Wayward Pines: The Widow Lindley (Kindle Worlds Novella) (5 page)

Ethan kept following the trail he’d started. “Old identity
erased from her mind and from the databanks as well; a new identity created. But
why? If she posed a risk, wouldn’t people with that kind of power just kill
her?”

“Absolutely,” Pilcher said. “‘Disappear her,’ in the lingua
franca.”

Pam snapped her fingers. “A sleeper! Maybe she was supposed
to hide in plain sight until activated, like that movie…” Her fingers
snapped furiously. “What was it called?”

“The Manchurian Candidate?”

She jabbed her finger at Ethan like a clue-giver in
charades. “That’s it!”

“Well, even if it’s true,” Pilcher said, “it’s all
irrelevant now. That whole bullshit world is gone.”

Ethan looked at the screens that watched Wayward Pines 24-7.

Replaced by a new bullshit world.

He said, “Whoever she is, and however skilled she is, she’s
going to need some help.”

“Stay out of it, Ethan. The more people out there, the less
tempting she’ll be.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Ethan had failed Karla Lindley—or whoever she was—with her
daughter. He wasn’t about to let her face two abbies on her own.

Pilcher was staring at him. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m lying.”

He finally cracked a smile. “Okay. Go ahead. But let Pam
outfit you with a few things before you go.”

“How much can I tell her?”

His eyebrows rose. “Karla? Tell her whatever she needs to
know to get the job done. Tell her everything, if you have time.”

“Everything?”

He shrugged. “It’s not going to matter, is it.”

“Don’t come any closer, sheriff,” Karla called from where
she sat, far back under the outcrop, deep in the shadows.

The sheriff stopped, looking in her general direction. The
sinking sun was in his eyes, but even if it weren’t, no way could he see her. She’d
been too wound up earlier to gauge him. He seemed about her age with rugged
good looks and an easygoing manner. Before today she’d glimpsed him only once,
on a trip to the grocer. Now he held his old Winchester cradled in the crook of
his left arm, his right hand around the grip of the stock, his index finger
straight, resting outside the trigger guard. He had a backpack strapped to his
shoulders.

The small campfire she’d built smoldered between them.

“I came to help,” he called.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.”

“Like you helped me save Joanna?”

It seemed that Joanna had been dead a long time—a lifetime
ago. The pain remained, a burning knife through her heart, but it had been
eclipsed by rage.

“I’m sorry about that. I did what I could. I think you know
that. Look, can I approach?”

“Are you alone?”

“To the best of my knowledge.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Maybe someone followed me. If so, I don’t know about it.”

“Why would anyone follow you?”

“You never know.”

She thought about that. In the context of what she’d started
to suspect about this town, it wasn’t so far off.

Still, he was the sheriff. The masthead of officialdom in
Wayward Pines. He had to be in on the secrets, whatever they were.

All right, she thought. Let’s try a little test.

“Okay, come on up.” As he took a step forward, she added, “But
leave that Winchester back there.”

He stopped. If he agreed, then something was definitely
fishy. No one would want to be unarmed with whatever killed Joanna still
roaming about. But if he had backup watching, it wouldn’t make any difference
to him.

He shook his head. “I don’t think I’d be comfortable with
that.”

Okay. He passed.

“All right, bring it with you, but not that way.”

“What way?”

“The way you’re coming. That’ll only get you in trouble. A
couple of yards to your left there—see that double row of sticks winding this
way? Follow that.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll be one very unhappy camper.”

He shrugged, moved to his left, and followed the sticks. When
he reached the fire, he stopped and placed the butt of his shotgun’s stock on
the ground. A sign of peace.

He cupped a hand to his lips. “Come out, come out, wherever
you are.”

Karla moved from the shadows in a crouch, straightening as
she reached daylight. She kept the Benelli aimed at his gut.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Sheriff Burke.”

“What happened to ‘Ethan’?”

Good question. Something was very wrong with Wayward Pines,
and he seemed to be part of it. How could he not be? But then he had helped as
best he could yesterday. She’d call a truce for now, but she’d be watching.

“Okay. Pull up a chair, Ethan.”

They both sat crosslegged on the ground, keeping the fire
between them. She added a few more twigs. They smoked before they caught.

“That’s going to attract attention,” he said.

“One can only hope.”

He looked back along the path he had come. “Why would I have
been an unhappy camper?”

“Punji sticks,” she said.

His eyebrows shot up under the brim of his black Stetson. “You
know about punji sticks?”

“I do indeed.”

“How?”

“Ain’t got a fucking clue,” Karla replied.

And that was the god’s honest truth.

He seemed to be digesting that as his gaze roamed the area. “Where’s
the, um, dress?”

Karla fought the tightening of her throat. Rather than risk
speaking, she simply pointed to the fire. She’d watched it burn until it and
its obscene bloodstains were ash.

He nodded. “And the thing that was in it?”

Now she could speak. She pointed downhill. “Dropkicked it
over there somewhere.” She locked eyes with him. “What was that thing?”

“What makes you think I know?”

She sighed. “Aren’t we beyond games here? You hardly
flinched when you saw it. You know what it is…or was. Not a bear cub, not
a wolf cub, and sure as shit not human. Share.”

He paused as his expression became bleak, then, “You’re
two-thirds correct.”

She thought about that a sec, then figured it out.

“Human? That was a human baby? No fucking way!”

“Yes, fucking way. That was one of our great-great…” He
shook his head. “Add forty or fifty greats and you’re looking at the future of
humanity.”

This was not computing.

“But…but…Jesus, Ethan, that can’t be unless we’re
not in the twenty-first century anymore.”

“We’re not.”

“Okay.” Humor him. His train has gone off the tracks. “What
fucking year is this?”

“Thirty-nine something.”

“What?”

“Yeah. The fortieth century.”

This was totally crazy. “I didn’t think they allowed LSD in
Wayward Pines.”

She thought that would have earned her a smile at the very
least, but his expression remained grim. And then he told her a story that
stretched credulity beyond anything a drug trip could conjure.

And yet…she believed it.

“I’ve always sensed this was all artificial, but I thought I
was dead and this was some sort of hell until…until…”

“Until what?”

“Until Joanna. Birthing her was real—all too real, if you
want to know the truth. But once I held her in my arms, I knew what love was,
what
connection
was. I’d never felt that before.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

Ethan stared at the fire. “I have a son. I never felt him
kick in my belly, but I know that connection.”

“But where do we…we as in
Homo sapiens
…where
do we go from here?”

His bleak expression became even bleaker. “Nowhere. It used
to be about evolution of the species, but for us it’s become
survival
of
the species.”

“For real? You’re telling me there’s nothing out there but
death?
Nothing?
”

“Afraid so.”

“Jesus! Why is this being kept secret from us? If I’d known,
I never would have brought a child into this fucking world!” She leaned toward
him, feeling her lips draw back over her teeth. “You! You’ve known about this
all along! Why haven’t you—?”

“I’ve known about it for a week or so. I’m not in charge. I
have no power.”

“You’re the sheriff, for fuck’s sake!”

Listen to me
Karla thought
, Like every third word
out of my mouth is fuck.

Where had she learned to talk like that? She never did in
her everyday life.

But this wasn’t everyday life.

“I’m just a puppet,” Ethan explained.

His expression telegraphed how much he hated to have to say
that, to have to
be
that.

“Then why are you telling
me?
”

“Because, if we’re going to survive and kill these things,
you need to know what we’re facing. We have to eliminate them, and you can
never speak of what you’ve seen here.”

“Bull
shit!
I’ll tell the fucking world!”

“Which means the whopping six hundred plus people in Wayward
Pines. And what will that get you?”

“The truth will set you free!”

“It will do nothing of the sort.” His eyes bored into hers. “But
it will exponentially increase the suicide rate.”

Jonathan…had he learned the truth? Was that why…?

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit. Think about it, Karla: If you realized that
every loved one you had ever known—all family and friends except for whatever
few you have here—were now dust; that just about every book that had ever
enthralled you was now termite turds; that every wondrous city you had ever
visited was now in ruins and overrun by vines; that every great iconic
painting—the
Mona Lisa
,
Starry Night
, Monet’s lilies, whatever—had
rotted to powder; that every profession was obsolete, every ambition an empty
dream…what would you do?”

“I’d…I’d do what Jonathan did.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’d think about Joanna first,”

Yes…yes, of course she would.

“Okay, I’d
want
to do what Jonathan did…but now
that I no longer have…” She couldn’t finish…
Joanna to worry about
…

“I’m with you. I’ve been privy to this awhile and…on
the surface it may look like living, but it’s not, it’s…it’s existing.”

“Well, obviously, the people holding the strings assume that
Homo sapiens
is worth preserving. Are we?”

He shook his head. “I look at my son and the knee-jerk
reaction is an emphatic
yes
. But preserved for what?”

“Yes…what?” Karla’s smile felt bitter. “So, what’s
left to talk about? China’s threat to the economy? Worldwide Islamic jihad? Megabanks
controlling the economy? Obamacare? The Tea Party? Occupy Whatever? Looking at
it from this perspective, it was all bullshit, wasn’t it?”

Ethan smiled. “Like totally, dude.”

Karla shook her head. “What were we so worried about? Jesus!
What were we thinking?”

“We had a future, then. We had possibilities. Knowing that
you don’t changes everything.”

She laughed—a harsh, nasty sound. “These aberrations, these…”

“Abbies.”

“Abbies…fuck, sound’s like a little girl’s name. Anyway,
maybe these abbies aren’t so degenerate. Sounds to me like they’ve solved all
of humanity’s problems.”

“What?”

“No more racism, no more feuding religions, no more gay bashing,
no more cross burning, no more serial killers, no more date rape, no more
prisons, no more wars.”

Ethan countered with, “Also no more music, no more art, no
more new books, no love, no kindness, no empathy. They’re the human equivalent
of sharks: kill, eat, and make little abbies.”

“I probably knew a few humans like that back before my
abduction. But I don’t remember.”

“Meaning?”

“I know I’m not Karla Lindley,
née
Williamson.”

She’d expected a reaction from the sheriff, but he didn’t
even blink. Obviously he’d come to the same conclusion.

“Who
are
you then?”

“I don’t know.”

He frowned. “To quote somebody: ‘Aren’t we beyond games
here?’”

“No game, I swear. I truly don’t know.” She hefted the
Benelli. “I could lay out a cloth and field strip this right here. But you know
what? I shouldn’t even know what the fuck the term ‘field strip’ means.” She
bit her lip. “And I don’t know where I learned to swear like this.” She pounded
her fist on the ground. “Shit-shit-shit!”

“What
do
you remember?” Ethan asked.

“I remember being a sales rep for Schelling Pharma. I
stopped in Wayward Pines for lunch on my way to a conference in Portland. The
next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital bed and they were telling me I’d had
a seizure and that Pines would be my home from now on. But now I’m pretty sure
that salesperson wasn’t the real me.”

“Maybe you really
are
Karla Lindley,
née
Williamson, and a part of your life has been erased.”

“Who would do that?” asked Karla.