Armageddon's Children (29 page)

But he had to do something. The Ellcrys was in peril, and time was running out. If she didn’t receive the help she was asking for, she might perish. It didn’t seem that anyone else was going to do anything if he didn’t. So he had better come up with a plan.

He sat there until dusk, looking for such a plan. By the time it was dark and he started home, he still didn’t have one.

I
T WAS LATE
in the day, the light turned gray and the world become a place of shadows and mysterious sounds, when Angel Perez finally found what she was looking for. She had marched the compound children and their protectors north all afternoon through a haze of smoke and ash to get clear of the city. She had stopped when rest was necessary and once for a quick bite to eat from their meager supplies, but otherwise she had kept them moving. It was hard on the children, especially the little ones, many of whom had to be carried as the march wore on. But stopping was dangerous. They were still too close to the creatures who sought their annihilation, the demons and the once-men and especially that old man. She didn’t know if he had discovered yet that she had escaped him again. She didn’t know if a pursuit had been mounted. Yet she knew better than to assume anything but the worst, and took no chances.

So they walked out of Anaheim and into the Chino Hills, a distance of more than twenty miles, a march that left them footsore and weary and ready for sleep by the time they reached the scouts from the guerrilla force who were waiting to lead them on. She had formed the unit eight months earlier, when she knew that Robert was gone and the compounds east of the mountains had fallen. She had culled them from the Los Angeles compounds, men and women who believed that fortresses could no longer protect them and that their way of life was ended and another way was needed. She had joined them together with a ragtag band of outcasts and drifters that knew something about staying alive outside the compounds, men and women who had learned how to survive in the open. She had prepared them for what would happen and the exodus of the children she would try to save. She had given to them the responsibility for guiding those children north, protecting them on their journey, and finding them safe haven in another place.

Including the ones she had brought with her from the Anaheim compound, the children now numbered more than a thousand.

The men and women she had waiting had come with trucks scavenged from all over the city and repaired, vehicles that could transport the children to the rendezvous point farther north and well outside the city proper, where the other children and adults were gathered. Once joined, the entire force would begin the long trek toward San Francisco—although Angel had not yet decided if that was to be their final destination.

There were good reasons it should not be. The army of demons and once-men, now that they were finished with the compounds of Southern California, would come after them. Going to San Francisco only postponed the inevitable. She could not envision saving them all a second time if she allowed them to take refuge in the compounds there. But if not there, then where? Should they go farther north, all the way to Seattle and the Pacific Northwest? Would they be any safer there? Could they do anything to better prepare for the time they did battle with their enemies? Could she expect a different result when they did?

Just thinking of it drained her. It left her with an unshakable conviction that they were running out of time and space and in the end nothing would save them. The human race was being ground down, its once seemingly inexhaustible populace steadily reduced from millions to hundreds of thousands to thousands. She had no idea how many were left, only that the numbers were diminishing with every sunrise. It was a trend that must be reversed or the unthinkable would come to pass and humanity would be wiped out. But she had no idea how to accomplish this other than to save the ones she could and hope that something turned the tide in their favor.

So much had gone wrong that it was difficult for her to imagine anything going right. The Word had once held the upper hand in this battle, but now everything favored the Void. How could that have happened when everyone had been warned of the possibility and the need to guard against it? The answer was simple, of course. Not enough of those warned had believed.

She turned her small charges over to those waiting, standing back while they were loaded into the trucks. She took a moment to look back at the city, searching for any indication of a pursuit. But she saw only the encroaching shroud of nightfall. She imagined she could still hear the cries of the wounded and dying, but she knew by now that she was only hearing them in her mind. She wished she could find a way to shut those cries out, to silence them. But she knew from experience that she couldn’t.

The trucks were loaded and beginning to pull away. They were old and jerry-rigged and ran on batteries that were solar-charged. They would convey the children far enough to get them clear of the city, but not much farther. It was four hundred miles to San Francisco, and that was too far to walk. The batteries would have to be replaced or recharged. She hoped some thought had been given to this in her absence. She hoped preparations had been made.

But there was nothing she could do about it now.

Too tired to think further on the matter, she climbed into the back of the last of the trucks, curled up in a corner, and quickly fell asleep.

SHE SURVIVED A
fitful night of rough road bounces and grinding truck noises amid the small distressed sounds from the children who shared her quarters. The cessation of the truck’s movement coupled with the sudden stillness woke her at daybreak. She was stiff and sore and, for a moment, disoriented. She had been dreaming of the compounds and the assault of the once-men. The sights and sounds of battle were still fresh in her mind, a wild mix of horror-inducing struggles that left the smell of death thick and pungent in her nostrils. It felt as if it had just happened, and she had just escaped it.

She climbed down from the truck, greeted a few of the guerrillas who came up to her, and waved good morning to Helen Rice, who was already organizing into groups the children she had brought out of the Anaheim compound. Angel stood watching for a moment, filled with a sense of sadness she could not dismiss. It was all so futile, so hopeless. They were saving these children for what? For a chance to live? But what sort of chance were they going to be given if nothing in the larger picture changed?

They were in the guerrilla camp now, a wooded refuge that allowed entry and exit from several directions and could be watched over from a dozen high points close at hand. The defenders were heavily armed and organized. She did not think they would be caught off guard, but did not intend to linger long enough to test the possibility. By midday, they would be traveling north to wherever she decided they must go. They would do so because she was certain that the old man was coming after them with his armies and his weapons and his insatiable lust to see them destroyed.

Or, more particularly, to see her destroyed.

She thought about that for a moment, walking away from the encampment, moving back into the trees where she could be alone to think. The real target of his efforts, of this hunter of Knights of the Word, was herself. His purpose as a servant of the Void was to eliminate all of the remaining Knights, and she was likely one of the last. Her battle with that female demon today demonstrated how intent the old man was on finding and eliminating her. He would not stop because today’s attack had failed. He would come after her again, from a different direction perhaps, in a different way. He would come and keep coming until one of them was dead.

For just a moment, she considered turning the tables on him. She considered going after him before he could come after her. He would not be expecting that. She might catch him unawares. She might kill him before he even realized he was in danger. The thought was immensely satisfying. It would atone for all the lives the old man had taken, all the anguish he had caused, all the evil he had perpetrated. It would be retribution well deserved.

It was also a pipe dream of the first order. Johnny would have been quick to point that out, and she knew enough to be quick to do so in his absence.

“Angel Perez?”

The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Angel looked around quickly, wondering who had followed her from the camp. But there was no one to be seen. She stood perfectly still, knowing she had not imagined it, that someone had spoken her name.

“Are you Angel Perez?” the voice asked.

This time Angel turned toward the place where the voice seemed to originate, but she could see only trees and leaves and grass discolored by pollution and clouded by haze. “Who’s there? Where are you?”

A small, slender figure stepped out of the foliage, materializing like something that had just this instant assumed substantive shape and form. A girl, her skin as white as chalk, her eyes dark pools, and her hair long and fine and colored almost pale blue, stood before her. The girl wore clothing that was diaphanous; it trailed from and might have been a part of her body. She stood quietly before Angel, an ethereal creature of exquisite and exotic appearance, letting the Knight of the Word study her.

“I am called Ailie,” she said.

Angel knew her for what she was instantly. A tatterdemalion, a strange breed of Faerie creature formed of the memories of dead children, come alive out of circumstance and chance to live a mayfly existence that was over almost before it was begun. How long was it—a month, two? She tried to remember and couldn’t. Those Angel knew about had a single purpose—to serve the Lady, the voice of the Word. Angel had never seen one, but she had been told about them by Robert, who had. Tatterdemalions were among the few Faerie creatures who had survived the unbalancing of magic by the demons and the rise of the dark years of the Void.

“She has sent me to you,” the tatterdemalion confirmed, as if reading her thoughts. “She has sent me to ask for your help in the battle with the Void. She knows the battle goes badly, but she also knows that there is still a chance to win it.”

Angel stared at the child-like creature, trying to equate the words with the speaker, to imagine what it must mean for it to exist in a world of demonkind and humans.

“I have only seen the Lady in my dreams,” Angel said suddenly.

But then it was said that few saw her anymore. Not since the balance of good and evil was tilted in favor of the Void. She did not come to the Knights of the Word either in their dreams or in waking once they had pledged themselves. She was an invisible presence, a legend that no longer had substance, but that all of them who were Knights of the Word still believed in.

Still needed to believe in, she added.

“The Lady sent you to me?” she asked, not quite knowing what to make of it. “What does she want me to do?”

Ailie’s voice was soft and singsong. “She says you have served her well, but you have saved all the children you can. She wants you to leave them here and go on alone. She wants you to be her Knight-errant and to go in search of a lost talisman. She believes you are the one who can find it. The people who need its magic are in danger of perishing. They are the ones to whom you must go.”

The tatterdemalion saw the confusion reflected on Angel’s face and came forward wordlessly, took her hands in her own, and held them. Ailie’s fingers were like the wings of little birds, so soft and light they seemed weightless.

“Long ago, in the time of John Ross, there was a gypsy morph that took the form of a child and was born to Nest Freemark.” Ailie’s voice was soft and lilting. “The demons tried to find it and kill it, but they failed. They have not forgotten its existence because they know that the salvation of the human race depends on what it has been given to do. No one has seen the morph in years, not since before the death of Nest Freemark. No one knows where it is or what it looks like. It has gone into hiding, waiting for its time. That time is upon us, and the gypsy morph will reveal itself shortly. Another Knight of the Word goes to find it now, sent by O’olish Amaneh.”