Life on the Preservation, US Edition (38 page)

“Do
they
believe you?”

“Fuck no. But they like the anarchy aspect.”

She shook her head, still looking sad.

“Vanessa, I’m not nuts.”

“I know.”

“But you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t.”

“That’s okay. Nobody does… yet.”

I
T WAS
K
YLIE
he needed. He knew he couldn’t make the world real unless he had Kylie to make
him
real. He had to get her over the margin and into the bubble before there
was
a bubble.

He started out seeing her twice a month, riding the Chief two hours up to Oakdale every other Friday, taking her to lunch at the O.K. Diner. They talked about all kinds of stuff. They walked around town. Sometimes they held hands, and it was like an electric bond he could feel though his whole body. Ian never brought up the Preservation, never spoke of it unless Kylie did first. He didn’t want to spook her; he was working up to bringing her back to Seattle, making sure she was over the margin on October fifth. The eve of destruction. At midnight the attack would begin. That was the point of regeneration, the reason the Preservation Day always ended at midnight. If Kylie weren’t in Seattle October fifth, her android would never be created.

A couple of times, the Chief crapped out on him, stranding him on the 410. This pissed him off so bad he borrowed a thousand dollars from Zach and had a classic bike shop work on it. The owner of Ye Olde Classic Bike Barn was a Harley guy, big-gutted, with one of those beards.

“Do it right,” he said, “what this mother needs is a total engine re-build. Tear it down, clean it, replace the worn parts, build it up again. Even then, I don’t know. Gotta tell you, dude. You ain’t loved this bike the way she needs it.”

“I know. How much?”

It was substantially more than a grand. Ian went back to Zach-the-bank. The loan was not a big deal, since aliens were going to burn down the world before much longer. In the meantime he could shine Zach on – not that he felt great about doing that, even if it did serve the greater good. Harley Dude offered to “add some amenities” such as a fuel gauge and switching the throttle to the right side. But that was more money and Ian skipped it.

I
N
J
ULY, A
few days past her eightenteen birthday
, Kylie
came to Seattle for the first time and stayed overnight at his apartment. They had kissed, mostly in the back of the Regal Cinema, but until now that was as far as they’d gone. For her mother’s benefit, Kylie made up a plausible excuse for the trip: a Green Day concert and a sleep-over with an older girlfriend (and co-conspirator), Katie, who had moved to Seattle the previous fall to attend the UW.

At first sight of Ian’s apartment Kylie said, “Wow, it’s really organized.”

“Yeah, I picked up for you.”

She laughed. “I was joking?”

“Oh. Right, yeah. Look, it’s weird but I’m kind of nervous.”

“That’s not weird; it’s sweet. I’m nervous, too.”

They were standing very close, next to the bed.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she said.

He put his hand on her hip and leaned down to her face. Their lips touched, and he stopped thinking much at all for the next two hours.

L
ATER, IN BED,
with the light dimming through the blinds, Kylie said, “What’s that mean?”

She was pointing at his early stencil experiments, the blue and the bright red ‘know WHO you are’ sprayed at tilted angles on the tan wall next to his desk.

“Just something I’ve been messing around with.” The new stencils had the web addy razored out in smaller letters, an underscore.

It was warm in the apartment and they had kicked the sheets off. Their bodies were damp with sweat and sex. Ian brushed the backs of his fingers lightly over her belly.

“Hmm. You know, I read your manifesto, or whatever you call it,” she said.

“You did?”

“Katie sent me the url. It’s a hot topic on campus. They think you’re like some kind of crazy Zorro or something.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I mean after you first read it.”

“I don’t know.” She was staring at the ceiling. “I guess it makes me uncomfortable.”

“I wish it didn’t.”

“It does.”

“Kylie, do you ever think like you might want to move here?”

“To Seattle? Or do you mean in with you?”

“Either way.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“What about if we’re in love?”

“
Are
we?”

“Yeah. I mean, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, I’m not ready to
say
it, is all. It’s not something I go around saying a lot.”

“Me neither.”

“Getting out of Oakdale is probably a good idea, though. For certain reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“Father Jim.”

Ian propped himself up on his elbows. “What about him?”

“He’s getting creepier.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Okay, I haven’t talked about it because I don’t want it to be part of our thing. But it’s like since that day at the airport, you know when you showed up and we left together? It’s like since then he’s really been
focused
on me. I totally avoid him. But he watches me. And when he looks at me it’s like he’s hungry.”

“What do you mean he watches you?”

“Maybe I’m not positive, but I keep noticing him at places I go to. He’s always turning up. The real creepy part is, I think he watches the house, too. I was changing clothes one time to go out, and I had this feeling. The curtains were open, which was dumb, I know. But I looked out the window, just wearing my bra and everything, and there he was right across the street under one of those oak trees. At least, I think it was him. It was dark.”

“Did you tell your mom?”

“Uh-uh. She doesn’t need the grief, you know?”

“Promise me something. Promise me you’ll be in Seattle on October fifth.”

“Okay.”

“Why’d you say it so quick? Don’t you mean it?”

“Sure I mean it.”

They stopped talking, and after a while they made love again. And the next day Kylie took the bus back to Oakdale. It was July twenty-sixth – nine weeks from the end of the world.

"D
AD–
?”

“Ian! It’s so late, son.”

Later than you think, Pop
. “I know. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.”

Can you come to Seattle, be here on the fifth of October?”

“Oh, that’s a bad day. Carrie and I are going to New York. We’ve had the tickets for months.”

“Dad, it’s really important.”

“Well, we have these tickets and… Ian, what’s it about?”

“Vanessa and I want to see you is all. We’re doing a party, like for our birthdays, and we really want you there. You and Carrie, I mean. Dad, I really, really want you to come. It’s important.”

“But your birthday isn’t until the end of the month. I could come
on
your birthday. Why are you doing it so soon?”

“We’re combining, me and Ness.”

“But your sister’s birthday is in November. You aren’t making sense, Ian. Hey, are you crying?”

“I don’t know.”

“Son, if it’s that important I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great, that would be really great.”

“Okay, take it easy. I’m going to be there. You said it’s okay to bring Carrie?”

“Sure.”

“Keep your chin up. We’ll talk again before the day. Fourth of October, right?”

“Fifth.”

“Yeah, okay. Got it. Wrote it down.”

H
E CALLED
S
ARAH
Darbro. She would be out of the city on October fifth, unless he convinced her not to be. It was a hard call. She didn’t really know him this time around, since he had never made the moves necessary to establish their relationship. She was just some girl he dated briefly, and in some ways she was less real to him than a talking jellyfish. But Ian knew he had to save her, if he could.

“Sarah?”

“Yes, who is this?”

She had deleted him out of her phone.

“It’s Ian. Ian Palmer?”

“Oh. Oh, hi.”

And his mind went blank.

“So what are you calling about?” Sarah said, sounding ticked. After he woke from the Preservation dream he had avoided her calls, had avoided
her
. Eventually she gave up. The relationship had been in the beginning stages and maybe it wasn’t so hard for her to give up. But nobody likes to be rejected.

“Listen, can you come here, can you be here in Seattle on the fifth of October? It’s important.”

“It’s important? Gee. Well, then guess what? Drop dead.”

She hung up.

Yeah, people really
hated
getting rejected.

A
MONTH LATER
his father called and left an awkward message, the gist of which was he and Carrie would not be arriving on the fifth of October. The New York tickets were non-refundable, etc. He sounded like he was fighting to keep the edge of irritation out of his voice, only he wasn’t fighting it all that hard, like he wanted Ian to know he didn’t appreciate being put on the spot.

Ian did not return the call.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I
AN WOKE EARLY
on October fifth. Lying alone in bed, he whispered, “Tonight.” But did he believe it? After a year his future memories were a fluid composition of memory, imagination, and the dreams that haunted his sleep. He got up and made coffee, remembering the endless Advents he’d done the same thing.

Kylie was supposed to arrive at the Greyhound station at five o’clock in the afternoon.

“That’s cutting it too close,” Ian had said on the phone yesterday.

“It’s plenty of time. You said we have till midnight.”

“Sure, but why take a chance?”

“Ian, I don’t like you so worked up about it.”

“Well, Jesus–”

“Look, I’m going to hang up now. I’ll see you soon.”

H
E WAS MEETING
Zach for lunch at the Deluxe but had a few hours to kill. Churning with nervous energy, he walked. People gave him funny looks, and Ian noticed he was crying. He wiped his eyes and nose roughly and kept walking.

Then he stopped.

A red, white and blue barber pole rotated in front of a barber shop. He had been thinking about doing something to mark the first Advent. On impulse, he pushed through the door and told the guy to shave his head. He sat stiffly in the barber chair, the electric clippers nibbling up from the back of his neck. On the sidewalk people strolled by the REBRAB window. Across the street a whole cluster of ‘know WHO you are’s glowed neon red across the stone face of a nightclub.

"D
UDE,
” Z
ACH SAID
at the restaurant, “what the fuck happened to your head?”

“I got it shaved, obviously.”

“Uh, looks really great. A little bumpy, but great.”

“I wanted to mark the first Advent.”

Zach nodded. “Yeah, right. The first Advent. You want to tell me again how that’s going to work?”

“You’ll see at midnight, when the Hunters burn down the city. Then you’ll forget it happened when you’re reborn as an android and it’s always the day before the attack, I mean it’s always
today
. But your
android
will remember all these conversations and ‘know WHO you are’ and all that, and eventually I’ll wake you up.”

“So you shaved your head, because getting killed by aliens and then turned into an android isn’t enough to ‘mark the day’.”

“Something like that.”

“Wait a minute. If the Day-That-Never-Ends is going to be today, then how do we know it hasn’t already started? I mean, ended.”

“It hasn’t.”

“But how would we
know
that?”

“
I’d remember the attack
, all right? So I’d know the Preservation had started.”

“Dude, are you crying?”

“Just eat your fucking cheeseburger, okay?”

“Sure, okay.”

H
E WAS WAITING
at the Greyhound station an hour early. Kylie hadn’t answered her cell all day, and she didn’t answer it now, as he paced around the bus station, punching redial so hard it was like he wanted to stab his thumb through the keypad. The number kept going to voicemail. He thumbed a couple of texts, waited. Nothing.

The security guard was watching him. Ian wiped his eyes, crying again. He retreated to the men’s room and splashed cold water on his face. God, he was losing his mind. It was the stress, that’s all. Not just the stress about Kylie, either. According to Charlie Noble, Ian was going to be responsible for starting the Preservation. Last time he did it accidentally, trying to take back his suicide. This time he would have to
mean
it. And if he failed it would all be gone, the whole world, and he would be, what? Some bodiless nothing?

He looked up, his hands braced on the sink. The face in the mirror belonged to a stranger. His freshly shaved scalp was almost zombie-white, his eyes red from all the stupid crying. Christ, he looked like that lunatic in
Taxi Driver
, except without the mohawk. No wonder everybody kept staring at him. He pulled his hood up and went back out to the waiting area.

The bus pulled in. A couple of dozen people stepped off, none of them Kylie. Ian began to panic.

A
FTER SEVERAL FAILURES
to reach her by voice or text, he dragged his salvaged Dell laptop to Vivace’s, which had free wi-fi. On Facebook Kylie’s icon appeared active. He sent her an instant message:

“What are you doing, why weren’t you on the bus?”

After a long hesitation, during which Ian began to doubt she was there, Kylie typed:

“My ticket’s for tomorrow. I guess I made a mistake on the date.”

He stared at the screen in disbelief. It was almost seven o’clock.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?” he typed.