Jupiter's Bones (33 page)

The teens bowed their heads in solemnity. Elise was antsy, but held herself in check. Too much prodding could backfire. Lauren kissed the children’s cheeks—one by one. “Well spoken, my dear children. To our Father Jupiter. Now let us begin.”

Without another word, Lauren crept back into the murky channel of black ink. Working quickly, Marge and Elise threaded the children through the darkened needle. “Keep your heads down,” Elise told them as they entered the tube. As she was about to go in, she regarded Marge. “Good luck.”

“Same.”

Agent Stone disappeared underground.

Moments later, the closet was stark still and quiet, the only sounds were the whispers of breathing.

Time dragged.

In the silence and fear, it dragged even slower.

Vega said nothing, sitting on the closet floor, waiting for the next step. Completely prepossessed without any overt signs of fright and dread. That made some sense. How could she have any concept of danger…any concept of
reality
? Her young life had been lived in altered reality.

Again, the tarp emitted groans.

“Who is under the blanket?” asked Vega without emotion.

Marge knew the girl was too sharp to accept a lie. “Brother Ansel.”

“You have captured him.”

“Yes.”

“Tied him up.”

“Yes.”

“You consider him an impediment to your operation.”

“Correct.” Marge bent down and peeked under the blanket. Ansel was moving his head from side to side. Slowly, he opened his eyes. When he saw Marge, he tried to get up, but Marge shoved him back down to the floor. She put a gun between his eyes. “One sound and you’re a dead man. I’m not screwing around.”

Frightened eyes. The head nodded in comprehension. Marge looked over the bloody gauze taped to his wound. Elise had not only done a fine job of restraining and muzzling him but of bandaging him as well.

Abruptly, static beeped through his intercom. Marge threw the cover back over Ansel’s head and stepped out of the closet. She didn’t want Ansel’s moans to be picked up over the squawk box. Vega followed her and shut the closet door.

She asked, “Do you know the codes?”

“Codes?” Marge’s chest started drumming. “No, of course not.”

“The planets are in orbit,” Vega answered flatly. “Brother Ansel’s voice is medium in range for a man. A little bit nasal.”

Marge nodded, depressed the button. A wave of static hit her ear, accompanied by a cryptic question. Marge looked at Vega. Vega nodded.

She said, “The planets are in orbit.”

Through the electronic interference, Marge made out another cryptic question. Internally, she started to panic, but managed to maintain her composure for Vega. Even though the teen seemed much calmer than she.

Vega whispered in her ear. “Say, ‘I repeat. The planets are in orbit. Do you copy?’”

Marge took a deep breath, spoke low and with a twang. “I repeat. The planets are in orbit. Do you copy?”

More static.

No response.

“Do you copy?” Marge asked slowly.

One second…two seconds…finally, a crackly “Roger” and then a sign-off.

Letting go of the button, Marge exhaled quietly. Words of appreciation could not begin to tell the little girl what was in Marge’s heart. She thought about it, then decided the best compliment would be to appeal to her intellect and sense of adventure. She asked, “Did you know, Vega, that in my world…the violators’ world…that they send people into space?”

“Correct,” Vega answered. “Astronauts. Our Father Jupiter was instrumental in sending them into space. But he has developed more spiritual ways of space travel—ways that do not require rocket ships.”

Marge whispered, “Of course. Spiritual journey is always superior to anything physical. Still, with someone as brilliant and as spiritual as yourself, if you don’t mind my saying so, I think you would make a fine astronaut.”

Vega regarded Marge with curiosity. “But I am a girl.”

Marge said, “There are many women astronauts.” A pause. “You know
that
, don’t you?”

Vega said nothing. Her face was impassive.

“But I daresay,” Marge continued, “that you are as brilliant and as spiritual and as heroic as the best of them.”

Vega’s eyes held back tears. “I am a child.”

Marge smiled, holding back her own tears. “So was the Little Prince.”

Vega’s lower lip trembled, as her eyes erupted and salt water flowed down her cheeks. She didn’t answer and Marge left it at that.

Finally, Vega said, “It is not good to fill the mind with fantasy when there is work to do.”

She was right, and Marge told her so. The teen had so much to offer the “violators’” world. So much innate goodness along with a fervent desire to
do
good. Here,
living in the confines of repression with murderers as leaders, was a morally superior being.

Vega said, “I must pray that I made the correct decision for duty.”

At this particular time, prayer sounded like a fine idea. So Marge prayed for the lives of the babies and children still housed in the building, prayed for the innocent adults subjugated by monsters and prayed for Lauren and Elise. She also prayed for her
own
survival. But first and foremost, she prayed for Vega’s welfare. Marge felt that after all the girl had done, she deserved top billing.

It was taking
too long.

In theory, Marge had prepared for the unexpected, but she hesitated from implementing a major shift in plans. Time was indeed crawling, but reality dictated that a minute was still a minute. She didn’t want her distorted perception to translate into rash actions, especially since Vega was under her charge. The teen, though steeped in prayer, sensed Marge’s apprehension. Abruptly, she stopped meditating and regarded her newfound ally.

“You think something has happened to them?”

Marge tried to keep her voice level. “No, not at all.”

“Time has passed.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe the tunnel has collapsed?”

“I sure hope not.”

“But you do not know.”

“No.” Marge refrained from sighing. “That’s true.”

“You think that they were captured?”

Marge said, “Vega, I doubt that. We have many trained professionals watching for them. They should be safe.”

“But we are watching, too,” Vega said. “We are watching you.”

Marge reminded herself to keep her breathing steady. She bent down and looked into Vega’s eyes. “What is the Order watching us do?”

“Encroach upon the perimeters.” She waited a moment. “There are things that will happen if the violators get too close. The adults think we children do not know. But we do know. We do not talk, but we listen.”

“What do you know, Vega?”

“I know the plans that Mother Venus and Guru Bob have made. I know what will happen if the violators break through. We have been instructed to follow our Mother Venus and Guru Bob into the temple. Together, they will take us to the other side.”

“The other side.” Marge paused. “Guru Bob wasn’t referring to a
physical
other side, am I correct?”

“You are correct. Our Mother and Guru Bob refer to a spiritual journey.”

Marge felt imaginary brass fingers tighten around her neck. “Mass suicide.”

“Guru Bob and our Mother have told the adults that it is preferable to end their lives in this sphere rather than be corrupted by the violators. There are many in the Order of the Rings of God who agree. Contingencies are being set up.”

Marge wet her lips. “What kind of contingencies?”

“There are wires being strung around the temple to end our earthly visit. Guru Bob plans to do it just as our planet was created—in a Big Bang. This appeals to him and to the circular nature of Father Jupiter’s mission. Creation and destruction—the endless cycle.”

Marge could do without the destruction part. “So Guru Bob
does
have explosives?”

“Correct. He has many types. But I think that Guru Bob and our Mother Venus will not detonate anything unless they feel that the spiritual journey is the Order’s last hope.”

Vega kept talking about Mother Venus being in on the plans. The more Marge thought about that phone call, the more she was convinced of its validity. If it wasn’t Venus, then it had to be Terra.

Where was Terra now? What was she feeling?

Vega broke into Marge’s thoughts. “It is in the violators’ interest to tell Guru Bob that you are not planning anything.”

“We’re not planning anything.”

“You have planned this.”

“This is different,” Marge bristled. “This is for the children.”

“It is different to you. But it would not be different to Guru Bob.”

Marge stopped talking. Her ears began to hear things—scratching from below.
Someone
was crawling through. She took out her Beretta just in rare case that it wasn’t Elise or Lauren. A minute later, she heard Lauren’s frantic whisperings.

“Help me up!”

Marge grasped her dirty hand, and pulled her out of the hole. “Is everything—”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Lauren was breathing hard. “I left before…” She was panting. “It took us a long time to get everyone through. Elise says we’re way behind schedule. When I left, she still hadn’t communicated with the reconnaissance team. But we both figured I’d better get back before you started to panic.”

“I wasn’t panicking—”

“Whatever.” Lauren was still gasping. “It’s bad out there, Detective. Lots of shots being traded. It could be why we can’t get hold of the rescue team. They don’t want to bring attention to this area. I don’t know why the police are closing in so fast, especially because we don’t have all the children yet.”

“Maybe Bob has killed more peop—” She stopped talking. Vega was listening…always listening. Marge regarded her watch. They were
way
behind schedule.

Lauren said, “I really think we should do the nursery first. They’re the most vulnerable.”

Marge said, “All right. Let’s go.”

Lauren pointed to the lump under the tarp made by Brother Ansel. “What about him?”

“He’s a real liability. While you were gone, I gave him a mother dose of baby sedatives to keep him quiet.”

“Weren’t we saving it for the infants to make them sleepy?”

Marge shrugged. “You do what you have to do.” She made sure she had her gun and Brother Ansel’s radio. “Wait here while I verify that the classroom is empty.”

She ventured forward. This time she heard some scurrying noises. It was four-thirty in the morning. The Order was waking up. She signaled to Vega and Lauren to follow. The three of them tiptoed to the door connecting the classroom with the nursery. Quietly, Lauren tried to turn the handle.

“It’s locked,” she said.

Marge said, “Then we’ll have to go through the hallway.”

“Let me go first,” Lauren said. “If someone sees me, I’ll arouse less suspicion.”

“I shall go with you,” Vega said. “I will not arouse any suspicion.”

“No, Vega, you stay with me.” Slowly, Marge turned the knob to the classroom door, cracking it open to peek through the slit.

Silence.

She stepped into the passageway. It was empty, but she could hear nearby footsteps.

“The Order’s filled with early risers,” Lauren said. She took the lead, tiptoeing to the nursery door.

Opening it a smidge.

Peering inside.

Everyone was sleeping, and all was quiet.

Very
quiet considering it was a nursery.

Lauren went inside with Marge and Vega at her heels. She closed the door.

All of them waited for their eyes to adjust to the dark.

After they did, Marge made out a shadowed figure in the corner. A woman was sitting in a rocking chair, lids closed, her head tilted back. She held a sleeping infant in
her arms. At one point, she must have been feeding it because a nearly full bottle was resting on the infant’s chin, dripping down its sleep suit.

Lauren approached the figure. She whispered, “Terra?”

No answer.

She tried again. “Terra, love, it’s Andromeda.”

Nothing. Terra sitting as still as a mannequin.

Vega said, “Perhaps she is deeply asleep.”

“Something’s way off,” Marge said. “It’s eerie. There’s no…movement…no…”

She stopped herself, realizing she was sweating. Glancing first at Lauren, then at Vega. “Nobody move.”

Marge walked over to the closest crib.

Looking down into the cot, at the sleeping form. A pillow-sized bundle wrapped in a dark-colored pajama blanket. The baby seemed to be a little girl of around a year. She was resting on her side. She had smooth, porcelain cheeks, and curls fell over her eyes. Marge reached down to touch her, hands shaking with fear. She felt the baby’s forehead. As soon as her fingers brushed against the infant’s brow, a bolt of electricity shot down her spine.

The skin was dry and cold.

Carefully, she turned the child onto her back.

No resistance. Not a stir. Her arms flopped outward as if stuffed with cotton. Marge’s fingertips touched the soft folds of the baby’s neck at the jugular. No detectable pulse.

Marge fought back nausea as she took in Lauren’s questioning eyes. She moved on to the second crib, then to the third. Within moments, Lauren understood the significance of Marge’s actions. “Oh, God!” She reeled backward. “Oh, dear God, no!”

Marge said, “Go examine the toddlers on the mattresses—”

“Oh, God, Oh, God—”

“Shhhh!” Marge chided. “Quiet, Lauren! Someone will hear—”

She stopped whispering, discerning voices from the outside hall.
Male
voices. Abruptly, the nursery door flew open and two ghostly white-robed men stomped in.

One was saying, “We’ll take the bodies and bring—” He saw Marge’s white-robed figure. “Who the hell are—”

Marge didn’t let him finish. She hauled off and punched both of them in their groins with quick one-two jabbing stabs. As they doubled over, she whacked her gun over their heads. They crumpled to the floor, moaning and holding themselves between the legs. A final swift kick to the heads with her boot, and they both went out.

The Order was closing in!

Marge barked instructions as she felt the gelid babies for any signs of life. “Inspect the toddlers just to make sure we didn’t overlook a living one.”

Immediately, Vega went to work, but Lauren was shell-shocked. “Dear God, it’s just like Jonestown. Someone must have fed them poison in their formula—”

“Lauren, get to work!”

“I can’t believe Terra would do that,” Lauren sobbed. “If she did, someone must have
forced
her because she wouldn’t have murdered—”

Vega interrupted. “I think they are all dead—”

“Oh, God!” Lauren wailed. “How could she kill them! Why would she—”

“
Shut up!
” Marge snapped with intensity. “We’re being invaded. Get to work, dammit!” She felt for Terra’s pulse. Nothing. “Go help Vega with the toddlers! We’ve got about ten minutes before people are going to wonder where these two knocked-out assholes are.”

Terra’s skin was as smooth and frigid as a floe. Marge pushed her shoulder and the body slumped over. She felt the cheek of the infant resting in Terra’s arms. Immediately, she broke out in cold rivers of sweat.

“Omigod! This one’s
warm
!” Her heart started to soar. “She has a pulse! And she’s
breathing
!”

Marge glanced at the bottle: It was full. The baby prob
ably fell asleep before she could ingest enough poison to kill her. Feeling her head go light, Marge realized she’d been hyperventilating. She willed herself to breathe slower.

To Vega, she said, “Lauren and I have to get the school-aged kids
if
they’re still alive. We’ve only got minutes left. Vega, do you think you can crawl through the tunnel by yourself, holding on to her?”

“Yes, I can do it.”

“Vega, it’s dark and slimy and scary and very, very long and—”

“I can do it, Detective Marge.” A brief smile. “You said I would make a very good astronaut. If I cannot crawl through a tunnel, how should I succeed in space? Give me the living baby.”

Marge’s eyes clouded with tears. She kissed the teen’s forehead. “No matter what happens,
don’t
come back for us! Go get rescued, Vega! Go out and become the great woman you’re destined to be!”

Vega kissed Marge back, then took off with the groggy infant in her arms.

“The younger children are always chaperoned,” Lauren said. “The adults will scream when they see you.”

“So I’ll shoot them if necessary. Let’s go!”

Out from the hallway and into the first of the children’s bedrooms. Marge threw open the door, immediately hit by a strong beam of fluorescent light. A white-robed woman spun around, her empty eyes attempting to focus in on Lauren’s face. She was holding a plastic jug, three quarters filled with maraschino-colored liquid. “Sister Andromeda?! You’ve returned to us—”

“C’mon, Ceres, we’ve got to get out—”

“But we are getting out!” Ceres pronounced. A vacant smile spread across her lips. “That is what we’re doing now, Sister. I’m helping the children leave before the violators take over.”

About thirty children were standing in a single-file line, their eyes still half-closed from being awakened so early.
They seemed to range in age from four to ten. On a trestle table sat forty paper cups, containing the unnaturally deep pink liquid. Marge swept her arm across the tabletop and knocked over the cups, the tainted punch spilling over the surface and onto the floor. Ceres stared at her, a look of bewilderment stamped across her face. “What are you do—”

“Sorry, Sister,” Marge interrupted. Pulling her fist back, she decked Ceres in the face. The woman buckled, then collapsed onto the floor amid the gasps of the children.

“Quiet, children!” Lauren said. “You
must
be quiet!”

Sensing their teacher’s anger and urgency, the children froze, their expressions ranging from sheer fright to horror. Yet not one of them dared to move a footstep.

Marge was on overdrive. “Lauren, take them into the tunnel.”

“But there are others—”

“I’ll get the others!”

“No,
I’ll
get the others!” Lauren insisted. “The children will follow me easier than you.”

She was right. Marge said, “Tell these kids that they
must
listen to me, no questions asked.”

Lauren repeated Marge’s words, using the authority of Sister Andromeda.

Marge looked down the corridor. Finding it empty, she said, “Come on, kids, this way! And hurry!”

With frantic hand gestures, she moved them toward freedom. She had succeeded in getting half into the classroom when another guard rounded the corner. He saw her a few seconds before she saw him. With shaking hands, he pulled out his gun. He would have had her if he’d been a pro. But he wasn’t because he hesitated.

Marge didn’t. She shot him twice in the head.

Another white-robe ghost down, Marge thought. This one out for good
. It was as if she had been cybertransported into some Pac-Man–type video game, her mission to kill the evil white-robed apparitions before they got her.

“Hurry!” she yelled at the kids. “This way! Quick, quick, quick!”

Now shoving them into the classroom, toward the trapdoor in the closet. “Down the hole! It’s a tunnel, kids. A long, dark tunnel. You can get through it! You can do it! Once you’re through it, you’re safe.”