Chapter 13 Useful Faith
Useful Faith
At least they didn’t want to kill her.
Heavy grey shock-fog threatened, numbing Cass away from effective action.
The trouble was, she couldn’t tell what to do even if she could scrape together the energy.
Not only that, but the strange new bogey-hunters somehow seemed to muffle the persistent pressure of other people collected in a town—not quite the tumult of a city, but still a nagging irritant she’d been braced for.
The unexpected hush staggered her, like a boxer when his opponent suddenly broke from a clinch.
Now she had to figure out how to catch her breath, and more. There was a fine line between being quiet to fool heavily armed captors and disassociating so hard even the chance for internal escape was lost. Like triggering a scenario or feeling for the tingles on a map, it was a balancing act.
But it was so, so difficult. The sound Grik had made, the wonder in Trille’s eyes, the shock as they… as they…
She stiffened, eyelids flying open. The room was dim, but neither of the new, weirdo bogey-hunters were asleep. They spoke in short, cryptic bursts, and she couldn’t be sure she understood their jargon.
God knew her own group had layered in-jokes, references impenetrable to outsiders.
A shadow loomed over her, a bar sticking up over its shoulder—it was the older guy, Nigel, the one with the faint accent, the funny ring on his left hand, and the honest-to-gosh sword.
He seemed to be in charge. Pale eyes gleamed in glow from the muted television, turned to a local affiliate and silently displaying a rerun of some ancient sitcom. The bathroom light was on as well.
Hadn’t that been a fun moment or two, wondering whether they’d let her pee alone. Eventually they’d relented, insisting only that she leave the door slightly open. There wasn’t even a window to wriggle through, for God’s sake, what did they expect her to do?
It wasn’t quite the least privacy she’d ever had—living with a group of overgrown boys took care of that particular issue—but it was still awful to know strangers were listening to her tinkle, for God’s sake.
Good. Get angry, but keep it low.
Grik had told her about SERE training, though Bern had quietly observed bogeys rarely if ever wanted to capture.
No, monsters went straight for the kill.
But there were other dangers, like the bureaucratic machinery which didn’t accept the fact of—or simply didn’t care about—nightmare monsters murdering civilians every night of the goddamn week.
Either way, bogey-hunting required an armed response and several different flavors of accompanying felony, and that meant risk of capture by human authorities.
She didn’t quite think these guys were CIA, NSA, or Men In Black, though.
They moved like bogeys and had a kind of strange crackling half-visible something that cleaned both of them off.
They’d subjected her to the same treatment, an indignity she couldn’t be grateful for even if she felt relatively fresh.
Dirt and sweat lifting from her skin in tiny lifting wisps, vanishing just like that.
They hadn’t hurt her yet. Yet Cass couldn’t begin to predict what the fuck would happen next, and that was almost as terrifying as landing in a nest full of bogeys.
The sword-bearing guy gazed down at her for a few long moments, finally turning away.
“Not asleep,” the younger one said. Edward. That was his name. Staying even a fractional step ahead required mental clarity, but oh, God, she was so tired.
“No,” Nigel agreed. “Hungry, and afraid. Probably making plans to attempt escape, too. But not asleep.”
He’s fucking with you, Cass. Close your eyes. The inner voice didn’t sound like Bern, but she obeyed it anyway. Trying to think through the noise in her head was an awful strain, akin to dragging the Ducati uphill without any engine help.
So quiet in here, like a tomb. A sight rasp of cloth shifting said Edward had moved. “If we sealed her—”
“She’s endured enough today, my son.” Nigel sounded like a priest, which was sort of fitting. He was rangy, controlled, and so goddamn calm it made her want to scream. Now, though, there was an edge to his tone; they’d been mentioning ‘sealing’ off and on all evening.
Whatever that was, it didn’t sound pleasant.
From other bits of chitchat, it seemed like they’d been looking for someone with Cass’s cursed talents, and were conversant with the idea of people who could do…
whatever in the hell was it she did. That, plus the fact that they’d come from the east, added up to the shadowy rumors of an organization responsible for people like her—however rare—disappearing.
Of course, the monsters apparently found her a delicious, high-value snack, to judge by their continued pursuit.
Apoc said his sister had also been able to do strange things, like Cass, and furthermore believed that was why a bogey ripped into the asylum she’d been committed to, tearing her to pieces.
Don’t think about that. Cass was helpless not to.
Then there was Grik, who swore his best Army buddy got ganked by a bogey in the field, and furthermore said that particular soldier always seemed to know when an ambush or inspection was coming up. Tuned in, Grik called it.
And Trille, quietly pursuing his rural veterinary practice until the people who owned his patients started talking about horrible, darting shapes in the fields… and then, dying.
Please be all right. Oh, please, all of you, be all right. Arrested or something, but alive. Which was foolish of her; their entire group was wanted from the Mexican border to at least the middle of Oregon, with significant warrants outstanding in Arizona and Nevada.
Desperadoes, Steve would say, eyebrows wagging. Gonna stay ridin’ fences for a while.
“Getting soft, old man.” Ed didn’t think much of this. “It wouldn’t take long, and then we’d be—”
“Responsible for traumatizing her still further, deep in enemy territory and robbing ourselves of at least some necessary cooperation from our new lirai. We must survive and bring her to safety.” Nigel’s tone was fractionally louder than necessary, and Cass had the idea he was talking to her as well as his coworker.
“Right now we must show we are trustworthy, despite recent events. Do you think she will find us so, if we do as you advise? We do not take the easy shot, nor the wider path. Instead, we…” He trailed off, expectantly.
And there was that word again. Larry? Lurry? Luhr-eye, something foreign?
Ed gave what was apparently the expected response. “We take the correct path, no matter how difficult.”
Nigel wasn’t finished yet. “Because we are?”
“We are Sons,” Ed finished, wearily. “Maybe you’re right. I just…”
It was like listening to Bern patiently overcome Steve’s bullheaded insistence on simply using enough firepower, collateral damage be damned.
Cass’s heart wrung down on itself again.
The mattress squeaked slightly, though she hadn’t shifted; maybe the load of misery settling on her had its own weight.
Come on, Cass. Think. Do something useful. You have to.
“I know,” Nigel said. Now there was a slight sound of receding movement, boots on cheap nylon carpet; maybe he was finally leaving her alone. “We’ve lost our brothers and very nearly our own lives; no doubt she’s lost more. Let us show her we are better than what we fight.”
“Are we, though?” Ed didn’t sound like he found much merit in the notion.
“We have to at least try.”
It was all so much baffling, impenetrable noise. Fatigue clung to her brain, packing her grey matter with sludge, and to top it off she was twitching as both sedatives and uppers leached out of her system. Trille would be taking her vitals and tapering dosages to alleviate withdrawal, but he was…
Don’t you dare say it. Even to yourself.
A hot, traitorous trickle wormed out of her left eye, slid down her temple, vanished into her hair. A matching one on the right, and it was official, she was crying on a motel bed instead of doing anything even remotely useful or reasonable.
Snap out of it, for fuck’s sake. What would Bern tell you to do?
Cass’s fingers curled inward; her hands became fists as she took a deep, hopefully silent breath. First, figure out an objective. Before anything, even reconnaissance, you had to decide what the end goal was. Thrashing around was counterproductive.
Bern. Please be alive.
Nigel and Ed kept talking, but Cass turned inward.
They wouldn’t go to all this trouble if they were going to kill her right off the bat, and she could further tell they wanted her cooperative.
She had some faint leverage, and even though they knew about bogeys and had some kind of fancy-dancy ammunition, they probably didn’t entirely guess or believe everything she was capable of.
Nobody did, not even Frank. He had faith because she proved useful, which was far better than the way civilians inevitably ended up treating her.
But still.
Another deep breath, a third. Exhaustion and chemical withdrawal nipped at her extremities, but at least her stomach wasn’t growling.
Her body was used to a hundred different flavors of discomfort; all she had to do was push the sensations aside, snuggle down inside her own skin like a creature retreating to its burrow.
Her eyes kept leaking, which could be ignored as well. Cass drifted into a light trance, then slipped deeper. No sedative to help, but she was so tired. So, so tired…
* * *
Rising out of her body was easy; the difficulty was in trying not to think about Trille’s excitement as he explained meditation techniques, the practice of fasting to induce certain mental states, how New Age horseshit actually had a few scientific nuggets buried in the pile.
Bern generally looked sour when their medic really got going, but Cass didn’t mind. It was nice to know there was at least some objective grounding for all her weirdness.
But once she managed to slip the chain of flesh, the familiar sensation of lightness enfolded her. To float, to rock gently in a space somewhere between waking consciousness and deeper sleep—yes, a delicate balance, but never forgotten.
Like riding a bike, except she never needed instruction, had somehow always instinctively known how to do this.
She stretched, a whisper of motion, and the world whirled under her.
Trees and grass, bright glitters of water hiding from summer heat, ribbons of highway and street, tiny toylike towns and houses, fields and hills, all whizzing past. Then she dove, a small bird folding its wings, dropping swift and sure.
Two men crouched in deep shadow, their chests heaving. The gloom containing them was a concrete culvert; a faint hum of infrequent traffic whispered into her dreaming ears.
“Fuck.” Apoc scrubbed at his dirty face with a tense, filthy hand. “Fuck, man. Fuuuuuck.”
“Yeah.” Bern’s eyes were bloodshot, his hair a wild mess. He was covered with leaves and fir needles; there was a stripe of what looked like blood on his face, black in the uncertain light. “Situation normal, all fuckered up.”
There. Two accounted for, both alive. Hot wine-red relief filled her, almost disturbing the balance, but Cass ignored the emotion.
Exhaustion was a treacherous friend; she was tired enough not to need sedatives, though back in the motel room with her body the kidnappers were still providing some kind of strange muffling against the screaming pressure of normal, everyday human minds. Hard part’s over. Now focus.
“So what we do now, man?” Apoc rolled broad shoulders, shifted uneasily. A gurgle underlaid his whisper—water in the very bottom of the culvert, a rank simmering of rotting vegetation. “Head south? Or try a rendezvous? You think she’s still alive?”
“She better be,” Bern growled. The words bounced off the culvert walls; he hunched afterward, hissing halfway through the movement as if it hurt.
Oh, Frank. Her heart twinged again, difficult to ignore since the pang was only partly physical. Now she had to concentrate even harder.
“Okay.” Apoc nodded. “Those two guys… not bogeys, but did you see ’em move? Fuckin’ superhero shit.”
“I saw it. And she was scared when she came back, said they had some sort of special ammo. And didja see that, a fuckin’ sword?” Bern exhaled hard, his thinking noise. “Maybe they brought the cops?”
“Cops was shootin’ at them too,” Apoc pointed out. “But…”
Cass was a ghost, a mere silent witness. Still, she had a trick or two up her sleeve. Her insubstantial hands began to throb, building up heat. Just stay still for a few seconds, you two.
Bern shifted uneasily, glancing over his shoulder as if he sensed invisible scrutiny. “Yeah,” he said, softly. “But. We gotta find somewhere to hole up for a little bit, try to sleep. If she’s alive she’ll do that weird shit she does.”
“How we gonna know it’s her weird shit?” Apoc wanted to know. A dark patch gleamed where his face should be, glistening wetness—hopefully not blood. “And not, you know, just generic brand?”
A legitimate question, even if a bright blade of irritation slammed through her. Good fuel, though terribly short-term—Cass made a desperate, lunging, unphysical effort. Her ghostly left fist passed right through Bern’s head; he blinked, giving a shake like a cat flicked with cold water.
Apoc tensed. She felt his sudden flare of weary fear, nearly knocking her out of limbo-consciousness. But she also sensed a thinning of the mental walls normal people built from sheer disbelief. A survival mechanism—getting scared meant becoming more sensitive.
Sometimes Cass thought her own talents were just a function of plain ol’ constant terror.
“She’s alive,” Bern said, grimly. “Don’t ask how I know. Let’s—”
Cass didn’t hear the rest, a sudden imperative blooming inside her bodiless self.
She pushed forward, throwing her mental arms around Apoc, and squeezed for all she was worth.
A single, burning image—the sign she’d seen from the parking lot, fixing it in her memory as the younger kidnapper left the car to get the room key and the older one sat next to her, alert to any whisper of resistance.
It wasn’t much, just a white rectangle with black lettering in an old-timey font. CEDAR brIGGS INN, surrounded by a red border.
The effort was massive, agonizing. Her spine arched, fingernails cutting her palms, and for a dizzying eternity she was both in her own flesh and crouched in a culvert, cool night air on sweating skin, heart pounding, smelling that awful hot wet reek of vegetable rot.
Then she was tossed free, spinning wildly in emptiness. Voices, muffled and faraway—her kidnappers, arguing over something.
Cass didn’t care. She’d done what she could, and let the whirling take her. The sensation meant rest, as her body cycled down through other stages of sleep.
Yet her work wasn’t done, not in the least.
She’d nap a little while, then try again.