The Strain, the Fall, the Night Eternal (139 page)

“Easy, kid. Jesus.”

He dragged the squirming boy back over the guardrail.

Nora said, “You okay, Gus?”

Gus wrestled with the kid. “He’s a lousy shot, so yeah.”

Nora looked back at the chopper. Barnes had vanished. She squinted past the helicopter light, searching for him, but to no avail. Nora cursed softly.

Gus took another look at the kid’s face there and noticed something about him, his eyes, the structure of his face. He looked familiar. Too familiar.

Gus looked at Nora. “Oh, come on,” said Gus.

The kid kicked at Gus with the heel of his sneaker. Gus kicked him back, only harder.

“Christ—just like your father,” Gus said.

That slowed the kid down. He looked at Gus, though still trying to pull away. “What do you know?” he said.

When Nora looked at Zack, she both recognized him at once and not at all: the boy’s eyes were nothing like she had remembered. His features had matured as any boy’s would have over a two-year period—but his eyes lacked the light they had once had. If the curiosity was still there, it was darker now, it was deeper. It was as though his personality had retreated into his mind, wanting to read but not to be read. Or maybe he was just in shock. He was only thirteen, after all.

He is hollow. He is not there.

“Zachary,” she said, not knowing what to do.

The boy looked at her for some moments before recognition crept into his eyes. “Nora,” he said, pronouncing the word slowly, as though having nearly forgotten it.

D
espite the fact that there were fewer drones available to monitor the various potential automobile routes in northern New York State, the Master’s path grew ever more certain. The Master had viewed Dr. Martinez’s ambush through the eyes of Dr. Barnes’s security detail, until their violent release. Currently, the Master saw the helicopter in the highway, rotors still spinning, viewed through Kelly Goodweather’s eyes.

The Master watched as Kelly directed her driver down a steep embankment to an auxiliary road, driving fast, following the Explorer’s path. Kelly’s bond with Zachary was much more intense than her bond with her ex-mate Dr. Ephraim Goodweather. Her longing was much more pronounced—and, in this moment, productive.

And now the Master had an even better read on the infidels’ progress. They had taken the bait the Master knew would prove irresistible. The Master watched through Zachary’s eyes, sitting in the backseat of the automobile driven by Augustin Elizalde. The Master was all but with them there in the vehicle as they headed to rendezvous with Dr. Goodweather, who had possession of the
Lumen
and knowledge of the location of the Black Site.

“I am following them,” said Barnes, his voice crackling on a radio. “I will keep you informed. You have me on the GPS.”

And indeed, a dot was visible on the GPS. An imperfect, pale, mechanical imitation of the Master’s bond, but one he could share with the traitor Barnes.

“I have the gun with me,” said Barnes. “I am ready for your command.”

The Master smiled. So obsequious.

They were close, perhaps mere miles away from their destination. Their northern trajectory put them on a path toward Lake Ontario or the Saint Lawrence River. And if a water crossing was in order, no matter. The Master had Creem to ferry him across, if needed, as the gang leader was still nominally human but wholly under his command.

The Master directed the helicopters north at full speed.

C
reem’s mouth hurt. His gums burned where his dented silver teeth were attached. At first he thought this was more lingering effects resulting from the elbow he had taken from Mr. Quinlan. But now his fingers were growing sore, enough so that he plucked the bling off his knuckles, giving his digits a rest, the silver jewelry piling up in the cup holder.

He didn’t feel right. He felt woozy and warm. At first he feared some sort of bacterial infection like the one that had claimed Gus’s man. But the more he looked into his rearview mirror at the Master’s dark, worm-writhing face, the more Creem grew anxious, wondering if the Master had infected him. For an instant, he felt something move through his forearm and into his biceps. Something more than a tingle. Something en route to his heart.

E
ph’s Jeep reached Fishers Landing first. The northernmost road ran along the edge of the Saint Lawrence. Mr. Quinlan couldn’t pick up on any vampires in the immediate area. They saw a
CAMP
RIVERSIDE
sign pointing toward an area where the road left the water’s edge. They turned down the dirt road, riding out to a large spit of land jutting into the river. There were cabins and a restaurant with an adjacent sweets shop, and a sandy beach boxed in by a dock long and wide enough to be just barely visible over the water.

Eph pulled up sharply in the lot at the end of the road, leaving his headlamps on, and pointed at the water. He wanted to get out on that dock. They needed a boat.

As soon as he shut his door, a powerful light filled his vision, effectively blinding him. By thrusting up his arm, he could just make out multiple sources, one from near the restaurant, the other near a towel shack. He panicked a moment but then realized that these were artificial light sources—something vampires had no need or use for.

A voice called out, “Stop right there! Don’t move!”

A real voice, not a vampire voice projected into his head.

“Okay, okay!” said Eph, trying to shield his eyes. “I’m a human!”

“We see that now,” said the female voice.

A male voice from the other side said, “This one’s armed!”

Eph looked over at Fet on the other side of the Jeep. Fet said, “Are you armed?”

“You better believe it!” called the male voice.

“Can we both put them down and talk?” said Fet.

“No,” said the female voice. “We’re glad you aren’t stingers, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t raiders. Or Stonehearts in disguise.”

“We aren’t either,” said Eph, holding off the lights with his open hands. “We’re here on a . . . a sort of mission. But there isn’t much time.”

“There’s one more in the backseat!” yelled the male voice. “Show yourself!”

Oh, shit,
thought Eph. Where to begin? “Look,” he said. “We came here all the way from New York City.”

“I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you return.”

“You . . . you sound like fighters. Against the vampires. We’re fighters too. Part of a resistance.”

“We’re full up here, friend.”

Eph said, “We need to get out to one of the islands.”

“Feel free. Just do it from some other point along the Saint Lawrence. We don’t want any trouble, but we’re ready enough for it.”

“If I could have just ten minutes to explain—”

“You got ten seconds to leave. I can see your eyes, and your friend’s. They’re right enough in the light. But if your other friend isn’t getting out of the car, we’re going to start shooting.”

“First of all, we have something fragile and explosive in the car, so for your sake, don’t shoot. Second, you’re not going to like what you see in our other friend here.”

Fet chimed in. “He reads vamp. His pupils will glass up in the light. Because he’s part stinger.”

The male voice said, “No such thing.”

“One such thing,” said Eph. “He’s on our side, and I can explain—or try to—if you’ll give me a chance.”

Eph sensed the light source moving. Advancing on him. He stiffened, expecting an attack.

The male voice from the other light said, “Careful, Ann!”

The woman behind the light stopped about ten yards away from Eph, near enough that he could feel heat coming off the lamp. He made out rubber boots and an elbow behind the beam.

“William!” the female voice called.

William, the bearer of the other light, came running toward Fet. “What is it?”

“Take a good look at his face,” she said.

For a moment, Eph had both beams directly on him.

“What?” said William. “He ain’t no vamp.”

“No, dummy. From the news reports. The wanted man. Are you Goodweather?”

“Yes. Ephraim is my name.”

“Goodweather, the fugitive doctor. Who killed Eldritch Palmer.”

“Actually,” Eph said, “I was falsely accused. I didn’t kill the old bastard. I did try, though.”

“They wanted you real bad, didn’t they? Those motherfuckers.”

Eph nodded. “They still do.”

William said, “I don’t know, Ann.”

Ann said, “You’ve got ten minutes, asshole. But your so-called friend stays in the car, and if he tries to get out, you’re all fish food.”

F
et stood before the back of the Jeep, showing them the device and the timer he had attached by flashlight.

“Shee-it. A goddamn nuclear bomb,” said Ann, revealed to be a woman in her fifties with a long, fraying braid of gray hair, dressed in waders under a fisherman’s slicker.

“You thought it would be bigger,” said Fet.

“I don’t know what I thought.” She looked again at Eph and Fet. William—a man in his forties, wearing a wool sweater shaggy with pulls and droopy blue jeans—remained off to the side, both hands on his rifle. The lamps lay at his feet, one of them still turned on. The indirect light cast Mr. Quinlan, now standing outside the vehicle, in an intimidating cloak of shadows. “Except that your situation here is too bizarre to be untrue.”

Eph said, “We don’t want anything from you, except a map of these islands and a means to get out there.”

“You’re going to detonate this little fucker.”

Eph said, “We are indeed. You’ll want to relocate away from here, whether the island is more than a half mile offshore or not.”

“We don’t live here,” said William.

At first, Ann shot him a look that said he had told too much. But then she softened, allowing that she could be open with Eph and Fet since they had been open with her.

“We live out in the islands,” she said. “Where the damn stingers can’t go. There are old forts from the Revolutionary War out there. We’re in them.”

“How many?”

“All told there’s forty-two of us. Was fifty-six; we’ve lost that many. We’re in three living groups, ’cause even after the world’s ended some assholes still can’t get along. We’re mostly neighbors who didn’t know one another before this damn thing. We keep coming back to the mainland to scavenge for arms, tools, and food, kind of like Robinson Crusoe if you consider the mainland the shipwreck.”

Eph said, “You have boats.”

“We do have fucking boats. Three motorboats and a whole bunch of li’l skiffs.”

“Good,” said Eph. “Very good. I hope you can see fit to loan us one. I’m sorry we’re bringing this trouble your way.” He checked with the Born, who was standing very still. “Anything yet?”

Nothing imminent.

But Eph could tell by the way he answered that they were running out of time. He said to Ann, “You know these islands?”

She nodded. “William knows them best. Like the back of his hand.”

Eph said to William, “Can we go inside the restaurant and you sketch me out directions? I know what I’m looking for. It’s an island with very little growth on it, rocky, shaped like a trefoil, which is like a series of three overlapping rings. Like a biohazard symbol, if you can picture that.”

Ann and William looked at each other in a way that showed they both knew exactly which island Eph was referring to. Eph felt a spike of adrenaline.

A radio crackle surprised them, making jumpy William step back. The walkie-talkie in the front seat of the Jeep. “Friends of ours,” said Fet, moving to the door, reaching in for the radio. “Nora?”

“Oh, thank God,” she said, her voice fuzzy over the airwaves. “We’re in Fishers Landing finally. Where are you?”

“Follow the signs for the public beach. You’ll see a sign for Camp Riverside. Follow the dirt road to the water. Hurry up, but come quietly. We’ve met some others who can help us get out onto the water.”

“Some others?” she said.

“Just trust me and get out here, now.”

“Okay, I see a sign for the beach,” she said. “We’ll be right there.”

Fet set down the radio. “They’re close.”

“Good,” said Eph, turning again to Mr. Quinlan. The Born was watching the sky, as though for a sign. This worried Eph. “Anything we need to know?”

All quiet.

“How many hours do we have until the meridiem?”

Too many, I am afraid.

“Something is troubling you,” said Eph. “What is it?”

I do not enjoy traveling over water.

“I realize that. And?”

We should have seen the Master by now. I don’t like the fact that we have not . . .

A
nn and William wanted to talk, but Eph just wanted them to sketch out the route to the island. So he left them drawing on the back of a paper place mat and returned to Fet, standing before the bomb set upon the candy shop ice cream counter adjacent to the restaurant. Through the glass doors, Eph saw Mr. Quinlan waiting for vampires in front of the beach.

Eph said, “How long will we have?”

Fet said, “I don’t know. I hope long enough.” He showed him the switch with the safety on. “Turn this way for the delay.” It was set to a clock icon raised on the small panel. “Don’t turn it this way.” Toward the X. “Then run like hell.”

Eph felt another cramp crawling up his arm. He clenched his fist and hid the pain best as he could.

“I don’t like the idea of leaving it there. A lot can go wrong in a few minutes.”

“We don’t have an alternative. Not if we want to survive.”

They both looked up at the approaching headlights. Fet ran out to Nora’s car, and Eph remained behind, returning to monitor William’s work. Ann was making suggestions and William was annoyed. “It is four islands out and one over.”

Ann said, “What about Little Thumb?”

“You can’t give these islands pet names and expect everyone else to memorize them.”

Ann looked at Eph and explained, “The third island looks like it has a little thumb.”

Eph looked at the sketch. The route appeared clear enough; that was all that mattered.