferable, after all.

"Dryco," I whispered, as if to my lover.

"Sir," the soldier asked, unaiming, shouldering his toy. "Are you
AO, sir?"

Heaving myself upward, hauling Wanda with me, I smiled,
seeing the city as I knew it to look; stared childlike at the soldier's
visor mirror, the glass bluffs rising round us, the razorwire cornice
topping the graffitied wall, the searchlight's unending slash at the
moon and stars. Cityroar resounded round, warning all weakhearted away. Wanda opened her eyes and stared into her new
abyss. Her lungs spasmed at first breath; her cough ran for five
minutes full as she adjusted to the air. I breathed deep, knowing
home.

"Hospital us," I said, looking back, but Jake was still gone.

HEARING WATER BEATING GLASS I AWOKE; ROSE, STUMBLED
across darkness that I might retrieve my plants from the balcony
before the rain killed them. From pelting damp I reentered,
scratching blindly at the itch the drops left on my burning skin.
Standing in four-A. M. calm, I scanned the nightlit room, knowing
without solid reason that another kept near. A wallhanging fell
floorways, dropping without weight, lending no sound as it landed.

Bending, feeling old aches left from bones broken and rebroken,
from ill-knit ribs and oft-concussed head, I lifted the frame, ran
fingertips along the unbroken wire there attached. Stroking the
wall, feeling its coolness, finding the holder still set secure, I
rehung the photo and stared at its look while my eyes adjusted to
dark. It was an ancient colorshot from a more accessible 1939,
showing an evening pose of the Trylon's clean needle; the Perisphere ashine with blue and dabbled white. The picture stayed
where I'd hung it; one fall was enough.

Between worlds Jake wandered yet, I supposed, good arm forever
supporting Oktobriana's stillness. Where he walks others must also
beat the walls that they might make some sound, there in the space
through which panthers leap from Canada into England, crocs
from Florida to Boston; the void through which little girls slip
without warning from mother's clasp; somewhere in the fence.