Robinson Crusoe 2244 (29 page)

“The details of the device are my business. Procuring it is yours. Can you do it?”

“Let’s say for the sake of argument I know where my mother is and she has what you want. What makes you think she’ll give it to me?”

“In the past, your parents have shown their willingness to go to great lengths to keep their children safe. I’m betting that hasn’t changed.”

“And in return? What do I get?”

“Why, you get to choose, dear boy. You can have this lovely lady on our left. Or you can have your father. But you can’t have them both.”

This time Jaras couldn’t contain himself. “Oh, that’s brilliant,” he said between laughs. “You should see your face.”

“But you must decide quickly. Arga’Zul here desperately wants to take his prize home. Some gibberish about honor, which apparently will require years of physical and sexual abuse to remedy. Though he is not so amenable as to accept a few baubles and blankets for her. He is very fond of guns.”

“I’ll need a day.”

“You have a turn.”

“It’s not enough time.”

“Sundown, then,” Vardan offered. “And Ser Crusoe, if you even think of backing out of this deal or working up one of your clever little inventions, I promise you the girl and your father won’t be the only ones punished. Tannis and Tallis will too.”

The rage in Robinson nearly boiled over, but when he looked at Friday, something in her resolute gaze calmed him.

“Sundown,” he said.

“We’ll be waiting by the obelisk.”

He turned and walked away. As the rest of the party followed, Friday managed a single look over her shoulder and Robinson raised his hand to touch the brand on his arm. She nodded curtly. A few beats later, the Iron Fists released Robinson and dropped his tomahawks in the street before running to catch up with the others.

Robinson had bought himself some time for all the good it would do him. He’d been on this continent for ten months and had never come close to finding his mother. Now he had to do it in the next six turns. Even if he found what Saah wanted and could get it for him, the idea of choosing between Friday and his father was too much to bear. But the people of the Forbidden Continent were nothing to Saah. The FENIX, whatever it may be, was everything. So Robinson had bargaining power.

But the more he thought about
what
Saah wanted, it made him question
why
. If this FENIX was so important that he’d scour an ancient city full of renders for it, it must be truly dangerous. Taskmaster Satu had called it a weapon and Vardan Saah was certainly not above lying. The question then became: if it was a danger to the One People, or to people anywhere, was Robinson willing to trade all their lives for the two that he loved the most?

In the end, he went back into the library to collect his things. He sat by the third floor window that he’d looked out all those months before, trying to imagine where his mother could be. What he knew for certain was that there was something critical enough in this place for his mother to fake her own death and fly across an ocean knowing she would never return home. He’d also discovered proof that she’d been here when they had stumbled upon her research at the university.

She had been studying renders—or more specifically, how the Rendering virus had affected their genetic makeup. Robinson’s former teacher had said she was looking for a cure. He was inclined to believe him, not only because his mother cared about such things, but also because she had never spoken of renders as monsters, but as people.

And yet if Tier Saah was to be believed, she also knew of a weapon—or non-weapon—that might be connected to everything else. It was so much to process. Robinson groaned in frustration, leaned back, and closed his eyes. There was something he was missing. He heard Friday’s voice, “Never rush. Never be rash.”

His mind went back to the day he and Friday had brought down their first bovine. It was the first time he’d seen her truly smile. He had wanted to take her in his arms then and there. The wind had swept in from the flatlands, so crisp and clean. Resi had barked behind them, his tail wagging furiously from the hunt.

Robinson’s hand dug into his pocket and pulled out the dog’s tag. He rubbed his thumb over it, wiping away the soot that revealed the name, RESI, in faded script. On the other side were the stars shooting through the sky. He was surprised how keenly he missed that dog and his scolding glances. He even missed his disapproving whine. He thought back to the first time he’d seen him, how scared he’d felt, and how scared Resi must have been. They had found each other in the midst of chaos, two creatures looking for company and comfort.

And then he remembered something.

Resi had been to the lab where his mother had worked. In fact, he had led them there. Had he known her? Robinson closed his eyes and tried to picture the scene, the two of them together. His mother never had a pet growing up and yet there was something important that he was missing.

And then it came to him. The blanket! The blanket he had taken off the couch and wrapped around Friday had been covered with hair. Dog hair. Resi hadn’t wandered into that lab by chance. He had gone there because he had spent time there.

What were the odds that a dog his mother had befriended would wind up finding him too? Maybe it wasn’t random at all. Maybe Resi had found him on purpose.

And then it hit him like a bolt of lightning. It wasn’t the timing of their meeting that was important, but the
place
. Robinson looked closer at the tag. It couldn’t be so simple.

He stood and ran through the library, scanning the sections as he passed. By the time he reached the first floor, he was sweating badly. He found it in the history section.
The White House: a History of America’s Most Famous Residence.

Cracking open the first page should have been enough. There was the glorious symbol of this region’s highest office: the Seal of the President of the United States. It was the same symbol he’d seen on the floor inside the White House. It had also been on the side of the giant blue flyer at the military base.

In the oval center was an eagle holding an olive branch in one talon and arrows in the other. Two symbols that under the right condition might look like stars shooting from the clouds. Around the top were the words, “PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.” Central among that first word were four letters Robinson had come to know very well.

It should have been enough, but he still needed one more thing to convince him it was true. It was in the back, listed on an old map detailing the White House after it had partially burnt down. The coordinates had been recorded. 38° 53' N / 77° 2' W

Robinson was running before the book hit the floor.

He should have seen it long before. He had awoken to Resi licking his face on the steps of the White House. He’d met him there because he had just been released from the inside. His mind went back to the cameras and how he’d felt like they’d been watching him. All this time and she’d been right under his nose. Only then did he remember the booby trap that had knocked him out. At the time he thought its construction felt familiar. Now he knew why. His mother had built it. It was a gift he had seen in many permutations at home. It was from her that his love of tinkering had sprung.

The building loomed dark and foreboding when he entered through the side door. He immediately pulled out his torch and turned it on. Blackened blood stained the floor where the savages had fallen months before. The smell of the tentacled render still permeated above all.

Robinson moved through the hallway more cautiously than before, noticing more cameras in the daylight, many already pointing toward him. The oval office was empty, but it was the camera there that he chose to address.

“If it really is you,” he said into the eyeless void, “I need your help. Tell me where to go.”

For a moment, nothing happened. And then the camera spun right. He gripped his tomahawks and headed in that direction.

He let the camera’s movements dictate his path. They led him down the hall, through a doorway, and into a grand ballroom where upturned furniture laid in pieces. A grand chandelier that had once lit the room sat shattered in the corner. How beautifully it must have shone, hanging above a room full of elegant, well-dressed people as they danced.

A third camera was centered above a staircase, but when Robinson stopped in front of it, it swiveled from side to side.

“I don’t understand. Did I come the wrong way?”

The camera swiveled more frantically.

“Am I … am I in danger?”

The camera stopped and its red light blinked once. Robinson spun, but there was nothing behind him. Then he felt the air move. It was subtle and he might not have noticed had the hair on his arms not stirred. It felt like an exhalation.

To his right, the elevator doors had been ripped apart from within. The grip on his tomahawk was slick with sweat, but he held it firmly as he moved forward. The torch exposed the innards of the shaft. It was dark with several cables extending from the roof and into the abyss.

He had seen tentacles explode from the third floor entranceway to assault the savages. He knew whatever was buried there had significant speed. But he also knew time was running out and there was no turning back.

As he stepped toward the shaft he heard a sound like the tinkling of glass. He should have recognized it immediately, but even by then it would have been too late. For Robinson, the realization came when something hot and sticky dripped onto the back of his neck. He slowly looked up and screamed.

It was suspended from another chandelier above him—a mutation several parts man and Crown knew what else. It had multiple torsos and faces, and mouths that howled in unison. It had numerous arms that transformed into tentacles. They shot out and grabbed Robinson, pulling him off his feet. The discharge that seeped from the creature burned his skin, but as it drew him up, he knew that was the least of his worries.

A loud crack emanated from the middle of the beast as one of its torso split open, revealing a giant rictus full of bloody teeth. As its diseased tongue extended to haul him in, Robinson yanked his arm back and threw his tomahawk at the only place he could.

The blade hit the mooring of the chandelier and the entire thing jolted but didn’t come loose. To prevent itself from falling, the creature was forced to release him. Robinson hit the ground hard and his torch bounced out of his hands. The creature roared, its tentacles slithering downward. He rolled and reached for his second tomahawk. Unfortunately, the handle had snapped in two when he’d fallen and was now useless. Robinson groped for his only other weapon, the sling, but the second he twirled it, he thought how pathetic it was that after searching for his mother for nearly a year, he was about to die mere feet away from her as she watched.

He heard the tinkle of the chandelier, followed by the sound of the creature settling onto the floor. It slithered in the darkness. Robinson knew he had little chance of felling the creature with a stone. Even if he could strike it in the eye like he had the Alpha, it had a dozen more. He cursed himself for not asking Saah for one of the ancient weapons, but Robinson knew he would have never given it to him anyway.

When the sound of the creature’s movements pierced the dark, Robinson yelled and released a stone in its direction. The stone did not strike flesh, but whatever it hit shattered and the beast stopped. It clearly understood Robinson could hurt it, even if he couldn’t kill it.

A hiss of movement came again, this time lighter. Only when a long, skinny tentacle entered the cone of the torch’s light did Robinson realize it was headed for the elevator shaft. A second later, it dragged something from the shaft. It was the half-eaten body of a render suspended on a makeshift hook.

When it pulled the cadaver in, Robinson had no idea what it intended to do. He heard the crunch of bone and flesh and a sound like chewing. When it finished, the creature retched several times and that fetid stench hit him like a wave of acid and death as it spit up the regurgitated meat.