The Dream Widow (10 page)

Shouts and questions burst from the crowd and Reed spread his arms.

“I’m not going away. Even though I’ll stay in the Tombs, I can still talk with your leaders and help them with the transition. My dear friends––without any action on my part, the ghost sickness would fill the valley and we would have to leave forever. For your children and the sake of the founders I must do this. Pray for me and the journey I take.”

The crowd separated into murmuring clusters.

“I guess that’s that,” said Reed to Wilson.

“Father–”

“There’s nothing to say right now. I explained that I’m not leaving, just moving.”

“I understand. Just––” Wilson shook his hand. “––good luck.”

Badger ran up to the pair.

“Hey you two! The power’s out everywhere.”

THUNDER ROLLED OUTSIDE Padre’s bar. The lights flickered and the jukebox cut out, pulling groans from a handful of locals still inside.

“Now I really should go home,” said Jack.

“Keep your panties on,” said Padre.

The big man shuffled to the back room and Jack heard a squeal of metal and a few clicks. The lights snapped back on and Padre squeezed his bulk behind the wooden bar.

“You’ll kill yourself someday,” said Jack. “Using that old, garbage fusebox.”

“I can’t be responsible for acts of God. Speaking of ‘old garbage,’ have a look in the mirror.”

“Mirrors never tell me anything good,” said Jack. “I’m the number-one reason they commit suicide.”

Sitting next to Jack, Mike downed the rest of his Corona. “It’s a dark and stormy night,” he said. “Let’s not speak of black deeds, even electronic ones.”

“For once in his short and stupid life, your Asian friend is right,” said Padre. “Tell us, Jack, tales of valor and bravery. Tales of demonic unction, of burst spleens, of ripped blouses. Courage in the face of certain death. Or in the sternum of death, for that matter.”

“I’m drunk.”

“Tell us of drunken death in the face of demons, then.”

Jack shook his head and laughed. “What?”

“Just tell us a story,” said Mike. “Where someone died or got pregnant.”

“I ran over a general’s dog once.”

“It sounds harrowing,” said Padre.

“I was traveling through the base at a fair clip so I don’t think he felt much. Well, maybe in the second between my truck hitting him and then the tree. But not much. He was a prize Pomeranian flown all the way from the states to Kandahar. The general always walked around the base with the dog, even on inspections. I was drunk and stupid. The next day I told him I was the one who ran over the dog.”

Jack held a shot glass in his good hand, a golden glass filled with Johnny Walker Blue. He started to raise it and a slim hand pushed down his arm.

“Pull yourself together,” said a woman with caramel skin and short black hair. “People need you to stay alive. Maybe you can’t see them, maybe you’re too far gone, but they need you.”

“Dear Parvati. Dear, pervvy Parvati,” mumbled Jack.

“Hold your tongue,” she said. “It’s Dreamer to you.”

“That reminds me, I gotta call someone.”

He snapped his fingers on the good right hand, the one still human.

“Call Joanie,” he said.

“Dialing,” said the phone.

A faint static as the signal opened. “Stop phoning this late,” said Joanie.

“I want to talk to Colleen.”

“You’re at a bar and you’re drunk. She doesn’t need mumblings from a useless father.”

“Connection lost,” said the phone.

“You keep butting your head on that wall, you’re going to hurt yourself,” said Mike.

“Hard heads aside, what I want to know is the outcome of this fight with the general,” said Padre. “Did the loss of his precious Pomeranian cause him to strangle you with his bare hands? Or was it the dog’s leash?”

Jack drank the shot. “No. He killed my entire team. He sent us to the Sela Pass.”

FIVE

R
eed took a lantern down to his office but all the equipment was dead. He left Hausen to organize the distribution of lanterns and prepare the village for the night.

All thirty of Wilson’s students could see in the dark. He gathered them together and gave instructions to patrol the tunnels and help anyone stranded by the lack of power.

With the immediate issues handled, Reed, Wilson, and Badger jogged under the bright stars to the outer door of the Tombs. Inside, the dusty entrance hall remained unchanged apart from the flashing yellow light of the wall panels. Beneath their toes the concrete vibrated from a low-frequency bell somewhere deep underground.

At the reinforced door leading to the stairwell Wilson entered the code.

“Luckily this place has at least a trickle of power,” he said.

Badger helped him open the unpowered, heavy door and from the stairwell came the faint sound of a man singing.

“That’s Jack,” she said.

Reed nodded. “This has happened before and we can snap him out of it.”

The distorted, metallic singing increased in volume as they ran down the deep metal spiral. At the bottom the door was already open.

           
When the roll, is called up yooooonder,

            When the roll is called up yonder I'll be there.

Jack’s voice echoed through the cavern and the blue light coming from his dome flickered with the words. Garish shadows flashed on the black, upright slabs that stretched around the walls and to the distant ceiling. The white cylinder of the cleaning machine––the ‘Zoomba’ as Jack called it––jerked around the floor in a crazy, halting dance.

Wilson plugged his ears with his fingers while Reed sprinted to Jack’s controller bed. The priest opened a panel in the base of the flickering fishbowl and jammed his arm deep into the wiring.

The singing stopped but the bell continued to toll. Reed leaned over the old man under glass.

“Jack, can you hear me?”

“Give me a second,” said a ragged, crushed-can voice.

“Snap out of it,” said Reed. “Station’s out of power and you’re on some kind of backup system.”

“All right, all right.”

The alarm bell stopped and bright wall panels flickered to life. The Zoomba steadied itself and began to clean the floor with a contented hum.

Wilson looked around the chamber. “Where’s my mother?”

A red light flashed over the medical section. The door opened and Mary stepped into the cavern, shading her eyes with raised fingers.

“Thank the founders,” she said. “I thought I was locked in there for good.”

“We wouldn’t leave you down here,” said Badger.

“Maybe just a little bit,” said Wilson, and hugged his mother. “Show us your room.”

“There’s not much to see, but why not?”

Wilson turned back to Father Reed. The priest was kneeling beside the empty fishbowl of another controller bed, his arms deep in colored wires.

“Father, we’ll be in the medical section.”

Reed nodded while his hands searched inside the open panel.

Mary led them through the medical facility with its dozens of treatment beds. A short, red-lit entrance led to another corridor with a half-dozen numbered doors. Mary opened the first door and waved them inside.

“Ta-da!”

The room inside was twenty paces wide and fifteen long, larger than his mother’s quarters in Office. The walls were pea-green, but as Wilson entered they brightened to a soft-white color. In one corner sat a twin bed with a pile of gray blankets and across the room stood a brushed metal chair and table. Supplies from Station were stacked neatly under the table and a leather waterskin lay on top.

“Very cozy,” said Badger.

“Still too grim for my taste,” said Mary. “It needs some decorations and wall hangings.”

Wilson rapped his hand on the wall. “The hangings will need to be glued. These walls are made from something very thick.”

“It’s not rock, I know that much. It makes everything very quiet. When Jack sings I barely hear him.”

Badger inspected the metal door. “The door looks solid and I don’t see a lock.” She stepped into the corridor. “It looks fine. But where do you ... you know ...”

Mary smiled. “Washroom at the end of the corridor.”

The lights snapped off and came back a second later.

“Let’s see what Reed’s broken now,” said Badger.

The priest crouched naked beside the controller bed, his fingers moving rapidly over a small display. Tiny metal discs dotted his spine and the back of his arms and legs with silver.

“Cat’s teeth,” said Wilson.

Badger covered her eyes. “Didn’t want to see that.”

Reed looked over his shoulder. “Sorry! Jack’s fading fast. I’m starting the entry procedure.”

“My ears are burning,” said Jack. “That means you’re talking about meeeee.”

Reed stood and pointed at the dome. “Open chamber four.”

“Roger.”

Hydraulics whined from the base of the oval bed and the edge of the glass dome lifted.          

Reed motioned Wilson forward and pointed at a small panel in the base. “If anything goes wrong in the next five minutes, open that and press the button marked ‘JTTSN.’ Understand?”

Wilson nodded, his eyes wide.

Reed squeezed his naked body under the edge of the empty glass dome and lay on his back. Almost as an afterthought he covered his crotch with both hands.

“Clear,” he yelled.

“Stand back,” said Jack.

The curved glass lowered to the bed. Air hissed and metal latches clicked around the edges.

“Chamber four sealed,” said Jack.

Reed shook his head and his lips moved.

“There’s no use talking yet––the interface isn’t complete,” said Jack. “Beginning stage one.”

Inside the glass dome, a swarm of frenzied black eels twisted up from the bed and spun into the discs on Reed’s body. The priest jerked his limbs apart in spasms, his face a rictus of pain.

Wilson slapped the dome. “You’re killing him!”

“Believe me, that would be easy. He’s just reacting to the interface.”

Every muscle in Reed’s body strained in seizure, and after ten seconds his arms and legs fell lifeless to the surface of the bed. A silver tube curved from behind his head and into his open mouth.

“Stage one complete. Running test––test complete. Beginning stage two.”

The floor vibrated and a port opened inside the dome next to Reed’s pelvis. A blue gel fountained up and bubbled over the cables and Reed’s body. Wilson held his breath as it covered the priest’s face. After a few minutes the gel filled the entire dome.

“Stage two complete. Running test––test complete.”

The silver snake left Reed’s mouth and squirmed into the bed.

THE WATER CHURNED AWAY and came back, a rolling, up-and-down cascade of foam. The air smelled heavy and full of rain. The wings of a butterfly tickled his face.

Reed opened his eyes.

A rocky cliff black with moisture stretched into the mist above his head. The roar increased and cold spray covered his legs. The earth under his arms and fingers wasn’t earth––it was cold, granular, and damp. He sat up.

A wave retreated from the caramel sand, fizzing and bubbling like foamed milk, then roared forward again. A thick fog limited his view to ten meters of ocean and sand.

Reed walked into the surf and let the cold water wash over his toes until they were numb.

“There you are,” said Jack’s voice.

A man appeared on the sand. His body was muscular and compact, but the lines on his face and grey stubble covering his head betrayed his age. He wore tan shorts and a green undershirt with a strange, garish symbol.

“Jack?”

The man pointed at his chest. “The one and only.”

“What is this place? It’s not the garden you told me about.”

Jack shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be the same as mine. It’s taken from your memories.”

“But I don’t remember any of this. Is it a lake?”

“It’s the Pacific Ocean.”

“The what?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jack kicked sand into the rushing water. “You’re getting bleed-through from somebody else. It happens.”

“Bleed-through? From who?”

“Listen, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize there are only four of us: me, you, Parvati, and Twitch. One of us went to this beach before the war. Case closed.”

“I don’t understand. How can I live in the memories of someone else?”

“There’s nothing I can do,” said Jack. “It only happens once in a while. Maybe it’s part of the original design. Maybe it’s a side-effect. Maybe a squirrel chewed a wire. Maybe I’m insane and you are too. It doesn’t matter.”