Chapter seventeen
NATE.
He was standing on a street in a nice suburb. The lawns were mown, and the hedges were freshly trimmed. Flowers bloomed, and people walked on sidewalks. They waved at each other as their dogs tugged on their leashes, as children shouted around them from their bikes.
One house in particular caught his eye.
It was made of brick. It had a large porch with two rocking chairs. The mailbox was green with ladybugs painted on it.
He knew this house.
He’d grown up here.
This was his home before—
Nate.
He looked up.
There, next to the sun, was a comet.
He looked back at the house.
Gone was the summer’s day. The sky was cloudy and gray above him. The hedges were thin and dead. The flowers were gone. The air was cold. There were little patches of dirty snow along the sidewalks. The grass was brown. The streets were empty.
“Wait,” he said, taking a step toward the house.
A low rumble came from his right.
He turned his head.
An old truck was coming down the road. Its headlights were on, but dim. He recognized that truck, didn’t he? Yes. The last time he’d seen it, it’d been at the bottom of a ravine, right? After—
It pulled up to the curb in front of his old house.
His father sat inside.
He looked… older. Far older than he’d been when Nate had seen him last, screaming at him in the cabin in the woods that he’d never have a faggot for a son, that he needed to get the fuck out and never come back. Time hadn’t been kind to him. His face was craggy and heavy. The bags under his eyes were purpled, like bruises. Nate watched as his father looked up at the house, fingers tightening around the steering wheel.
And then he got out of the truck.
Nate knew then what this was. He tried to move forward, but it was like he was underwater. His limbs were heavy. It hurt to breathe.
“No,” he said.
“No, no, don’t do this, Dad, don’t do this—”
“He can’t hear you.”
A little girl stood at his side, staring up at him sadly.
Artemis Darth Vader.
“He can’t hear you,” she said again.
“Because this isn’t real.”
“No,” Nate said.
“We’re here. He’s right there.”
And he was. His father had closed the door to the truck before he made his way up the short driveway to the house. There was a light on inside that Nate had missed before. His father pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck as he reached the porch.
He took each step slowly.
Nate screamed at him to stop.
He didn’t.
He tried the handle to the front door.
It was locked.
He knocked. And waited.
The door opened.
He couldn’t see past his father, but he knew his mother had answered the door.
His father began waving his hands wildly.
He was shouting, but Nate couldn’t make out his words.
His mother tried to shut the door.
His father pressed a hand against it.
“We need to go,” Artemis said, tugging on his hand.
“We have to find Alex. Nate, we have to find Alex before it’s too late.”
Nate shook loose from her. He managed another step forward, but the pavement beneath his feet started sucking him down like quicksand. He struggled against it but only made it worse.
At the house, his mother had managed to close the door.
His father was going back to the truck.
Nate knew what came next.
He shouted at his father. Begged him. Pleaded with him. Told him to stop, don’t do this, please don’t do this, it’s not too late to stop this, Dad, please.
His father ignored him.
Nate sank farther into the road. It was up to his knees now.
Artemis said.
“We have to hurry. Peter is going to—”
His father opened the truck.
Pulled out a shotgun.
And for a moment, for a brief, shining moment, he hesitated. Nate could see it. That look on his face. That look of comprehension. Of horror. As if he understood right then and there what he was about to do. What he was truly capable of. And Nate had hope. He had hope that things could change.
Nate, can you hear me?
He ignored the voice from the comet. It couldn’t help him now.
“Yes!” he cried.
“That’s right. Dad, that’s right. This can’t happen. This can’t happen.”
The look slid from his father’s face. His jaw grew slack, mouth opening slightly.
He turned back toward the house.
He left the door to the truck hanging open.
He carried the shotgun in one hand.
Up at the house, Nate saw the curtains open. He saw his mother in the window. She was crying. She had a phone pressed against her ear. She disappeared, and the curtain fell back against the window.
The door was locked again when Mitchell Cartwright stood on the front porch. His ex-wife, now Linda Cook, had locked it before getting on the phone with the police. His brother, Ricky, had told him this… after.
His father pulled shells from his pocket. He loaded the gun.
He aimed at the door.
There was a concussive blast. A lick of fire.
The door fell open.
His father went inside.
Nate was up to his waist in the road. Art stood next to him, staring up at the comet bursting through the cloud cover. She told him she couldn’t help him. Not with this. Time didn’t move backward, she said. Forward, yes. Even side to side. But never backward.
Inside the house, on the second floor, came another shotgun blast that echoed throughout the neighborhood, and Nate knew that was the moment his father murdered his mother.
He howled up at the gray sky above, the comet heading straight for them.
From the house, the shotgun fired again.
His father, blowing his own head off.
He did it, Ricky had told him, voice thick. Didn’t leave a note. Didn’t say why. He just killed her. And then he killed himself.
Nate, I need you to listen to the sound of my voice, the comet said.
“No,” Art said, sounding urgent.
“Nate, I need you here with me. Please. I need you to help me. To help Alex. He needs our help. He needs you. He loves you, can’t you see that? He loves you, and I need you too—”
“Yes,” Nate said.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
“Good,” Artemis Darth Vader said, and there was a great white cloud of something floating around her. It pulsed brightly with a kaleidoscope of colors, some that Nate wasn’t sure existed in his world. His mind wasn’t capable of comprehending what was in front of him, and when Art reached for him, her hand wrapped in the beautiful sheen that was swallowing her whole, he understood that this was what she really looked like. This was who she really was, and it was more than he ever expected, more than he ever thought possible, and when their hands touched, it was like a miniature sun had gone supernova in his chest. He was engulfed by it and—
They stood on a rain-slicked road.
There was a snarl of metal in front of them, wrapped around a tree. It took a moment for Nate to understand what he was looking at had once been a car. It was barely recognizable aside from a single tire that somehow had remained intact, spinning lazily.
Alex Weir was on his knees in front of them, pounding his fists against the road.
He was screaming.
Art tugged on Nate’s hand.
He looked down at her.
“Do you remember what I told you?” she asked.
“About how he’ll need you after I’m gone?”
“Why do you have to leave at all?” Nate demanded.
“Why can’t you—”
The tree cracked and fell.
There was a dull fwump as fire began to spread along the car.
Alex tried to crawl toward them.
His hands sank into the road.
Nate took a step and—
“There you are,” Peter said, a smile on his face.
“Hello, Nate. I’m glad you—”
The rain beat down from above. Alex was snarling as he tried to get to the car.
The pavement beneath Nate’s feet began sucking him down.
Nate. Nate. Open your eyes. I need you to open your eyes.
“Alex,” Nate said.
Alex turned and looked over his shoulder. Nate’s heart broke at the anguish etched on his face. “Nate?”
Nate nodded.
“Listen to me. This isn’t real. None of this is real. Okay? I know it hurts. I know you feel helpless. But we can’t go back. We can’t change what’s already happened. You have to remember that. This isn’t real, but I am. And Artemis is too.”
Recognition flickered across Alex’s eyes. “Artemis.”
“Yes. Yes. Artemis. Art. She needs you. Okay? I need you. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong and we have to—”
Nate’s head snapped to the side as if he’d been slapped.
He opened his eyes.
Oren Schraeder stood in front of him. He wasn’t smiling.
“You will listen to me,” he said, voice flat.
“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.” He raised his hand and slapped Nate across the face again and—
Alex was trying to get to Nate. The car burned behind them in the rain.
Nate looked over his shoulder, wanting to shout at Art to help them.
She was gone.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Nate. Nate. NateNateNateNATENATENATE—
Alex ripped his hands free from the ground with an angry growl. He stood up. The road was solid beneath his feet. He ran toward Nate.
Nate tilted his head back toward the falling rain. Water sluiced down his face.
“I’m here,” he heard Alex say.
“I’m here, and we’re gonna get out of here. We’re gonna—”
Everything exploded in white.
NATHANIEL CARTWRIGHT opened his eyes.
His thoughts were fuzzy and loose. His head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. He blinked blearily, trying to get his eyes to focus. It almost worked. He saw through a filmy haze, the edges around him blurred.
There was a metal table in front of him.
On the other side of the table was Alex.
“Alex,” he said. Or at least he tried to say. In the end what came out was a garbled sound that didn’t resemble Alex at all.
Alex was awake, though his eyes were vacant.
Nate tried to lift his arms.
He couldn’t.
He looked down.
He was seated in a chair. His arms were sitting on the rests. He wasn’t secured to the chair. There were no manacles around his wrists. His legs weren’t bound. He was free. He was free to move.
He tried to stand.
He understood the concept. He told his body to move. The synapses fired. His arms twitched. His toes shifted in his boots.
But that was it.
“Are you here?” a voice asked.
He slowly looked back up.
Peter stood off to the right of the table. He was frowning. Nate didn’t like that.
He said.
“What the fuck did you do to me?”
What came out was just a low groan.
Spittle dribbled onto his chin.
“It’s difficult,” Peter said, nodding slowly.
“Or so I’ve heard. Scopolamine. It’s also called Devil’s Breath. It’s derived from a flower that grows on a shrub. Strange little plant. Only found in Colombia. The natives used it in their rituals for centuries. Burundanga poisoning. Sometimes it’s a powder that can be blown into your face. Other times it can be made into a liquid and injected.”
Nate didn’t understand what Peter was talking about. He tried to get up again. Tried to raise his arms so he could wrap his hands around Peter’s neck and choke the fucking life out of him. But the very idea of attacking Peter seemed so irrelevant, so far away, that it was just easier to let it go.
“It causes hallucinations,” Peter said.
“And for that, I apologize. I know they can be… so lifelike. Seeing things that you don’t want to see. I can only imagine what it was like for you. I never like to see suffering if I can avoid it. But this… I think this was unavoidable.”
Peter was wearing what looked like a white dress or a sheet. Nate didn’t know why it mattered. Why he focused on it. Maybe it was because he’d only ever seen Peter in jeans and a white shirt. Like everyone else at the farm. But now, the white fabric was sitting loose on his shoulders and billowed around his body.
It was… odd.
He tried to ask Peter why he was wearing something so ridiculous, but his mouth only twisted, and his tongue barely moved.
“It’s almost time,” Peter said.
“I don’t expect you to understand. How could you? You haven’t seen the things I have. You haven’t had it inside of you. I argued at first. I fought against it. It took me a long time to figure out I wasn’t dreaming. And when I did, I railed against it. This… this thing inside of me. Oh, it said it came in peace. It said it wasn’t going to hurt me. It had just gotten separated from the others and had gotten scared. It was almost… childlike. This spirit. This ghost. I was haunted. And I had no choice.”
He smiled ruefully.
“But… eventually I stopped and started to listen. And it was only then that I understood that I’d been chosen. Out of all the people in the world, out of all six billion people, it had chosen me to act as its vessel. It had chosen me to bring enlightenment to the world. I felt… powerful. I felt loved. I felt joy. And I promised myself that I would never forget the lessons I learned. That I would do what I could to spread the gospel of the Seventh Sea. And when it was torn from me, when they took it from me and then discarded me as if I were nothing, I knew what I needed to do. I knew what it was asking of me. Which is why I made this. This place. These people. The Light of Eve. It was my way of spreading the gospel of the Seventh Sea, of trying to make the masses understand that we are not alone. That we have been lied to, and that there are gods among us.”
“Alex,” Nate tried to say.
“Alex. Alex. Alex.”
Alex blinked slowly, mouth slack. He didn’t appear to be tied down either.
“Nate,” Peter said.
“Turn your head to the left.”
Nate said.
“Fuck off.”
But in reality, he said.
“Mmph,” and slowly turned his head to the left, just as Peter had asked. In fact, doing what Peter asked seemed like the best thing to do. It felt good to do what he asked. It felt good to have Peter telling him what to do.
And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fight it.
To his left, near the table, was a video camera set on a tripod. It looked to be the same one Nate had seen in Peter’s office the day before. A red light on top blinked on and off, on and off.
It was recording Peter’s sermon.
But the camera fell away when he saw where he was. And what lined the wall.
The floor was a large concrete slab. Exposed fluorescent lights flickered overhead. The walls were made of wood.
And lining those walls, all around them, were white metal bunk beds, stacked two high.
On each of the beds lay a person dressed similarly to Peter. All white. Their feet were bare.
There was a difference, though, between them and Peter.
The people lying on the beds had black velvet cloths covering their faces.
None of them moved.
“They have chosen,” Peter said quietly.
“to put their trust in me, to allow me the honor of releasing them from the shackles of their humanity. They will rise from this plane of existence, their souls like gas, and they will follow the Seventh Sea to where it will take them into the tail of Markham-Tripp. We will give ourselves to the gods that are coming for us. We will be rejoiced. We will be revered. You may look at me again. Nate, look at me.”
Nate turned his head. It felt as if the muscles in his neck were seizing.
“What… you… done?” Nate managed to ask.
“The void, Nate,” Peter said.
“The call of the void. L’appel du vide. They felt it. They were lost souls. They had nothing. They were drug users and whores and degenerates. They were being taken advantage of. They were the discarded. The forgotten. All of them had stood on the edge of that cliff, looked over, and thought about jumping. But for what? What purpose would it have served? What would it have done? Their life would have had no meaning.” Peter walked around the table behind Alex. Nate tracked every step he took. Peter stopped next to a bed. The person upon it was smaller than the others, and plumper. It was a woman, and she was still breathing, though it was rapid and shallow. Peter smiled down at her lovingly. He fell to his knees next to the bed. The bottoms of his feet were dirty.
“I took them in. I gave them a purpose. I showed them that there was… more to this world than they could ever understand on their own. I told them I would lead them to salvation, and the only thing I required from them was their trust. The only thing, Nate. I promised them I would never hurt them. I would never call them names. I would love them as if they were my own. Because in the Light of Eve, they are my own. My people. And soon, they will enjoy their reward.” He reached under the bed.
And pulled out a gun.
A pistol. An old six-shooter. It looked like every clichéd gun Nate had ever seen in a Western. Art would love it. Down that old dusty trail, partner.
Dolores took in a deep breath. Her fingers shook.
“Shhh,” Peter said.
“It’s all right. You will reap your reward soon enough. Shhh.” He pressed a hand against her forehead. “A cocktail. Ketamine with fentanyl. They took it voluntarily. They slept and dreamed of stars, knowing I would give them peace. I need you to remember that. I didn’t force them. In the end, they chose this.”
Nate could do nothing as Peter raised the gun and pressed it against the side of Dolores’s head. He pulled the trigger. There was a muffled crack as her head jerked to the side. She didn’t take another breath. Nate could barely see any blood at all.
“There,” Peter said quietly as he lowered the gun to his side.
“There. Almost done. She… she was one of the first to join me. In her previous life, she was a retired teacher. A grandmother. She was being used, of course. Her children only came to her when they needed something. Her grandchildren only told her they loved her when she gave them presents. She was lonely, Nate. She was very lonely listening to the call of the void. I don’t know how much longer she would have lasted if I hadn’t found her. But I did, and I gave her a purpose again. I told her of the things I’d witnessed. Of the god that had been within me. That I was going to share it with her, and the only thing I required was that she come with me. That she give up her empty and meaningless life and come with me.” He leaned over and kissed what seemed to be the tip of her nose under the black fabric.
“Do you know what she said to me? She said thank you. I will never forget that.”
Peter stood back up. He looked around the bunk beds. No one else was breathing. He must have killed everyone while Nate was caught in a dream. He felt a tear fall down his cheek. He couldn’t raise his hands to wipe it away.
“It’s almost time,” Peter said.
“Time for me to keep my promises made to my people. We will rise to the spacecraft in Markham-Tripp, and we will be free of this place. One last thing remains to ensure our success.”
He walked back toward the table, opening the cylinder of the gun. Spun it around. It clacked and echoed in the room. The basement. They had to be in the basement. Behind that metal door with the padlock.
Peter showed Nate the contents of the cylinder. Five chambers were empty. One had a bullet inside. He did the same for Alex, though Alex’s eyes were still unfocused. Peter spun the cylinder again before snapping it closed. He set the gun on the table between Nate and Alex.
“Don’t touch that,” he said.
And then he walked away toward a door in the wall to the right.
Get the gun.
Get the gun.
Get the gun.
Get the gun get the gun get the gun GET THE GUN GET THE—
He didn’t move.
He stared at it.
He wanted it more than anything.
But he didn’t move.
“Nate,” Peter said.
“Alex. Would you look at me, please?”
They both turned their heads.
In the open doorway, standing next to Peter, was Artemis Darth Vader.
Her eyes were wide. Her face was wet. And she looked furious.
Good, Nate thought. Good. Good. Good.
But upon her head sat a halo of sorts. It was black and metal, and wires were attached to it that ran down her arms, the ends of which ran into filmy white electrodes stuck to her bare skin.
And she was shaking, her hands like claws, her fingers spasming out into hooks.
She was being electrocuted.
He knew what it was.
He’d seen something like it before, though it’d been more sophisticated.
“A trick,” Peter said, his speech slightly slurred.
“Something I learned within the Mountain. It’s crude but effective. It… contains her. Her telekinesis. She is, in all sense of the word, trapped. But she will be free. She will lead us home.”
He forced her to take a step forward. Her mouth twisted, her little legs shaking. Her eyes started to roll back in her head, and she gave such a cry of pain and fury that Nate reached for the gun and raised it and fired it and killed Peter right where he stood and—
The gun sat in the middle of the table untouched.
Peter brought her in until she stood next to the table. The camera was trained on all of them.
“I want to go home,” Peter said quietly.
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I want to go home. Take us, Artemis. Take us away from here.”
“I can’t,” Artemis said through gritted teeth. “I can’t.”
Peter sighed.
“This can be easy. I promise you. Please don’t make me do what you know I’m capable of.”
“There’s no ship,” she spat at him.
“You lie,” he snarled at her.
“I’ve seen it. I’ve seen what’s in your head because you put it in mine. Markham-Tripp is a harbinger. It is a sign. I know it’s time. I know they’re coming for you. Why else would you be here? Why else would you seek me out if it wasn’t to take us home?”
The cords in Art’s neck stood out as she tilted her head back, the wires attached to her pulling against the electrodes.
“I came here,” she said, hands jerking.
“Because it was the right thing to do. Because I took so much from you. I came here. To say I’m sorry. To tell you that I care about you. That your world is harsh and unforgiving, but there is so much beauty in it if you only know where to look. I felt it. Your pain. Your uncertainty. Even long after you were gone. I didn’t come here to take you home. I came here to show you that you already were home.”
“No,” Peter said, head snapping side to side furiously.
“No. No. No. Not true. Not true. I know what this is. I know what all of this is. This is a test. This is another test to prove my faith. To show you what I am willing to do. I accept. I will prove to you how far I am willing to go.” He looked at the camera.
“I will show you all.”
Then.
“Alex. Look at me, please.”
Alex did, eyes cloudy.
“There is a gun in front of you. Nod if you understand.”
Alex nodded.
“There is one bullet inside. We are going to play a game. Alex, I want you to pick up the gun. I want you to point it at Nate’s head. Do it now.”
“Alex!” Art cried.
“Don’t. Please don’t do this. Please.”
Nate felt little jolts in his head, like something was trying to burst through the fog. He thought he heard Art screaming somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, but it was so inconsequential to him.
Alex put his hand on the tabletop.
He slid it until his fingers bumped into the gun.
He picked it up.
He pointed it at Nate. Right at his head.
“Take us to your ship,” Peter said to Art.
“There’s no ship! There’s no ship! There’s no ship!”
Peter sighed.
“Alex, pull the trigger.”
Alex did.
There was a dry click.
Nate barely flinched.
“One down,” Peter said.
“Five to go. Alex. Give the gun to Nate. Nate, take the gun from Alex.”
Alex’s hand was trembling as he held the gun toward Nate. His mouth was in a tight line. His eyes were narrowed.
Nate took the gun from him.
“Nate, point the gun at Alex.”
“No,” Nate managed to say, but he couldn’t stop his arm from rising. Couldn’t stop his finger from wrapping around the trigger.
“Devil’s Breath,” Peter said.
“It’s really rather fascinating. Takes away your choices. Your free will. While it’s in your system, you will do as you’re told. Nate, shoot Alex.”
Alex stared at him.
Nate’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Art said his name, but it was lost under the electrical snap of electricity coursing through her.
Nate pulled the trigger.
The hammer fell.
click
“How fascinating,” Peter said.
“Nate, put the gun on the table.”
Nate did.
“Do you see now?” Peter asked Art, a hand in her hair.
“What I’m willing to do for you? What I am capable of? Please, take us home.”
“There’s nothing there,” Art said, voice breaking.
“Peter—Oren—I wouldn’t lie to you. I would do it if I could. But there is nothing there.”
He backhanded her across the face.
Her head snapped back.
“You lie,” he whispered hoarsely.
“I’ve seen it. I saw it. The lights in the sky. The night you came for me. The night you chose me. I saw it. You said they would come back for you. You said it would come again. And I know it’s almost here. I can feel it.”
“There’s no ship!” she shouted at him.
“That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. Those lights? They weren’t a fucking ship.”
“Alex,” Peter said coldly.
“Pick up the gun and shoot Nate.”
Alex did as he asked. The gun was pointed at Nate’s head almost quicker than he could blink. He pulled the trigger.
click
“Three left,” Peter said.
“One of them will die unless you do it and do it now. Is this what you want? Do you want to see one of them with a bullet in their head? How could you do this? How could you let this happen?”
“Alex,” Art pleaded.
“Fight. Please fight this and—”
Her head snapped back again as Peter pressed a button on the side of the halo. Her eyes rolled back into her head. A thin string of spit dripped down her chin.
“Gun on the table, Alex.”
The gun went on the table.
“Nate, pick up the gun.”
Nate picked up the gun.
Through the fog, there was an image of flowers blooming in a field. Of rocks skipping on a lake. Of sleeping in the back of a truck under a sea of stars.
Of Alex. His big hands. Standing behind Art, braiding her hair.
The fog was cracking.
“Shoot Alex,” Peter said.
Nate’s finger tightened on the trigger.
And he thought, What if I don’t want to?
What am I doing?
Why am I—
Nate was seated at the table in the cabin. Art was next to him, plate piled high with bacon. Alex set down a cup of coffee in front of Nate, made just how he liked it. He felt Alex lean down and press a kiss to the side of his head.
“It’s okay,” Alex whispered in his ear.
“I promise. It’s okay. I forgive you.”
He pulled the trigger.
click
Alex sat down across from him at the kitchen table.
Art said.
“What should we do today?” through a mouthful of bacon.
Alex shrugged as he took a sip of coffee.
“Whatever we want.”
“Really?” Alex asked, eyes wide.
“Whatever we want?”
“Sure. That all right with you, Nate?”
Nate nodded. He was crying, but it didn’t matter.
“That’s all right with me.”
Alex reached across the table and grabbed his hand.
“In case—you have to know. I—I’m not very good. At this. With you. But you have to know. Nate, I—”
Peter said.
“Alex, take the gun from Nate.”
Alex did.
“Point it at Nate’s head.”
Alex did.
“Are we going on an adventure?” Art asked them at the kitchen table, eyeing their clasped hands gleefully.
“Yeah,” Alex said, a soft smile on his face.
“Yeah, I think we are.”
“And we’re going to go together, right?”
“Together,” Nate said.
“Alex,” Peter said.
“Pull the—”
“Wait.”
Nate blinked slowly in the basement of the farmhouse.
“What is it?” Peter asked, looking down at Art.
“I’ll do it,” she said.
“I’ll take you. Just… please. Don’t hurt them. Please don’t hurt them.”
The fog was burning away.
He saw how red his skin got when Alex’s stubble rubbed against it.
He saw them sitting in a diner in the middle of nowhere, Art smiling widely at the waitress.
There were bison roaming fields, larger than any of them expected.
And they were together. All of them were together. It was Nate and Art and Alex, and they were singing along with the radio, they were on the dock at the lake, they were running for their fucking lives, but they were together, always together, the three of them.
“It’s why I chose you,” Art told them through all the shifting memories.
“It’s why I chose the both of you. You made me a home out of nothing. Out of a place where one should not exist. You carried each other until your knees gave out and you stumbled. I didn’t get that at first. I don’t think anyone can. Not until they know what it means to be human. 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 will never forget that. You will never be alone because I will always be with you.”
“I will take you to the ship,” Art told Peter in the basement.
“I will take all of you to the ship in the tail of the comet.”
“You will?” Peter asked, eyes bright.
“I knew you would see it my way. I knew you would—”
“I know,” she said, reaching over and taking his hand.
“I know you did. And I’m sorry I let it get this far. Please, Peter. Take this thing off me, and I will lead you all home.”
He nodded. He reached out and pulled the electrodes off her arms. They dangled down around her shoulders, hanging from the halo. He turned the screw that fastened the halo to her head. The metal creaked but loosened. He pulled it off and let it fall to the floor.
“All I ever wanted,” he told her as he fell to his knees in front of her.
“was to leave this place.”
“And you will,” she said, cupping his face with one hand.
“I’m sorry that it took me so long. I didn’t understand what I was capable of. I do now.”
He leaned into her palm.
“It’s okay.”
The fog parted with the rays of bright, bright sunlight.
Nate saw Alex’s eyes clear across from him.
The barrel of the gun wavered.
And from above them came a sound that Nate couldn’t quite place.
A hum, like an electric current.
The farmhouse around them began to shake.
“When we were connected,” Art said quietly.
“I could hear you. And you could hear me. Do you remember?”
Peter nodded.
“And I knew your thoughts. When I was taken from you, I couldn’t hear them anymore. It was very quiet for a long time. But I learned you, Oren. Even now, I know what you’re thinking.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Tell me. Tell me what I’m thinking.”
“Nothing,” Alex growled as he pressed the barrel of the gun against the side of Peter’s head.
He pulled the trigger.
The gun fired.
Peter jerked to the side, a small arc of blood trailing behind him.
He fell to the floor, staring sightlessly toward the ceiling.
“I’m sorry that it had to come to this,” Art told him quietly.
“But I would never let you hurt them.”
“Nate,” Alex said sharply as he stood. He wobbled a little before catching himself. “Nate.”
Nate looked up at him.
“Are you with us?”
“Yeah. Yes. It’s… I’m okay.”
“Good. We have to go. Now.”
The walls were trembling.
“What’s going on?” Nate asked, throat dry.
“Is this—is this you?”
Art shook her head slowly.
“No. That’s not me.”
And from above them came the sound of a small explosion.
“Fuck,” Alex muttered. He crouched down next to Peter, grabbing his hand and putting the gun against it, curling his fingers around the grip. Alex stood and moved quickly toward the stairs that led to the metal door.
The frames on the bunk beds rattled. Dolores’s hand slid from her chest and hung off the side.
“They found us,” Art whispered.
“Who?” Nate asked.
She said.
“The water guy. The Enforcer. The—”
Her head rocked back.
Her mouth opened and worked.
Her eyes went opaque.
She stood rigid, as if once again electrified.
“Art?” Nate whispered.
He reached out for her. He took her hand in his. He felt the little bones beneath her skin and—