The City of Mirrors (47 page)

Nothing happened. Suddenly, everything went quiet; even the wind had stopped. He wondered how this could be so, the sky so furious one minute and still the next. He rose and peered out the window. Above him, the clouds had opened like a porthole. The eye, Carter thought, that’s what this was; he was in the eye of the storm. He looked down. The ship had come to rest against the side of the tower, parked like a cab at the curb.

He climbed down the face of the building. How much time he had before the storm returned, Carter couldn’t say. All he knew was that the ship being there felt like a message. At length he found himself in the bowels of the vessel, its maze of passages and pipes. Yet he did not feel lost; it was as if an unseen influence was guiding his every action. Oily seawater sloshed around his feet. He chose a direction, then another, drawn by this mysterious presence. A door appeared at the end of the corridor—heavy steel, like the door of a bank vault. T1, it was marked: Tank No. 1

The water will protect you, Anthony.

He started. Who was speaking to him? The voice seemed to come from everywhere: from the air he breathed, the water sloshing at his feet, the metal of the ship. It enfolded him like a blanket of perfect softness.

He cannot find you here. Abide here in safety, and she will come to you.

That was when he felt her: Amy. Not dark, like the others; her soul was made of light. A great sob racked his body. His loneliness was leaving him. It lifted from his spirit like a veil, and what lay behind it was a sorrow of a different kind—a beautiful, holy kind of sorrow for the world and all its woes. He was holding the wheel. Slowly it turned under his hands. Outside, beyond the walls of the ship, the wind was howling again. The rain lashed, the sky rolled, the seas tore through the streets of the drowned city.

Come inside, Anthony.

The door opened; Carter stepped through. His body was in the ship, the
Chevron Mariner,
but Carter was in that place no more. He was falling and falling and falling, and when the falling stopped he knew just where he was, even before he opened his eyes, because he could smell the flowers.

Carter realized he’d finished his tea. Amy’s was done with the cosmos and was tidying up the beds. Carter thought to tell her to rest a spell, he’d get to the weeds directly, but he knew that she’d refuse; when there was work to do, she did it.

The waiting was hard for her. Not just because of the things she’d have to face, but for what she’d given up. She never said a word about it, that wasn’t Amy’s way, but Carter could tell. He knew what it was like to love a person and lose them in this life.

Because Zero would come calling. That was a fact. Carter knew that man, knew he wouldn’t rest until the whole world was a mirror to his grief. Thing was, Carter couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. Carter had been in that station himself. Weren’t the question the man had wrong, it was his way of asking it.

Carter got up from his chair, put on his hat, and went to where Amy was kneeling in the dirt.

“Have a good nap?” she asked, looking up.

“Was I sleeping?”

She tossed a weed onto the pile. “You should have heard yourself snoring.”

Now, that was news to Carter. Although, come to think of it, he might have rested his eyes there for a second.

Amy rocked back on her heels and held her arms wide over the newly planted beds. “What do you think?”

He stepped back to look. Everything was neat as a pin. “Those cosmos is pretty. Mrs. Wood will like ’em. Miss Haley, too.”

“They’ll need water.”

“I’ll see to it. You should get out of the sun for a bit. Tea’s still there you want it.”

He was hooking the hose to the spigot near the gate when he heard the soft pressure of tires on asphalt and saw the Denali coming down the street. It halted at the corner, then crept forward. Carter could just make out the shape of Mrs. Wood’s face through the darkly tinted windows. The car cruised slowly by the house, barely moving but never stopping either, the way a ghost might do, then accelerated and sped away.

Amy appeared beside him. “I heard the girls playing earlier.” She, too, was looking down the street, though the Denali was long gone. “I brought you this.”

Amy was holding a wand. For a second Carter was unable to connect the idea of it to anything else. But it was for the cosmos, of course.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Carter responded with a shrug. He threaded the wand to the end of the hose and opened the spigot. Amy returned to the patio while Carter dragged the hose to the beds and began to water them down. It hardly mattered, he knew; autumn would be here soon. The leaves would pale and fall, the garden fade, the wind grow raw. Frost would wick the tips of the grass, and the body of Mrs. Wood would rise. All things found their ends. But still Carter went on with it, passing his wand over the flowers, back and forth, back and forth, his heart always believing that even the smallest things could make a difference.

44

All day long the rain poured down. Everyone was antsy, trapped in the house. Caleb could tell that Pim’s patience with her sister was wearing thin, and he felt a row coming. A few days ago, he might have welcomed such a development, if only to get it over with.

Dusk was near when the clouds broke. A radiant sun streamed low across the fields, everything sopping and glinting in the light. Caleb scanned the ground around the house for ants; finding none, he declared that they could go out to enjoy the last of the day. All that remained of the mounds were ovals of depressed mud barely distinguishable from the surrounding earth. Relax, he told himself. You’re letting the isolation get to you, that’s all.

Kate and Pim supervised the children making mud pies while Caleb went to check on the horses. He’d built an open-sided shelter on the far side of the paddock to give them cover from the weather, and that was where he found them now. Handsome seemed none the worse for wear, but Jeb was breathing hard and showing the whites of his eyes. He was also holding his left rear hoof off the ground. The horse let him bend the joint long enough for Caleb to see a small puncture wound in the raised central structure of the horse’s hoof. Something long and sharp was stuck in there. He walked to the shed and returned with a halter, needle-nosed pliers, and a rope. He was fixing Jeb’s halter when he saw Kate coming his way.

“He doesn’t look so happy.”

“Got a pricker in his hoof.”

“Could you use an extra set of hands?”

He was fine on his own, but the woman’s sudden interest in helping out wasn’t anything he was going to say no to. “The ropes should hold him. Just keep a hand on his halter.”

Kate gripped the leather near the horse’s mouth. “He looks sick. Should he be breathing like that?”

Caleb was crouched at the rear of the animal. “You’re the doctor—you tell me.”

He lifted the horse’s foot. With his other hand, he angled the pliers to the wound. There wasn’t much to grab hold of. As the tips made contact, the animal shoved his weight backward, whinnying and tossing his head.

“Keep him still, damn it!”

“I’m trying!”

“He’s a horse, Kate. Show him who’s boss.”

“What do you want me to do, slug him?”

Jeb was having none of it. Caleb left the shelter and returned with a length of three-quarter-inch chain, which he ran through the halter, up and over the horse’s nose. He tightened the chain against Jeb’s jaw and gave the ends to Kate.

“Hold this,” he said. “And don’t be nice.”

Jeb didn’t like it, but the chain worked. Caught in the tips of the pliers, the offending article slowly emerged. Caleb held it up in the light. About two inches long, it was made of a rigid, nearly translucent material, like the bone of a bird.

“Some kind of thorn, I guess,” he said.

The horse had relaxed somewhat but was still breathing rapidly. Flecks of spittle hung from the corners of his mouth; his neck and flanks were glossed with sweat. Caleb washed the hoof with water from a bucket and poured iodine into the wound. Handsome was lingering near the shelter, watching them cautiously. While Kate held the halter, Caleb sheathed the hoof in a leather sock and secured it with twine. There wasn’t much else he could do at this point. He’d leave the animal tied up for the night and see how he was in the morning.

“Thanks for your help.”

The two of them were standing at the door of the shed; the light was just about gone.

“Look,” Kate said finally, “I know I haven’t been especially good company these days.”

“It’s fine, forget it. Everybody understands.”

“You don’t need to be nice about it, Caleb. We’ve known each other too long.”

Caleb said nothing.

“Bill was an asshole. Okay, I get that.”

“Kate, we don’t have to do this.”

She didn’t seem angry, merely resigned. “I’m just saying I know what everybody thinks. And they’re not wrong. People don’t even know the half of it, actually.”

“So why did you marry him?” Caleb was surprised at himself; the question had just popped out. “Sorry, that was a little direct.”

“No, it’s a fair question. Believe me, I’ve asked it myself.” A moment passed; then she brightened a little. “Did you know that when Pim and I were kids we used to have fights over who would get to marry you? I’m talking physical fights—slapping, hair pulling, the whole thing.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Don’t look so happy, I’m surprised one of us didn’t end up in the hospital. One time, I stole her diary? I think I was thirteen. God, I was such a little shit. There was all this stuff in there about you. How
good-looking
you were, how
smart
you were. Both your names with a big fat heart drawn around them. It was just disgusting.”

Caleb found the thought hilarious. “What happened?”

“What do you think? She was older, the fights weren’t exactly fair.” Kate shook her head and laughed. “Look at you. You love this.”

It was true, he did. “It’s a funny story. I never knew about any of it.”

“And don’t flatter yourself, bub—I’m not about to throw myself at your feet.”

He smiled. “That’s a relief.”

“Plus, it would seem a little incestuous.” She shuddered. “Seriously, gross.”

Night had fallen over the fields. Caleb realized what he’d been missing: the feeling of Kate’s friendship. As kids, they’d been as close as any two siblings. But then life had happened—the Army, Kate’s medical training, Bill and Pim, Theo and the girls and all their plans—and they’d mislaid each other in the shuffle. Years had passed since they’d really spoken, the way they were doing now.

“But I didn’t answer your question, did I? Why I married Bill. The answer is pretty simple. I married him because I loved him. I can’t think of a single good reason
why
I did, but a person doesn’t get to pick. He was a sweet, happy, worthless man, and he was mine.” She stopped, then said, “I didn’t come out here to help you with the horses, you know.”

“You didn’t?”

“I came to ask you what’s making you so nervous. I don’t think Pim has noticed, but she’s going to.”

Caleb felt caught. “It’s probably nothing.”

“I know you, Caleb. It’s not nothing. And I have my girls to think about. Are we in trouble?”

He didn’t want to answer, but Kate had him dead to rights.

“I’m not sure. We might be.”

A loud whinny in the paddock broke his thoughts. They heard a crash, then a series of hard, rhythmic bangs.

“What the hell is
that
?” Kate said.

Caleb grabbed a lantern from the shed and raced across the paddock. Jeb lay on his side, his head tossing violently. His hind hooves were knocking against the wall of the shelter in spasmodic jerks.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kate said.

The animal was dying. His bowels released, then his bladder. A trio of convulsions barreled through his body, followed by a final, violent tremor, every part of him stiffening. He held this position for several seconds, as if stretched on wires. Then the air went out of him and he was still.

Caleb crouched beside the carcass, lifting the lantern over the animal’s face. A bubbly froth, tinged with blood, was running from his mouth. One dark eye stared upward, shining with reflected light.

“Caleb, why are you holding a gun?”

He looked down; so he was. It was George’s revolver, the big .357, which he’d hidden in the shed. He must have grabbed it when he’d retrieved the lantern—an action so automatic as to escape his conscious awareness.

“You need to tell me what’s going on,” Kate said.

Caleb released the hammer and swiveled on his heels toward the house. The windows shimmered with candlelight. Pim would be making supper, the girls playing on the floor or looking at books, Baby Theo fussing in his high chair. Maybe not; maybe the boy was already asleep. He sometimes did that, passing out cold at dinnertime only to awaken hours later, howling with hunger.

“Answer me, Caleb.”

He rose, slipped the pistol into the waistband of his trousers, and drew his shirt over the butt to conceal it. Handsome was standing at the edge of the light, his head bent low like a mourner’s. The poor guy, Caleb thought. It was as if he knew that the job would fall to him to drag the carcass of his only friend across the field to a patch of useless ground where, come morning, Caleb would use the rest of his fuel to burn it.

45

By late afternoon, Eustace and Fry had canvassed most of the outermost farms. Overturned furniture, beds disturbed, pistols and rifles lying where they’d fallen, a round or two fired, if that.

And not a living soul.

It was after six o’clock when they finished checking the last one, a dump of a place four miles downriver, near the old ADM ethanol plant. The house was tiny, just one room, the structure hammered together from scrap lumber and decaying asphalt shingles. Eustace didn’t know who’d lived out here. He guessed he never would.

Eustace’s bad leg was aching hard; they’d have just enough time to make it back to town before dark. They mounted their horses and turned north, but a hundred yards later Eustace held up.