The Bones Beneath My Skin

Chapter thirteen

THEY HAD another close call in Wahpeton, North Dakota, two days later. A cop had followed them for a couple of miles just outside of town on a straight stretch of road. Just when they thought they were about to get pulled over again, the cop turned off in another direction.

Nate had breathed out a sigh of relief, unclenching his hands, his fingernails leaving marks on his palms.

Alex hadn’t spoken much for the rest of the day.

They headed south, and Nate knew they were floundering. From what he’d gathered in the bits and pieces he’d managed to get from Alex, the plan had only extended so far as to get Art away from the Mountain as quickly as possible. They’d initially meant to go farther than they had, but Alex had been gutshot and they couldn’t even be sure he’d survive, much less that Art could heal him enough for him to move. They’d found the cabin by a sheer stroke of luck. Nate thought the car they’d been in was at the bottom of Herschel Lake, though he didn’t ask.

They’d just crossed into South Dakota when Art said.

“What are the Badlands?”

Alex glanced at her before looking back at the winding road ahead. Nate had offered to drive, but Alex didn’t seem to trust him to get them out of danger if they were discovered. He tried not to be too insulted about that. “What?”

“Back at the gas station with the deputy. You said we were going to the Badlands.”

“It’s a national park,” Nate told her because Alex was brooding again and Nate couldn’t be sure he’d actually answer.

“They found a lot of dinosaur bones there. I think.”

“We should go there,” Art said.

That got Alex’s attention. “Is it…”

She shook her head.

“No. Not like that. I just want to see dinosaurs.”

“Right,” Nate said.

“You know that dinosaurs are all extinct.”

She looked at him strangely.

“Everyone knows that, Nate.”

“So you know we won’t actually see dinosaurs, then.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Sometimes you seem very smart.”

“And other times?”

She smiled at him.

“Other times it’s a good thing you’re pretty. Isn’t that right, Alex?”

Nate gaped at her.

Alex frowned harder.

“We should go to the Badlands,” she decided.

“And please don’t say no. I don’t want to force you to do my bidding with the power of my mind, but I will if I have to.”

Nate choked.

“She’s messing with you.” Alex sounded extraordinarily grumpy.

“She can’t do that.”

“Hey! He didn’t know that. Why do you have to ruin everything?”

Alex reached over and ruffled her hair.

“You’ve already freaked him out enough as it is.”

“I’m not freaked,” Nate said.

Art squinted at him.

“Sort of freaked. And no, before you ask, I’m not reading your mind. You’re just… twitchy again.”

“I can’t wait for you to go back to your planet,” Nate muttered.

Art laughed.

THEY STOPPED at a small country store outside of Onaka to get a map. Art had demanded to be let out of the truck to go inside, claiming that she’d been a prisoner for three decades and she’d be damned if Alex was going to make her stay behind. Alex looked like he was going to argue, but Nate had headed him off, saying he’d take Art inside while Alex stayed behind.

“Fine,” Alex said, though he didn’t sound like he meant it. He pulled out his wallet and handed Nate a couple of bills.

“In and out. Don’t get sidetracked.”

Art grinned up at him, climbing to her knees on the bench seat and leaning over to plant a loud kiss against Alex’s cheek. That soft look Alex seemed to get only with her made a brief appearance before it disappeared behind his mask again. She turned toward Nate.

“What are you waiting for? Out. Out!”

He did as the space princess asked, opening the door and getting out of the truck. She followed quickly behind him before taking his hand and pulling him toward the store. She was forceful when she needed to be. Nate managed to glance back at Alex. He was watching them through the windshield. Nate winked at him.

Alex didn’t look away.

The store was small. It had basic foodstuffs and toiletries. Coolers with soft drinks and cases of cheap beer. There was an older man behind the counter, his face wrinkled and kind. He greeted them as they came in, a bell dinging overhead as the door opened. An ancient radio crackled on a shelf behind him next to rows of cigarettes.

“Hello,” the old man said, giving them a little wave.

“Help you find anything?”

“We need a map,” Art announced, pulling Nate toward the counter.

“I can probably help you with that,” he said, smiling down at her.

“Anything in particular?”

“We’re going to the Badlands.”

“Ah,” he said.

“Good choice. I’ve probably got something here that can help a traveler on their way.” He looked up at Nate.

“On a trip, are we?”

Nate nodded.

“Sure.” Better to say as little as possible.

“Let me see what I can find,” the man said, starting to dig through a drawer.

On the radio, a voice was speaking, sounding almost frantic.

“…and they don’t want you to know. They want to keep it a secret. They don’t think you’re ready. But we know that’s not the case. We know what we’re capable of, what we want. And what we want is the truth. You really think Markham-Tripp is just a comet? Of course not! You heard what Johnny Brown said on this very show yesterday. He’s an astronomer. He knows what he’s talking about. And if he says there’s something in the tail of the comet, you bet your sorry butt I’m gonna believe him. The size of Saturn, he said. Why do they think we won’t find out the truth? Why does the United States government really believe we won’t see what they see? I’ll tell you why, friends. They think we’re sheep. They give you the fluoride in your water, telling you it’s to keep you healthy when it actually makes you docile. The men in Washington smile their politician smiles and say trust us. We’ve got your best interests in mind. And then they drop their pesticides and say it’s for the crops. You expect us to believe that? Man has been farming for thousands of years without the aid of poison. It’s only within the last century that they’ve started talking about insects that are damaging our way of life. You really think that’s the case? No. No. No. We’re being experimented on. We’re being tested. We are in the world’s biggest laboratory, and no one even knows it! Except you, my friends. Which is why it’s my duty to tell you that there is something in that comet. We’ve been visited before, you can take that to the bank and cash it. And we’re about to be visited again. Johnny Brown took photos. He can see it. They are coming, people. The question is what are we going to do about it?”

Nate stared at the radio. He was startled when the old man dropped a couple of maps on the counter.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, reaching over and switching off the radio, cutting off the announcer mid-squawk.

“Sometimes I like listening to him. Steven Cooper. He’s a crackpot and he talks trash, but it’s good trash, you know? Conspiracies and such. I don’t believe a single word he says, but he’s entertaining.”

“Yeah,” Nate managed to say.

“I… I’ve never heard of him.”

The old man chuckled.

“I’m not surprised. He’s got his own radio show talking spooks and how the Ruskies killed JFK and he’s got proof, but he never seems to share it. Now that that comet’s on its way, he’s all up in a tizzy about it. Thinks it’s a sign. Had this guy who claimed to be an astronomer a couple of days ago. Says a goddamn UFO is flying in the tail of it.” He glanced down at Art.

“Pardon my language, miss. Don’t you be repeating that word now, you hear?”

Art nodded.

“Oh, I would never. UFO, you say? How fascinating. You don’t believe in them?”

The old man shook his head.

“I’ve seen some things, sure. But little green men? Why, I think it’s all flights of fancy. I mean, if such things existed, why would they come here of all places?”

“To help,” Art said seriously.

“Maybe this place is like the bright beacon in a vast, dark space. Maybe they see the potential of us, but also how easily we could be lost. It’s a fine balance, don’t you think? The line between love and fire is very thin.”

The old man’s brow furrowed.

“I suppose. Aren’t you a little young to be thinking about such things, though? Little girl like you should be playing with dolls, not thinking about flying saucers.”

“I have unique and varied tastes,” Art told him, picking up one of the maps off the counter.

“I can like dolls and study UFOs at the same time. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I’m not capable of deciding what my interests should be.”

“Right,” the old man said slowly.

“Meant no offense, of course. Your daddy here can decide that better than I ever could.”

“He’s not my daddy,” Art said, opening the map with her little hands.

“My daddy’s in the truck. This is my daddy’s special—”

“How much for the map?” Nate asked quickly, hoping it’d be enough to distract them both.

“Tell you what,” the old man said.

“Consider it a gift from me to you. Little girl is smart. Smarter than I could ever possibly be. Seems wrong to charge you for something so little as a map when it’s going to lead you on an adventure.”

“Thank you,” Nate said, stepping behind Art and reaching over her, trying to gather up the map.

“Nate,” she scolded him, tilting her head back to look up at him.

“I can do it.”

“Fine,” Nate said with a sigh.

“We gotta get on the road, though, okay? Your dad is going to get worried if we don’t get back.”

“Protective, is he?” the old man asked.

“You have no idea,” Art told him.

“One time, a man tried to take me from him, and my daddy took his gun and—”

“That’s probably enough,” Nate said, putting his hands on Art’s shoulders, steering her away from the counter, the map jumbled in her hands.

“Don’t need to share everything with strangers. We’ve talked about that.”

“But everyone is a stranger unless you talk to them! How do you expect to get anywhere if you don’t—”

“She reads a lot,” Nate said hastily over his shoulder. The old man was staring after them.

“All those books. Gets ideas in her head that she should probably keep to herself.”

“Nate, you’re tearing the map! Be careful, it was a gift from that nice man who doesn’t believe in aliens but still listens to crazy people talk about them!”

The bell rang overhead as they went out the door.

Alex sat up in his seat, watching them through the windshield.

“Well,” Art said, folding the map expertly.

“That certainly was an adventure, don’t you think?”

SOMEHOW SHE managed to find Steven Cooper on the radio in the truck.

Nate gave serious consideration to opening the door and leaping out onto the highway. He’d seen enough movies to know that as long as he tucked and rolled, he’d probably only end up with a few broken bones.

“…and this, friends, this is what they don’t want you to know. That they already have extraterrestrial technology incorporated into our warships and our aircrafts. Think about it. In the last century, we made more leaps and bounds in technology than we have in the history of humanity, and we’re just supposed to believe it was natural? That it came from the human mind? Poppycock. We were shown how to fly. We were shown how to split atoms. Why, even now, there are military installations that have laser beams that can shoot thousands of miles. Do you really think that we did this all on our own? That’s bull. And that, of course, leads to the question of why. Friends, I’ll tell you why. It was to prepare us. Because one day, the truth is going to come out, and it will be brought into the light kicking and screaming. There will be nothing to stop it. We are going to know the truth of all things. The truth, of course, being that we were being prepared. There are messages hidden in lines of code. To make us subservient. To make us zombies.”

“I love him so much,” Art breathed.

“Jesus Christ,” Alex muttered.

“I mean, he’s obviously wrong about everything,” Art said to no one in particular, gaze fixed avidly on the radio.

“No one showed humans how to do anything. You all figured that out all on your own. Which, by the way, good job. Well. Mostly. You guys seem to care more about blowing stuff up than curing diseases. That’s kind of backward, but then who am I to judge. And there’s no ship in the comet’s tail. Do you know what they’re made up of? I mean, the very idea is ludicrous. And even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t help space travel. If anything, it would hinder it. Can you believe this guy? He’s amazing, but honestly.”

Nate didn’t know what to say to that.

“…and let’s talk more about Markham-Tripp. You see it, friends. It’s visible now to the naked eye. It’s called the event of the century. That we won’t see something like this again in our lifetime. But why was this just discovered last year? Shouldn’t NASA have been able to spot this a long time ago? They have enough satellites in the sky. Well, the satellites that haven’t yet been sold off to the shadow government and used to spy on its people. You know all about that in the sixteen-part series we did last fall. But Hubble should have been able to see this coming years ago. Why is it that a man named Markham and a man named Tripp were the only two able to find this? Of course, that’s what we’re being told, right? Tell me, friends. Just who are Markham and Tripp? Why have they never been photographed? Why have they never been seen on TV? They’ve been interviewed in a few papers, but gosh, friends, do you know how easy it would be to fake that? All it’d take is a couple of yes-men under orders to act like they were amateurs with their little telescopes in their backyards surrounded by white picket fences and two-point-five children and they were able pretend to find something that even the biggest observatories in the world weren’t able to see. You know what I say to something like that, friends. If it sounds like a pig taking a bath, it’s hogwash.”

Art laughed gleefully, clapping her hands.

“They’re coming, friends,” Steven Cooper said.

“They’re coming, and there is nothing we can do to stop it.”

THERE WERE several campgrounds listed on the map for the Badlands. They decided on Sage Creek, as it seemed the most remote. It took them only a few hours to reach the entrance, where they paid the fee to a bored-looking kid with acne scars sitting in a ramshackle wooden booth. He’d welcomed them to Sage Creek with barely restrained disdain, telling them there was no running water and the bathrooms were pit toilets clearly marked and to enjoy their stay. Art looked pleased. Even Alex seemed okay with it.

Nate was stuck on pit toilet.

The campground itself was flat and barely marked. In the distance, they could see rocky hills rising against the horizon. Alex pulled the truck as far into the campground as he could, picking a spot away from the handful of other campers already set up with small tents and portable grills.

Art practically climbed over Nate to get out of the truck, demanding that Alex show her what a pit toilet was because she needed to pee. She corrected herself then, saying she didn’t really need to pee, but she was trying to force herself to go so she could see the pit toilet.

They left Nate sitting in the truck, reeling.

He watched them through the windshield as they headed toward a lean-to made of rope and wood that looked as if it would fall over with the slightest of breezes. Art’s nose wrinkled as they got closer, and he choked out a laugh at the look of horror on her face. Alex said something to her, and she grabbed his hand, trying to tug him back toward the truck.

They were being chased by men in helicopters with guns.

The little girl was from another planet.

They didn’t know where they were going.

He didn’t know what would happen when all was said and done.

If he would even have a life to go back to.

And yet somehow, Nate felt more at peace than he had in a long time. He watched as Art dug her feet into the earth, trying to stop Alex from pulling her toward the pit toilet. And Alex was laughing. He had a small smile on his face and crinkles around his eyes. His teeth were flashing, and he was laughing. Nate’s breath was knocked from his chest at the sight.

Yes, they were on the run.

Yes, they didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.

But here, now, in this moment, Nate was almost… happy.

He got out of the truck.

“Alex! Alex. I changed my mind! I don’t want to see the pit toilet. Alex, let me go!”

“Oh no,” Alex said, and Nate could hear the laughter in his voice.

“You wanted to see it, I’m going to show it to you. Trust me when I say it’s not the worst thing in the world. It could be a hundred degrees in the desert and it’s your job to dig the shit hole for everyone else.”

“Great! Good for you! I don’t want to hear your war stories, what the heck! Nate. Nate. Help me! Save me!”

“Yeah,” Nate said, leaning against the front of the truck.

“I think I’m going to stay right here, thank you very much.”

“I’ve been betrayed,” Art gasped, suddenly boneless as she flopped toward the ground. Alex’s grip on her arm was good enough that she didn’t fall. Instead, her feet dragged through the grass.

“Oh, we’ll get him over here,” Alex promised her, glancing back at Nate, eyes bright.

“Trust me on that. He’s going to have to poop at some point.”

Nate made a face.

“I really wish you hadn’t said that out loud.”

Alex’s smile widened.

He didn’t pull her all the way over. She was gagging dramatically, clinging to his leg and demanding that he carry her because her body no longer worked thanks to the stench. Nate had to swallow past the lump in his throat when Alex did exactly as she asked. He bent over, wrapped his big arms around her legs, and hoisted her up. She climbed him like a monkey, sneakers against his arms and chest until she managed to make her way around to his shoulders, her legs draped over his front. She put her hands in his short hair, tugging gently.

“We need to go find dinosaurs.” She looked at Nate.

“And yes, Nate, I know they aren’t real. Not anymore.”

“You coming?” Alex asked him, jerking his head toward a marked trail on the other side of the campground.

If this was happiness he felt, it was dangerous.

But Nate found himself not caring.

THEY HAD a fire built as the sun began to set. Alex managed to scrounge up a flat pan and opened three cans of soup, pouring them in before he held the pan over the fire. They were out of earshot of the nearest campers, a young couple who had waved from a distance but otherwise left them alone.

Art was in the back of the truck, spreading out their sleeping bags, already excited by the idea of camping under the stars. She babbled about the rocks she’d seen, the hills she’d climbed. She lamented over the lack of dinosaur bones, asking if she could use the power of her mind to bring some up from the earth. She’d had a wicked smile on her face when she said that last bit, glancing at Nate out of the corner of her eye. Nate knew she was trying to get a reaction out of him, but he kept his face blank.

She looked slightly disappointed but moved on, talking about how warm the sleeping bags would be and how she thought it was going to be more comfortable than the motel bed they’d had last night, which was the absolute worst.

Alex grunted in all the right spots, the good mood from earlier in the day faded slightly. He wasn’t back to his default scowling, which Nate was thankful for. Nate was almost… relaxed. His muscles were tired from their hike, but it was a good tired, almost down to his bones. His muscles felt stretched, his skin still warm from the sun. He’d probably be slightly pink tomorrow, but he’d worry about it then. The air was already cooling off considerably, and he’d found a coat in the truck. He thought it was Alex’s. He’d put it on anyway. Alex hadn’t said a word, but maybe his gaze had lingered just a little bit longer before going back to their dinner.

They sat huddled together on the tailgate of the truck when the soup was ready. Alex was in the middle holding the pan on his lap. They each had a plastic spoon and took turns digging in. Alex was a line of warmth down Nate’s side, their shoulders and arms brushing together.

They watched the sunset as they ate.

When they finished, they barely moved away after Alex put the pan down behind them.

“Would you look at that,” Art said dreamily as the last of the daylight fell away.

Nate looked up.

It wasn’t like in Oregon. Or Washington. Or even Montana. It certainly hadn’t ever been like this in DC. For the first time, Nate thought his eyes were open and he was actually seeing what was above him.

They were beneath a universe of stars, brighter than he’d ever seen before. They seemed to stretch on forever, more so than he could possibly comprehend. He’d never felt so small in his entire life.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“That’s… wow.”

“Yeah,” Art said.

“Isn’t it?”

Nate felt Alex’s hand brush against his own, but he didn’t look away from the sky above. It could have been an accident. Nothing more.

“They didn’t let me see… anything,” Art said suddenly. Nate felt Alex stiffen next to him, but they both kept quiet.

“While I was in the Mountain. Not like this. I begged them. I pleaded with them. I promised to show them what they wanted. All I wanted to do was go outside and look toward the sky. But they said no. They thought… I don’t know what they thought. That maybe if I saw the stars, I could use them to communicate or something ridiculous like that. They didn’t understand that all I wanted was to look up and see what I could see. How different it would be to be staring at the stars from this side of the universe.”

Nate’s heart was thundering in his chest.

“Alex came, and I asked him to describe the sky for me. He… wasn’t very good at it at first. What did you say, Alex? When I asked you?”

Alex snorted.

“I told you it all looked the same.”

“That’s right,” Art said, and Alex’s fingers touched Nate’s.

“It all looked the same. And I laughed at you until I realized you were serious. That you actually thought that. I think… I think that was the first time I ever felt sadness. Like, actual, true sadness. I’d been scared. I’d been angry. But I’d never been sad. Not until then. Not until you. Do you remember what I told you?”

“You said that I needed to go outside and not come back until I looked at the sky again. Really looked at it.”

“And you did.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because it felt like the right thing to do.”

“And what did you see?”

Alex sighed.

“That it was so much bigger than I ever thought it could be. That there was this… expanse to it. Something I’d never seen before.”

“You felt tiny.”

“Yes.”

“Like you were nothing but a speck of sand on a beach.”

“Yes.”

“It’s humbling to find that out,” Art said.

“Even in grief. Especially in grief, I think. You taught me that. I didn’t understand it. Not before. And when you came back in, you described the night sky to me so well that I could see it. I could see it through your eyes, and it was like we were standing there side by side in the middle of nowhere, looking at the stars together. It was good. It was very good, Alex.”

Alex didn’t speak at all. Nate thought Art wasn’t expecting him to.

“You set me free,” she whispered.

“And now I can see the stars for myself. Nate. Look. Can you see it?”

Nate followed her finger to where she was pointing.

“It’s faint,” she said.

“The star. Do you know it?”

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

“You call it VL62 Cass. Which—honestly—you’re all terrible at coming up with names for things. Where’s the imagination? Your ancestors were so much better, even when they thought the stars were gods. I mean, who the heck looks up and says, oh look, it’s my favorite, VL62. How pretty.”

“Art,” Alex said.

“Yeah, yeah. VL62 Cass is in Cassiopeia. It’s also one of the farthest stars that a human can see with the naked eye.”

“What about it?” Nate asked.

“Beyond it is home. Far, far beyond it.”

Nate hadn’t thought he’d had it in him to be surprised at anything anymore. After all he’d heard. After everything he’d seen. He didn’t think he was capable of shock.

He was wrong.

“I don’t…” he managed to say. “That’s…”

“I know,” she said, and he believed her.

“You’re all capable of such great and terrible things. And in such a short amount of time. You are surrounded by millions of those like you, yet you can still feel alone. You’re so angry and powerful and wonderful. And so fragile. You can break into pieces and feel so lost. I didn’t get that. Not… before. I don’t think any of us did. You’re complex and yet so simple at the same time. It’s a dichotomy that shouldn’t be possible. When you smile, it’s like the sun is out. When you cry, it’s like you’re trapped in shadows and you can’t find your way back to the light. You can hold a gun to your enemy’s head and pull the trigger in the name of what you call God. You drop bombs and scorch the ground beneath your feet. You hurt each other. You love each other. You scream words that fall on deaf ears. You hate that others aren’t like you. They scare you, even though they want nothing more than to be you. You make yourselves a home out of nothing. You carry each other until your knees give out and you stumble. It’s almost impossible to understand. None of us could get that. Not until they felt a heart beating in a chest like I have. Not until I felt the bones beneath my skin. We’re not alike. Not really. We’re separated by time and space. And yet, somehow, we’re all made of dust and stars. I think we’d forgotten that. And I don’t know if you ever knew that to begin with. How can you be alone when we’re all the same?”

Nate blinked away the burn in his eyes.

“Also,” she added.

“you have bacon, which to be honest, I might recommend a total planet takeover just to have. Like, complete human annihilation.”

Nate felt like he was choking.

“Artemis Darth Vader.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before.”

“I should hope not. If you had, I would have to ask if you’d been anally probed before, and that would have been awkward. I probably would know the guy who did it.”

Alex surprised them both by laughing.

They stared at him as he bent over, arms wrapped around his waist, and laughed. It sounded as if it came from deep within his chest, forcing its way out as if it’d been waiting for a moment to break free. It was rough and quiet, but it was there. Nate felt warmth blooming inside him at the sight of this man, this strange and delightfully scary man, laughing over something as childish as an anal probe.

Nate could do nothing but laugh too.

Art followed them both.

There, under an expanse of stars so very far away and a comet growing brighter by the hour, they laughed.

SHE SLEPT between them, out almost as soon as her head hit Alex’s rolled-up jacket that Nate had given her to use as a pillow. Her eyes closed, and she started snoring immediately, the sound so much larger than it should have been from such a little girl. Nate would never not be impressed by it.

He brushed his teeth before drinking from a water bottle and swishing it around. He spat the water into the remains of their fire, hearing the embers hiss and sputter. He thought that maybe he should visit the pit toilet, but he couldn’t bring himself to stumble over to the lean-to in the dark. He’d tough it out. If push came to shove, he’d wander off a little ways and piss out in the open, something he hadn’t done since he was a kid.

Alex was already in the bed of the truck, sleeping bag pulled up to his chest, hands behind his head. Nate swallowed thickly at the sight of his biceps straining against the sleeves of his undershirt, and looked away. He climbed into the truck as carefully as he could, not wanting to wake Art.

The sleeping bag was warmer than he expected it to be. They’d been in the cabin. His parents must have bought them before they’d… well. Before. He wondered if they’d used them, if they’d taken them from the cabin and down to the lake and slept underneath the stars, the sound of waves against the beach lulling them under. The thought alone caused him to shiver.

He pulled the top of the sleeping bag up to his chin and laid his head down on his duffel bag. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

He couldn’t.

He turned on his side toward the other two.

Alex had shifted into the same position, watching him over Art’s head, eyes glittering in the dark.

“Hey,” Nate whispered quietly.

“Hey,” Alex whispered back.

He opened his mouth to ask what the plan was, what they were going to do tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. Instead, he said.

“My father killed my mother.”

Alex inhaled sharply but didn’t speak.

Nate thought he should stop. That Alex didn’t need to know any more. That this wasn’t the time or place or person he should be telling this to.

“He shot her. And then he shot himself. I hadn’t seen them in years. I wasn’t… what they expected me to be.”

Alex nodded slowly.

“I didn’t—I didn’t even go to the funeral. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel. Sad because they were my parents? Angry that they let me go like I was nothing? I told myself I didn’t owe them anything. I told myself I was a coward.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did they… What did they expect you to be?”

“Straight,” Nate said, and it was freeing. It was terrifying. There was a chance—though Nate thought it was smaller than it once had been—that Alex would look at him with disgust, but it felt good to say it out loud. There’d been people who had known, but they weren’t… important. Ruth, maybe. She’d known. But then wasn’t like now. This was Alex.

“Oh” was all he said.

“Yeah.” Nate chuckled weakly, hoping he hadn’t just made a mistake.

“I think I surprised them. Well, I know I surprised them. They walked in on me and my boyfriend.”

Alex coughed.

“That’s what you meant. Back at the cabin.”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s… rough.”

“Always know the right thing to say, don’t you.”

“I’m trying.”

Nate winced.

“I know. I didn’t—mean it. Not like that.”

“I don’t care.”

And yeah, that hurt. More than he expected it to.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“No,” Alex quickly.

“I didn’t—I meant I don’t care that you’re… not straight.” He sounded flustered.

“Oh,” Nate said.

“That’s… good? Yeah. That’s good. Thanks. And I don’t know why I’m thanking you. That’s weird. I just… Thanks. I guess. And I thanked you again, what the hell—”

“Nate.”

Nate snapped his mouth shut.

“It’s fine. I don’t—it’s not a big deal.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Alex looked like he was steeling himself for something. He looked away, then back at Nate, then away again. He opened his mouth once, twice. Then.

“I’m… a little like that. Um. Both. I like… both.”

Nate blinked.

“Bisexual. That’s… cool. Cool. Yeah. Cool, cool, cool.”

“Did I break you?”

“Shut up.”

Alex’s eyes crinkled again, like he was amused.

“I think I broke you.”

“You didn’t break me. I’m just… surprised.”

“Why?”

Nate shrugged.

“I dunno. You’re… you know. All… you.”

“Because that cleared things up.”

“I don’t know what else to say!”

“Shh. You’re going to wake her up.”

“I doubt she can hear anything above her snoring.”

Alex chuckled quietly.

“She’s always been like that. Like a chainsaw.”

“It’d be endearing if it wasn’t so obnoxious.”

“You get used to it.”

Alex would know, right? He’d had years to figure that out.

“She’s… happy.”

Alex’s smile faded slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Was she ever happy? In the Mountain?”

Alex’s gaze hardened slightly, but Nate didn’t think it was directed toward him.

“Sometimes. When I was with her. They… There were times when they kept us apart. They wanted to test and see how far and how strong the bond was between us. The longest time they kept us separated was almost seven months. She… Neither of us did very well toward the end.”

Nate wanted to ask what was going to happen when she went home, if that bond would break. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he said.

“They didn’t care about her, did they? The people in the Mountain.”

Alex shook his head.

“Not really. Not like I did. There were a few. They… treated her all right. But even they thought she was nothing more than a parasite in a little girl. An animal in a cage. They didn’t see her for what she actually was. Not like—not like I did.”

“What did you think when they first told you? I wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain her to anyone.”

Art snuffled in her sleep, turning her face toward Alex. Her hands twitched. Nate wondered if she dreamed. And if she did, what those dreams were made of.

“I—they brought me in. To the Mountain. Told me that I was being granted access to a special project. That I was going to be part of something extraordinary. That if I agreed to what they were asking me, sight unseen, without explanation, I could never go back. I had nothing left. So I said yes.”

And as Alex spoke and Art slept between them, Nate’s eyes glazed over and the stars above melted around them, streaking brightly toward the Earth as if they were falling. He could see the images in his head, flashes growing sharper through the haze and he—

HE THINKS, sure, yeah, whatever. Classified. He’s heard it before. He knows how it works. They know he knows how to keep his mouth shut. He’s a lifer. Career. Enlisted when he was eighteen years old and never looked back. His mom was a drunk, and his dad was in prison serving twenty-five to life for armed robbery where a gun had been fired. That was what had nailed dear old dad, the discharge of a firearm in the commission of a felony.

And Alex Weir, scrawny little Alex Weir, knew even then that if he didn’t get out, if he didn’t break the cycle, he’d end up just like them.

So when he marched into the recruiter’s office, ink barely dry on his high school diploma, he knew he was making the right choice.

Eleven years later, they tell him that he’s going to be part of something unlike anything he’d ever witnessed before. He’s numb, his heart lying in pieces in the pit of his stomach, but he’s listening. He’d never been the curious sort. He’s need-to-know, a good Marine doing what he’s told. He knows how to follow orders, which is why he almost hesitates when they ask him questions instead of telling him what to do.

A man is sitting across a desk from him, and Alex has no idea who he is. He’s not in uniform. He’s wearing wrinkled khakis and a polo shirt, and he says his name is Greer. He has a thick file folder on his desk that he’s barely glanced through that Alex briefly saw his own picture in. Alex wants to ask what this is about, wants to know what his file says. He thinks momentarily that he’s getting discharged, and that terrifies him, until Greer says.

“This is… big, bucko. Bigger than anything you’ve ever seen in your life. You gotta be sure about this because there’s no going back.”

He’s never been curious.

But god, is he curious now. Even through the pain that’s soaked into his bones, he wants to know what this is all about.

He has nothing left, so he says yes.

Greer’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

They test him. They poke and prod him. He undergoes an EKG. EEG. MRI. He’s x-rayed. They hook him up to wires from head to toe and say it’s called 3D mapping. They take his blood. His plasma. His semen. They do a spinal tap. They test his vision. His reflexes. He runs on a treadmill, mile after mile after mile until he thinks he’s going to drop.

It goes on for six months.

Greer comes back, after.

He says.

“It’s time.”

Alex is flown from Phoenix and taken to the Mountain for the first time in the spring of 1985. He’s thirty years old, and he has lost everything.

He thinks it’s going to be experimental weapons. Or armor. Maybe even robots. His imagination had never been something grand (his mother always said he was far too dour and serious as a child), but he’s seen movies. He knows that sometimes science fiction really isn’t fiction at all. There’s always going to be a new type of warfare, and he’s good at what he does. He’s decorated. People follow him. He’s street-smart and quick on his feet. His body has been honed. He’s ready.

Which is why he falters when they take him deep inside the Mountain to a room with floor-to-ceiling glass walls.

Inside the walls—the cage—is a little girl.

She’s wearing pink sweats and a blue tank top. She’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, head cocked to the side as she watches him with bright eyes. There’s a bed. A bookshelf filled with books. A partition with a toilet and a shower behind it. A green, leafy plant that looks as if is growing wildly out of control.

And her, of course.

He thinks, oh, you bastards, you bastards, you knew what you were doing, you knew why you asked me to do this, how—

He says.

“What is this?”

This, Greer tells him, is the Seventh Sea.

The little girl rolls her eyes.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Greer says.

“But you will.”

They take him from the room. From her cage. Before he’s through the door, he glances back at her over his shoulder.

She waves at him.

He doesn’t wave back.

And when they tell him what she is, where she’s come from, how long she’s been there, everything, he says.

“Bullshit.”

Greer laughs.

“I said the same thing, bucko. But I can assure you, it’s true. All of it is true.”

(Nate felt it here. This moment. This terribly singular moment when everything Alex had ever known about how the world worked shattered with the greatest of ease. In the bed of the truck, he trembled.)

They give him a few days to… process. He meets with people who talk to him about things like biology and genetic makeup. They say things like no verifiable DNA and Ophiocordyceps unilateralis. He doesn’t get it. He can’t comprehend. He’s a grunt. Give him a gun and tell him where to shoot, and he’ll pull the trigger. Give him a map and point to where the enemy is, and he’ll figure out a way to flank them. But tell him that the little girl in the room is an extraterrestrial, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know how to reconcile it with everything he knows.

They take him back into the room.

The girl says.

“Hello again,” and Alex’s knees buckle beneath him.

No one moves to help him up.

The girl says.

“People do that a lot around me. It’s weird, right?”

They don’t give her a name. Not a real name anyway. They call her Seventh Sea or it or that thing that came from outer space.

It takes four months for Alex to work up the nerve to actually talk to it without being angry. To the thing that came from outer space.

To her.

The leaves are changing color on the trees in the forest on the Mountain when he says, “Hey.”

She blinks, just once, and says.

“Hi, Alex.”

He lets her in. God help him, he lets her in.

She’s… not what he expected. She likes to read. She laughs when he tells her about a dog he had when he was a kid, a stupid mutt that always seemed to trip over its own feet. She asks him questions about anything and everything. What is his favorite color. Has he ever been to the ocean. Has he ever ridden a horse. Has he ever petted a penguin. (Blue. Yes. No. What the hell?)

(Nate laughed. Or at least he thought he did. He couldn’t be sure.)

At first, there’s always someone in the room with them. Multiple someones. They stay in the background, typing on their computers, writing on their notepads, poring over the readouts that never seem to stop printing. They whisper behind him, always speaking in low voices, never interrupting Alex and the Seventh Sea until it’s time for him to go.

He’s in awe of her.

He resents her.

He doesn’t know what to do, because this is tearing at him. The first year is the worst because he’s still in mourning. He’s still grieving over everything he’s lost. And here she is, this thing that came from outer space, and she smiles at him now, every time he comes into the room. She tells him she doesn’t like it when he goes away. She asks if they can watch a movie. There’s a TV set up, a big black VCR underneath. They bring in tapes. Comedies. Cartoons. Westerns. She loves those the most. She’ll sit on the ground against the wall that separates them, elbows on her knees, chin in her hand, and she’ll be enraptured by the sight of cowboys and Indians, of bandits robbing a train.

He’ll sit too during movie time. He’s offered a chair. He takes it. He uses it. At first. But eventually, he’s sitting on the ground too, six inches of bulletproof glass separating them.

Sometimes, the power flickers and goes out. It never lasts long.

“Wiring,” Greer tells him.

“It’s terrible here. I don’t think we were meant to go so far inside the Mountain.”

In the second year, he goes inside her cage.

They tell him to wear a hazmat suit.

He tells them to fuck off.

She’s fidgeting. Hopping from one foot to the other.

There are many men in the room with them, standing back and watching. Waiting.

Two doors lead into the cage. He stands in front of the first, and the electronic lock shifts from red to green. The door slides open slowly. He walks in. It closes behind him. Above, fans whir to life and a faint mist sprays over him, tasting faintly medicinal. The fans slow and eventually stop. The second door opens.

He walks into the cage.

She’s hugging him even before he realizes she’s moved.

Her little arms are wrapped around his waist, her head resting against his stomach, and he hates her, hates everything she represents.

But he puts a hand on the top of her head and says, “Hello.”

It’s during the fifth year that she bonds with him.

It happens with the greatest of ease.

One moment she’s reading aloud to him from the book he’s brought for her (Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH), and the next, he’s hearing it in his head. He doesn’t understand what’s happening at first, doesn’t understand why her lips are no longer moving but he can still hear her. Except it’s not just words, is it? He can see Mrs. Frisby and Nicodemus and Justin and Jeremy and Dragon. But not as if they’re real. No. It’s how she sees them, this little girl they call Seventh Sea, and she’s telling him the story inside his head, and it’s overwhelming. Too much so.

He faints.

They don’t let him see her for a week.

They ask him what happened.

They want to understand.

He thinks about lying. About keeping this just between himself and the girl.

But he has a duty.

He tells them.

When they let him back into the room, the relief on her face is palpable.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, stricken.

“I never meant—”

“It’s okay,” he says gruffly.

She looks down at her hands.

“I was… sad. When you were gone.”

(Nate felt his heart break. He wanted to reach out and press his fingers against Art’s sleeping face, but he couldn’t move. He wasn’t even sure he was awake anymore.)

And oh, doesn’t that set them off. In the years they’ve had her, when she was Oren and when she was as she is now, she never said anything about sadness. She’s never said anything about emotion at all. Oh, they’ve seen expressions on her face. She smiles. She frowns. She gets angry, rare though it is. But she’s never emoted aloud.

She has now. She was sad when Alex was taken from her.

For the first time, there in the fifth year, Alex thinks she doesn’t belong here.

It’s a dangerous thought.

So goddamn dangerous.

So much so, in fact, that he doesn’t let himself think of it again for the longest time.

Not until the ninth year, at least.

During the ninth year, they bring in a woman who calls herself only Laura, and she changes everything. Alex is told they’re not getting the results they need, that they’ve plateaued and the higher-ups are demanding answers. Greer, who Alex has only seen a handful of times since being brought to the Mountain, grins ruefully at him.

“She’s a hardass,” he says.

“Hope you’re ready, bucko.”

Laura’s no-nonsense. She’s older, maybe in her early fifties. She wears the same drab blouses, the same lab coat, the same pair of horn-rimmed glasses day in and day out. She doesn’t smile the first time she meets the Seventh Sea. She doesn’t even look shocked. Alex wonders what she’s thinking as she walks slowly around the cage, gaze calculating. For her part, the girl (Artemis, she’d shown him in his head in the sixth year, you can call me Artemis) doesn’t seem affected. She stands in one spot, spinning in a slow circle, watching Laura.

Once Laura has circumnavigated the cage, she looks at Alex for the first time.

“You’re the one she’s bonded with.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alex says.

“Good.” She glances over his shoulder at the guards near the door.

“Get him out of here. I don’t want to see him in here again until I say.”

“What?” the girl (Artemis, Art) says, sounding alarmed.

“No, wait, what are you—”

Alex thinks about fighting. Thinks about grabbing one of the rifles and telling this woman, this Laura, that she won’t take Art away from him. That she won’t separate them.

He doesn’t.

And Laura does exactly that.

For seven months.

It’s… agonizing. There are moments, brief though they are, when he can still feel her, little short bursts of images in his head. Alex doesn’t know if it’s the distance that’s weakening the bond, or if it’s something grimmer, but it’s barely there. And when it is there, it’s bright flashes of pain. Like they’re hurting her.

Alex doesn’t eat. There are days when he doesn’t get out of bed. It goes on like this for two months. He’s sick. Feverish. He knows he’s being monitored, that he’s part of this just like Art is, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

In the fourth month, he demands a meeting with Laura.

It takes three weeks.

He’s led to her office, which used to be Greer’s.

“He’s… retired,” Laura tells him when he asks.

“Fishing. Golfing. Whatever one does when they are no longer needed.”

Alex doesn’t believe her.

“Do you understand why?” she asks him.

“Why we have to break her?”

He keeps the mask firmly in place. He won’t allow it to slip. Not to this woman. She expects it. He won’t let her have it.

“No,” he says.

She nods slowly.

“I thought not. Tell me, Mr. Weir. What do you think will happen if they come back for her? If she’s something important? What if they decide that what we’ve done here is equivalent to firing the first shot?”

Alex doesn’t respond.

Laura sighs, sitting back in the leather chair behind the desk.

“We have to be prepared for an invasion. They aren’t like anything we’ve ever seen. How can we hope to stop them if we don’t understand them? This isn’t… this isn’t like Roswell, Mr. Weir. These aren’t beings of flesh and whatever fluid they call blood. They have the potential to be nothing less than a biological weapon. They won’t attack from above. They will attack from within. We run the risk of being nothing but hosts to an advanced race that has evolved far beyond anything we have ever seen before. Do you really think we can sit idly by and let that happen? Or should we be prepared for every eventuality?”

She’s… not wrong. Alex knows this. But in his secret heart, in that place that’s only begun to put itself back together, he doesn’t believe it. At all. “Why?”

Laura arches an eyebrow.

“Why what, Mr. Weir?”

“Why would they do that? Why would they come all this way just to attack us? To take us over. If they are as advanced as you seem to think they are, won’t they have evolved past such desires?”

“Pragmatism has no place when dealing with the unknown. If someone comes uninvited through the back door, you don’t welcome them into your home. You get your gun and show them who lives there.”

“Shoot first, ask questions later,” he says bitterly.

“Art would never—”

“Art?” she asks, deceptively soft.

He closes his eyes.

“Ah,” Laura says. “I see.”

She keeps him away for three more months.

(Nate had never hated anyone he’d never met before. He hated Laura.)

He never figures out exactly why he’s allowed back into the room with the cage. He doesn’t know if it’s because Art demands it, if she says she’ll tell them what they need to know. He’s not sure, but he doesn’t care, because the relief he feels when he sees her again is all-encompassing, though he doesn’t allow the stony expression on his face to change. It doesn’t matter, because she knows. The bond between them flares to life, and he’s assaulted with images from her, pictures in his head that are like seeing a sunrise for the first time. She’s happy. Oh yes, she’s many other things too (hurt and angry and scared), but she’s happy.

(Nate felt like he was barely breathing.)

Hello, Artemis says in his head.

Hello, he pushes back.

And she smiles.

Deep in his mind, away from where even Artemis can see, Alex begins to think that things shouldn’t be the way they are.

Things return to… well, not normal, because nothing about this is normal. Laura seems to take a step back, though Alex is sure she’s never too far away. They still run their tests, but it’s not as extensive as it was in the months they were separated. Art tells him little about what she went through no matter how much Alex asks. He doesn’t know if he’s grateful or not.

At one point, she asks him how long she’s been in the cage.

He tells her it’s been almost thirty years.

He flinches when she speaks aloud and says.

“Huh. That’s not very long at all.”

Time has… no meaning. At least not to her. She tries to explain it to him, but it’s too abstract for him to understand. Thirty years to a human could be considered a lifetime. In thirty years, a person could be born, learn to speak and walk and think. They grow during that time until they reach adulthood. Their minds solidify. They become who they are.

It’s different for Artemis. Time is fluid. Thirty years is nothing.

He asks her once how old she is.

He gets back a complicated sense of images that makes him believe centuries, but that she’s still considered a child where she comes from. A word that almost seems like youngling.

Toward the end of the ninth year, she sends him an image and a collection of words.

He sees stars.

And he hears I think they’re coming back for me.

Every morning after that, he wakes up before the sunrise. He leaves the Mountain for the base below. He walks along the edges of the fences. He memorizes the perimeter. He counts the soldiers. He counts the number of steps it takes from the Mountain to the back gate. To the front gate. He tells himself his duty is to his country. That he needs to stop this now.

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

(Oh my god, Nate tried to say out loud. Oh my god.)

His mind is sharp. It always has been. He can retain so much in very little time. He learns all the escape routes out of the Mountain. How often the guards rotate their shifts. How many are where. He finds their weak points. There are three rotations. Four in the morning till noon. Noon till eight at night. Eight until four in the morning.

The 4:00 a.m. switch is the weakest. The men leaving are tired. The men coming on are barely awake. The sky is dark.

And the wiring inside the room where she’s held has never gotten better. The power still comes and goes, especially during storms. They have backups, sure. Generators. But they take a good few minutes to kick in. There are contingencies in place. Art’s cage never opens when the power is out. He thinks she can open it if she wants to, but she hasn’t yet, and he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask her why. The cameras in the room fall silent. The only light comes from the row of emergency lights along the floor showing the way to the exits.

Alex doesn’t know if he can do this.

He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing.

The decision is made for him when he overhears Laura one afternoon, almost ten years to the day since the first time he was brought to the Mountain. He hasn’t heard from Laura in months, so he’s surprised to find her in the room with Art. Laura doesn’t see him, her back to him as she faces Artemis.

She says.

“Soon. I think it’ll be soon.”

And then she turns and leaves, brushing by Alex without so much as a nod in his direction.

He doesn’t know what soon means.

But he knows he doesn’t like the sound of it.

He hears whispers in the few days that follow. He’s such a recognizable face in the Mountain that people tend to think he’s there doing what’s asked of him. Maybe they don’t realize he can hear them. The scientists in the room speak of plans to do what they’d only done once before. With Oren Schraeder. To forcibly remove her from the body which she inhabits.

Except this time, they aren’t going to provide her with another host.

If it’s gaseous, they whisper, it can be broken down to the smallest of molecules. Instead of learning what they can from the host, why not go directly to the source? Surely there are secrets embedded in… whatever it is. They’re not finding out anything new. They don’t want to be replaced like Greer was. Some of them have been there for decades. There needs to be an endgame.

And it’s coming.

She stares at him curiously.

“What is it?”

“Do you trust me?” he asks her.

And the image that she sends back to him is so full of love and light that it knocks the breath from his chest. She does. She trusts him very much.

Okay, he thinks in response. Okay.

It’s stupid, really. It won’t work. It shouldn’t work. Alex has never been lucky that way. He knows far too well that even something planned to the last detail can still go to shit at a moment’s notice. His entire life has been a prime example of just that.

But he’s still got to try.

And maybe he’s been planning it for longer than he’s aware. After all, there was a reason he’d been pulling money out weekly and stuffing it under his mattress, right? Why else would he have done such a thing unless he was always going to do this?

He’s conscious of the choice he’s making for weeks.

But he thinks it maybe goes back almost a year.

And then everything aligns.

He waits until he knows Laura is off the Mountain. She leaves every month or so for a week before returning. He doesn’t know where she goes. He wonders sometimes if she has a family waiting for her. And if she does, what they think she’s doing when she leaves for work. He thinks they’d be surprised to know their loved one has ordered the decimation of the thing inside the little girl.

Coincidentally, it’s during one of her absences that the threat of a strong spring storm comes in.

Now, he thinks. Now. Now. Now.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

He knows he should.

But he can’t.

Instead, he watches the digital clock as the numbers click by.

It’s three thirty when he’s moving.

Thunder peals overhead, faintly echoing inside the Mountain.

He takes nothing with him, not that much remains. He’s already loaded a Jeep in the motor pool at the back of the base days before. No one even looked in his direction when he took clothes from Art’s cage. He’s done her laundry before.

There are a few people out and about, but it’s late (or early, depending on how you look at it), and they’re all dead-eyed. They nod at him but say nothing more. He heads to the security room next to where Art resides. Inside is a sleepy-eyed man that Alex barely knows. He’s surrounded by monitors. Rock music plays from a small stereo.

“Hey,” Alex says just as the monitors flicker with another rumble of thunder.

“Hey,” the man says, glancing over his shoulder.

“You’re up early.”

Alex shrugged.

“Couldn’t sleep. How’s our girl?”

“Hasn’t moved in hours,” the man says, nodding toward one of the monitors. A thin stripe of static rolls up the screen. There’s the faint outline of the bed. She’s on her side, comforter pulled up to her neck.

The man yawns, jaw cracking.

“I can take it from here,” Alex offers.

“You’ve only got another fifteen minutes before shift change, anyway.”

The man glances at him hopefully. Alex has done it a handful of times in the last year preparing for this exact moment.

“Yeah? Dude, that would be awesome. I gotta date with one of the townies tomorrow.” He frowned.

“Later today, I guess it is now. Waitress. Dude, she is hot. Got this set of tits like you wouldn’t believe.”

Alex waves him away.

“Get outta here. Get some sleep. Don’t want to fall asleep on your dream girl.”

“Or do I?” the man asks, waggling his eyebrows. He stands, hands above his head as he stretches his back. Before he leaves the small room, he pats Alex on the shoulder.

“Thanks, man. This is really cool of you.”

“No problem. Hey, is it Reyes and Jones on guard duty?” He already knows the answer, but it’s good to get confirmation.

“Yep. Got their table set up outside its room. Cheating at cards again.”

Alex forces a chuckle.

“Assholes.”

“Don’t I know it. Thanks again, Weir. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s out the door without looking back.

Alex listens for his footsteps to fade.

The monitors flicker as the storm grows overhead.

He looks back to the screen for the camera near Art’s bed.

She’s not sleeping.

Instead, she’s wide-awake, standing underneath the camera, staring straight into the lens.

He makes quick work of the recording equipment. He rips wires. Old coffee is poured on electronics.

One by one, the screens turn to snow.

He’s moving now, out the door and down the hallway. He stops at a T-intersection, the metal grating beneath his feet groaning slightly. He takes a deep breath. He’s doing the right thing. He’s doing this for her.

He turns down the hall to the right. Reyes and Jones are sitting near the entrance to Art’s room, small folding table set up between them, rifles set off to the side, leaning back in their rickety chairs. Jones has a lit cigarette in his mouth, smoke curling up around his head. There’s an ashtray stuffed with discarded butts near his right hand. Cards are spread out between them.

They look up when they hear him approaching.

“Weir,” Reyes says.

“What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Jones laughs.

“Getting old, buddy?”

“Must be,” he says, already having decided upon how to dispatch them with minimal noise.

“I need to get inside.”

Jones’s smile fades a little.

“Can’t do that, big guy. You know the rules. No one inside until six. Protection, you know? We don’t want it to hurt anyone.”

Alex snorts.

“You really think she’s going to hurt me?”

Jones and Reyes share an uneasy look. Oh, and he knows what that means. They, like most everyone else below his pay grade (and maybe even a few above), don’t know what to make of him, don’t know if he’s entirely human anymore. He’s heard their whispers, saying that he’s been brainwashed, that it’s gotten inside his head too, that it’s infected him, making him do its bidding. They’re wary of him, yes, but they’re also scared of him. They’re afraid of what they don’t understand.

Which is good. Because they should be.

“No,” Reyes says slowly.

“We don’t think she’s going to hurt you, but orders are orders. You know?”

“I outrank you.”

Neither of them have reached for their rifles yet. Foolish, really.

“True,” Jones says.

“But this is above you. You know that.”

“I do,” Alex says, smiling.

“I’m just playing around, guys. Yanking your chain a little.”

They both relax.

He goes after Jones first, as he’s the quicker of the two. Alex has got two decades of experience under his belt. Even though he’s been assigned to this project for ten years now, he hasn’t let himself get out of shape. He’s as strong as he’s ever been and still able to move quicker than a man half his age.

He has his hands over Jones’s face, slamming his head back against the rock wall behind him. Jones grunts, slumping down in his chair.

Reyes moves faster than Alex expects. He’s already raising his rifle as Alex spins toward him. Alex grabs it by the barrel, sight digging into the flesh of his palm. He snaps it to the side, breaking Reyes’s trigger finger. The rifle does not go off. Reyes opens his mouth to cry out in pain, but all that comes out is a harsh croak as he gets the heel of Alex’s palm slammed against his throat. His eyes bulge as Alex grabs him by the back of the head, slamming him face-first into the table. It collapses at the force of the impact, and Reyes goes down with a low grunt. His eyes are fluttering as he rolls to his side, nose bleeding in rivulets down his cheeks. He stares blearily up at Alex and opens his mouth, but Alex’s boot meets his face, and he’s out.

Less than a minute has passed since they greeted him.

He drags an unconscious Reyes to the panel next to the door leading to Art’s room. He holds his hand up to a black pad. For a moment, nothing happens. Then a thin blue light scans down the length of his hand. The door slides open.

He drops Reyes to the floor.

Art watches as he enters her room. The low lights flicker overhead. He moves quickly, needing to get to the computer before the power—

The lights go out.

There’s a beat of silence, and then the emergency lights pulse white along the floor.

“No,” he whispers, because her fucking cage is locked, it’s—

She’s standing against the glass wall nearest him.

She puts her hand flat against it.

He feels it in his head. The whispers. The images. She thinks of impossible stars.

Spiderweb cracks burst underneath her palm.

Alex takes a step back.

The wall of glass shatters.

But the pieces don’t fall.

She lowers her hand and walks through the glass slowly, pushing sharp shards out of her way.

She stops in front of him, a small smile on her face.

“Are we going on an adventure?”

He says.

“Time to saddle up and hit the trail.”

(Nate was gone, gone, gone.)

He takes her by the hand. His grip engulfs hers.

They flee the room.

She doesn’t comment on the two men they have to step over.

He’s moving down the hallway, the way out already mapped in his head. He glances down at his watch. The shift change is coming up in ten minutes. The hallways are dark, the generators not yet having kicked back on.

They bypass the main thoroughfares. It’s easier to stick to the smaller paths. Fewer people. But there will come a point where they won’t have a choice. Each exit to the Mountain will have at least two guards posted with two more on the way.

But that’s what he’s counting on.

They reach the closest exit in less than five minutes.

He peers around the corner.

Two men stand in front.

He has to be quick.

He lets go of Art’s hand and thinks, Stay.

He walks around the corner.

The man on the right sees him first. He looks to raise his rifle but stops when he recognizes Alex.

“Sir,” he says.

“What are you still doing standing here?” Alex growls.

“The generators haven’t come up yet. There are protocols in place. Why haven’t you checked in yet?”

Right glances at Left.

“Shift change hasn’t come through. We thought we’d wait until—”

“You thought wrong,” Alex snaps.

“Move your asses and—”

Then, from behind him.

“Holy shit, what the hell is it doing out—”

He turns. Shift change was early. Two men stand, guns pointing toward Art, who has moved into the hallway.

Fuck.

Left and Right moan behind him.

“Hello,” Artemis Darth Vader says.

“It’s nice to see you.”

She jerks her head to the right.

All four men slam against the walls, rifles falling from their grasps and landing on the ground.

“Huh,” Art says.

“They weren’t as heavy as I thought they’d be. I may have overdone it. Poor guys. That’s gonna hurt when they wake up.”

Alex grabs a key card off one of the men near the door. He waits.

Nothing. The power is still off.

He’s starting to panic.

“Come on. Come on—”

The lights kick on overhead. He doesn’t know if it’s the power coming back or the generators, but it doesn’t matter.

He slides the key card through the black slot on the wall.

It beeps.

The door slides open.

“Let’s go,” he says.

“We have to hurry.”

They run down a long hallway. They’re close. So close.

They reach the last door. This one isn’t locked electronically.

He shoves it open.

Rain slams against his face. He takes in a deep breath of cold air. His skin is instantly soaked. Art gasps at the wave of wet that washes over her, and later Alex will realize it’s the first time she’s been out of the Mountain in over three decades. It’ll hit him and hit him hard.

Lightning flashes overhead.

Thunder rolls.

He grabs Artemis by the hand again and pulls her out into the storm. The gravel on the path crunches beneath their feet. Alex blinks away the rain. Ahead of them, he can see the spotlights at the entrance to the base moving slowly back and forth, the guards pacing in their towers.

They head away from the front gate. Alex leads them off the main path, keeping to the trees and the shadows. They freeze briefly as two soldiers run by. They wait until the soldiers disappear around a corner before they move again.

The motor pool is empty this early in the morning. The mechanics don’t come on shift for a few more hours. The warehouse housing vehicles belonging to the government of the United States of America is large, but Alex knows exactly where they need to go.

They enter through a side door and close it behind them. Rain drums on the ceiling overhead. Art is shivering, but there’s nothing he can do about that now. He remembers the first time he found out she could be cold, and it had shocked him more than he expected it to. And then he’d learned she could be hungry and happy and experience pain, and he still wonders if this is worth it to her. From the bits and pieces she’s given him, it’s not like this for her when she’s… how she normally is. She doesn’t experience emotions or sensations, not to the extent humans do. At least she didn’t before.

There are days he wishes for that. Days he wishes he could push it all away.

He doesn’t know if she wants the same thing.

He doesn’t know how to ask.

They move down rows of Humvees and Jeeps and armored vehicles with mounted machine guns across the top. He’s briefly considered taking one of those, but it wouldn’t be very subtle, now would it? He can’t imagine driving down a road and not getting pulled over because of the large weapon attached to the top of their vehicle.

The Jeep is gray. It’s a newer model (most of the vehicles in the warehouse are—taxpayer dollars at work in this secret government facility experimenting on an alien life force) and fully gassed. He’s stocked it as best he could while remaining inconspicuous. His duffel bag is already inside, filled with clothes and cash. He’s grabbed a similar bag for her. There’s some food and water, but it isn’t much. He couldn’t take more without drawing suspicion.

And now that they’re here, now that he’s opening the door for her and she’s climbing inside, he realizes how crazy this is. How spectacularly bad of an idea this is. Oh sure, he’s thought it was nuts before, but it was abstract. He’s had other things to focus on besides the fact that the chances of this working—of them actually escaping—are slim.

He has to try.

He puts her seat belt on.

She touches his hand.

“We’re going to be okay.”

He nods tightly.

He steps back and shuts her door. He’s around the front of the Jeep when a voice says.

“I told myself you wouldn’t be this stupid. I hate it when I’m proven wrong.”

Laura’s standing a few rows down, flanked by two men. He doesn’t recognize them, but he can figure out who they are. Or rather, what group they belong to.

Enforcers.

An elite group of men in the Mountain whose primary job is this exact moment.

They are trackers. Hunters.

If there is a breach, they are the ones sent to find and contain.

He’s seen a few of them around the Mountain before. There were whispers about who exactly they worked for. From what Alex has gathered, they are privately contracted by the United States. It gives deniability in case it is needed.

They’re armed, but then so is Laura. She has a pistol in her hand, a blank look on her face.

“You have to know this won’t end well,” she tells him, not unkindly.

Alex says nothing. He’s already planning in his head.

Laura nods, as if she’s expected his silence.

“I don’t know what it’s capable of, Mr. Weir. I don’t think even you know. It has infected you.”

The massive doors at the front of the warehouse are still closed. The Jeep is reinforced, so they’ll still have a chance. This doesn’t have to be the end.

Except Laura raises her gun and shoots him.

(Nate thought he was screaming, but no sound came out.)

It’s so quick that he doesn’t have time to react. He’s been shot before, once, in the Al-Asimah province in Kuwait back in 1982. It’d been in a port city, a through-and-through on his right arm. It’d hurt, but he’d been able to grit his teeth and fight through it.

This isn’t that.

At first, he’s unsure of what’s even happened. One moment he’s standing in front of the Jeep, hands in fists at his sides, and the next he’s staggering against it, his abdomen on fire. He can hear Art yelling behind him, and he takes in a ragged breath. It hurts, holy fuck does it hurt. His vision is starting to tunnel, but he’s trying to fight it.

One of the Enforcers hands Laura a thick circular band of metal.

He knows what that is.

The thing in the little girl behind him had once inhabited the body of a young soldier named Oren Schraeder. After a time, it was decided to see if they could hurt it. Her. Him. They tried many things. Chemicals. Gas. Injections. But it wasn’t until they electrocuted the hell out of Oren that they realized how they could at the very least contain it.

The Enforcer has handed Laura a collar capable of shocking the wearer with thousands of volts.

Art has never had to wear it before.

But the threat has always been there.

Alex doesn’t think it’s just a threat now.

And apparently neither does she.

Because Alex feels it building. It’s like a storm in his brain.

Artemis is pissed.

Get in the truck, he hears in his head. Now. He’s never heard her sound so cold.

The vehicles around him begin to rattle.

The Enforcers take a step back.

Laura’s eyes narrow.

She raises her gun again and—

The ground cracks beneath his feet as he lurches toward the driver’s side of the Jeep. He hears one of the Enforcers shout in warning, and there’s the crack of gunfire, and he swears he hears the bullet cutting the air as it hurtles by him. He’s got one hand wrapped around his middle, and he knows he’s bleeding. It’s bad, but Art has told him to move, so he’s moving.

He’s at the door and jerks it open. He grits his teeth through the pain as he climbs inside. He fumbles for the keys he’s hidden in the visor and closes the door behind him.

Art isn’t looking at him.

She’s staring straight ahead, eyes wide and vacant.

Alex follows her gaze out the window.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

Dozens of vehicles have risen into the air. They hang suspended at least ten feet off the ground. The Enforcers have their weapons raised toward them as if bullets will stop what is about to happen.

Laura, though. She’s staring straight at them, gun raised, collar in her other hand at her side.

“Drive,” Art tells him in a low voice.

He starts the Jeep.

He sees the exact moment Laura decides to pull the trigger again. Her shoulders tighten, and she lets out a deep breath.

Alex shifts the Jeep into drive.

He slams his foot on the gas pedal.

The vehicles begin to rain down. There are loud shrieks of metal as they crash into the ground, glass shattering, hoods popping off and flipping into the air. Farther into the warehouse and off to the right, a Humvee explodes, the fire bright in the dark, shrapnel embedding itself into the walls.

The Enforcers are running, trying to dodge what’s coming from above. One almost makes it to a side door when another Jeep lands on top of him. Alex doesn’t see what happens to the other one.

Laura doesn’t run. She walks slowly toward the oncoming vehicle, firing her weapon with sharp precision. The bullets hit the reinforced windshield and deflect away. Her aim is true; the windshield chips right in front of Alex’s face.

He doesn’t slow.

She doesn’t jump out of the way like he expects. When the Jeep strikes her at nearly thirty miles an hour, destruction still falling from above, she’s on the hood and against the windshield, a bright splash of blood spraying against the glass. And then she’s up and over the Jeep.

“Doors,” Alex says.

“Art, doors.”

Artemis hums a little under her breath. The sliding doors shudder in their frames, and there’s a moment when Alex thinks they’ll slam into them head-on. It’ll be over before they ever exit the warehouse.

But then the doors are torn off their hinges, the entire front wall of the warehouse breaking away as if a massive tornado is spinning outside. They’re in the warehouse, and then they’re out in the dark and lightning, rain slashing against the windshield. He’s driving one-handed, his other hand holding the wound in his side.

From there, it’s like a dream.

He hears alarms blaring, knows they’re being fired upon, but no bullets seem to hit them. He’s floating, maybe just a little, hearing whispers in his head that tell him everything is going to be all right. Everything is going to be just fine. They’ll be okay.

He believes the whispers.

At one point, there’s a spotlight shining down on them, and he hears the thumpthumpthump of rotor blades, but then there’s a jarring crash and an explosion somewhere in the distance.

They burst through the back gate and onto an old logging road. The road is muddy and slick, water rolling down the hills around them. His focus is on keeping his eyes open. He has precious cargo. Nothing can happen to her.

Art will tell him later the next crash he hears is an avalanche behind him, one of the rocky hills giving way and falling onto the road, washing it out.

“We got lucky,” she’ll say.

“The storm must have loosened it.”

He won’t believe her, but he won’t say a word about it.

She’s telling him to move his hand, Alex, move your hand, and he groans as he does. Then her hand is on him, and it feels hot, like she’s scalding him. He somehow manages not to scream.

Three days later, they find a sign pointing them toward Herschel Lake.

Art says.

“There. We should go there.”

Alex says.

“We have to keep going. We have to get as far away as we can.”

Artemis Darth Vader shakes her head.

“No. Alex. We have to go to the lake. I know it. You have to trust me.”

He does. She’s the only thing he has left.

So he turns up the road toward the lake and—

NATE BLINKED slowly, feeling as if he’d just awoken from the most vivid of dreams.

Artemis was snoring, head on Alex’s shoulder.

Alex was watching him.

Neither of them spoke for what felt like hours.

Then.

“She… How did you…”

Alex said.

“I don’t know. It’s… what she does. The connection. The bond. With me. With you.”

“We have to get her home,” Nate said, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever believed in anything more in his life.

“We have to find a way to get her home.”

He didn’t expect Alex to raise an arm. He didn’t expect the hand coming toward his face. The fingers trailing along his cheek. His jawline. The thumb brushing over his lips.

He leaned into it because it was the only thing he could do.

He turned his head slightly and pressed a dry kiss into Alex’s palm.

Alex’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away.

Nate reached up and took Alex’s hand in his own. He slid a little bit closer until he could tuck Alex’s hand against his chest. It was warm.

Alex sighed as if in relief and closed his eyes. Nate watched as he fell asleep a moment later, arm resting over Art.

Nate fell asleep soon after under the sea of stars and a comet that burned brightly.

THE NEXT morning, over powdered eggs that tasted like shit, Art said.

“You know where we have to go.”

Alex rubbed a hand over his face.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded slowly.

“It’s… I think it’s the right thing to do. Before.”

Nate glanced between the two of them.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Saddle up, partner,” Art told him.

“There’s rough days ahead.”