Monsters: The Ashes Trilogy (66 page)

IT felt like early summer, although he couldn’t be exactly
sure. Chris sat cross-legged on a flat table of greenstone-speckled
basalt in a drench of sun. The day was cloudless, the sky a hazy white
where it edged the indigo of the lake but a deeper, stonewashed
denim directly overhead. Smelling of cool iron and tangy spruce, a
northerly breeze feathered his hair. Drifting up from the valley some
thousand feet below came the solitary grunt of a wood frog. Directly
north, off the far coast, he counted at least five thin and rocky treestudded slivers and a larger green splash spread over the water like an
outstretched hand.
Teasing out the blade of a pocketknife, he sliced a wedge of cheese,
tore off a hunk of flaky baguette, and laid the cheese on top. Holding
the food under his nose, he inhaled a buttery aroma of warm cheddar
and fresh-baked bread, then took a bite. He moaned.
From just off his right shoulder came a low laugh. “Good, isn’t
it?” Peter said.
“Oh my God,” he mumbled around bread and cheese. “I’ve got to
learn how to make this.”
Peter’s laugh was light as a breath of air. “Well, first you got to
have a couple cows. And, oh, some flour. Yeast. Sugar. Rennin and—”
“A guy can dream.” He tore off more bread. “Don’t be such a
dweeb.”
“
Moi?
Never.” A gurgle, then Peter’s swallow and contented sigh.
“Want some?”
“Gee.” He pretended to think. “I don’t know . . . I’m not legal.”
“As a duly appointed officer of the law and your guide, I insist.
Promise not to fall off the ridge and no one will know,” Peter said.
“Besides, the old rules don’t apply anymore, especially here.”
“Well, when you put it that way.” Chris took the bottle that Peter
passed over his shoulder. Cool condensation beaded the glass. When
he put the lip to his mouth, what flowed over his tongue was crisp
and cold and tasted a little like . . . grapefruit? Closing his eyes, Chris
drank, concentrating on the wine’s flavor.
Thinking:
I have to remember this, all of it, every second. This may
never come again.
“So.” He could feel the warmth already flooding into his head
and thought he really might have to be careful on the way down. If
that was an issue here. If Peter ever
came
down. “Tell me what I’m
looking at.”
“Thunder Bay to your left,” Peter said, pointing northwest to a distant, hazy ribbon of purple mountains. “From where we are on the
Greenstone Ridge, Amygdaloid Island is the furthest barrier island,
that really long, thin one due north. That big splotch to the right”—
from the corner of Chris’s right eye, a hand pointed the way—“is the
western edge of Five Finger Bay. I’ve portaged all through there. Talk
about a killer. All I carried was a kayak and a pack. Think about a
canoe
. My shoulders ached for days.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“Hence, the need for medicinal wine. But it really is . . . heaven.”
“No,” Chris said, a little giddy with the wine. “It’s Michigan.”
“Smart-ass. I could hike this whole ridge, all forty-plus miles from
one end of Isle Royale to the other, take my time, make this walk as
long as I wanted—and still not see a single person or hear anything
other than birds and frogs. In spring there are more butterflies than
you can imagine. A few times, I’ve even heard the wolves.”
“Weren’t you lonely?”
“Back then? Not really. Maybe because it wasn’t forever. You
always went back to your life.”
“What about now?” Dangling the bottle between his fingers,
Chris gave the wine a swirl, then took another swallow.
Grapefruit and
apples and . . . vanilla?
No, that wasn’t right.
“Lonely?” Peter let go of a long breath, and then Chris felt his
friend’s hand giving his right shoulder a squeeze. “A little. You get
used to it. This is my space, Chris. I can’t go or be anywhere else. But
you can.” A small silence. “Are you going to?”
“I don’t know.” He sipped wine. “I’m not sure.”
“No?” When he didn’t reply, Peter gave his shoulder another
squeeze. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s going on? This isn’t about Alex,
is it?”
“Oh . . . no, I’m okay with that. This isn’t a dumb love triangle
from a book or something. She’s had to deal with enough. Bothers
me that she pitches her tent away from us, though. She’s been doing
that ever since we walked into the Waucamaw.”
“Maybe because she started this walk, on her own, a long time
ago. Besides, she nearly died. You know what that’s like.”
This was true. Thank Tom and what every soldier knew to save
a buddy’s life, or his own. Otherwise, Alex never would’ve survived
the ride back to Kincaid. Chris still remembered the
hiss
of escaping
air when Tom slid that IV needle high up between two right ribs to
help her breathe. How Tom had then tried, so hard, to give Peter a
chance, too. For Alex, the only saving grace was that the bullet came
in low enough to miss the big arteries and high enough not to take
out her liver. That still left that collapsed lung, macerated muscle and
tissue, and two smashed ribs. Kincaid had made very good use of that
combat pack. Someone—Ellie, Tom, or Chris—stayed by her side the
entire journey to Isaac’s new location. Once she could get up, Tom
spent hours making her walk even when she didn’t want to, carrying
her outside, and, in general, hovering like a hawk.
Since then, Alex had done . . . okay. Splitting off from Jayden,
Greg, Pru, Sarah, and all the children—the Rule kids, and Tom’s—a
week ago had tipped some mental scale. Passing that ruined ranger’s
booth, the wreckage of her car still in the lot, it seemed to Chris that
Alex had retreated a little more into herself with each passing mile.
“Tom and I are just giving her space to figure it out,” Chris said.
“Can’t make her want to be with us, although it’s hard on Ellie. We
haven’t told her everything, and she doesn’t understand.”
“Do you?”
“A little. Alex is . . . she’s not all here. You can see the distance in
her eyes.” Sometimes, he wondered if memories were all she saw.
Given what lived in her head, there was always another possibility,
too upsetting to want to think about for long. “Tom spends every
evening with her. She’ll talk to him. He understands way better than
I ever will.” The ping of hurt was small but still stung. Everything he
said to Tom in the jail at Rule, he’d meant. Tom and Alex were just .
. .
right
for each other. “Tom says it’s like Alex has come back from a
long war. That makes sense. She was with the Changed for months.
She actually
cared
about Simon.”
“But Simon does have your face. She never would’ve let herself
care or risked her life for him if she didn’t feel the same way about
you.”
“I know that. We’re family, I guess. Tom said that once you found
your people, you found yourself. Except . . . I’m still not sure.”
“I thought you liked Jayden.”
“Oh no, he’s great. I’m relieved he came up with this. Forget
everything that happened: I’d
never
have fit with Hannah. She’s
too territorial. I want to live someplace
I
make, try and do it right
this time, find a balance. And, you know, avoid Changing or getting
eaten.”
“Both are going to be problems for a long time, but not forever.
The Change is a dead end, Chris. It’s not a disease. It was an event.
The only children who will Change from here on out will be like
Ellie—too young to Change right away—or like you, kids who still
might Change down the line.”
“Thanks. That’s just so reassuring.”
“But it’s the truth. Then there are the ones like Penny’s baby.
Maybe it’ll pop out just like the Changed, and maybe it won’t. Finn
talked about this once; said that those babies who weren’t Changed
might not live, because their parents would eat them.”
“Come on. They’re not gerbils.”
“Most mammals will destroy defective babies. But say they survive. They won’t be anything like their parents. They might not be
able to communicate with them at all. All they’ll have in common
is eating people. But that’s a behavior, Chris. It’s not destiny. The
Changed
could
eat other meat, plants; their digestive systems haven’t
changed. It’s only their brains that have been altered. For
them
, it’s
permanent.”
Well . . . maybe
. There was Simon, but that might be only a pipe
dream. How would you check up on something like that anyway?
“One way or the other,” Peter said, “the Changed are doomed.
Either you kill them, their children kill them, or they kill their unaffected children to save themselves. Without children, they’re done
for as a species. So, what I’m saying is, yeah, worry about getting
eaten, but don’t base your whole future around it.” Peter’s grip on
his shoulder tightened. “Chris. You should go to Copper Island with
them. Hannah won’t be there. This is your time. Forget the farmland
and how hard surviving the first few years will be for a second. Think
about the university, the library, the
books
. Tenured professors hang
around until they drop. If some survived, they can help you. You need
this just as much as the kids, and maybe more, because you and Tom
and Alex and Kincaid and Pru, everyone who’s older . . . you guys are
the teachers now. Not just practical stuff like farming and building a
house . . .”
“All of which I don’t know how to do.” He slid a bit of baguette
onto his tongue and let it dissolve. “Or how to bake bread.”
“But you can learn. I’m totally serious about this. The Dark Ages
were dark for a lot of reasons, but mainly because the Church controlled everything and burnt books. People stopped learning and
forgot how to dream. Yes, Chris, you might Change. But you also
know how to dream in a very particular way.”
“That’s from the drug.” And how should he understand all that:
coming back from the dead twice over, what he was able to do now
in his dreams—crossing into this place, finding Peter? Were these
visions? Hallucinations? Was this really heaven, or only one island in
the Land of the Dead?
“No, this is all you now, Chris,” Peter said. “Yes, the drug triggered
your ability, but you’re in control.”
“Of what? Do you know what this is, Peter? Do you understand
why I was”—he almost said
chosen
—“. . .
how
I’m doing this? What
it means?”
“No, but that’s what the future’s about, Chris: for you to become
and discover who you are. What’s important is that you found me.
You brought yourself here, and no one
but
you can do this. You are
truly unique. Now, become more.
Dare
more. Dream differently, and
then teach the kids. Give them the gift of knowledge. Help them
learn how to try, because from that springs hope. You may not do it,
Chris, but one of these children or
their
kids
will
figure out how to
turn on the lights again.” Peter’s hand suddenly slid away. “Oh hell.
Sorry, but . . .”
“It’s time? Already?” Sudden tears pooled. It didn’t seem right that
all this—the mountain and that valley, this lake—could be so perfect
when he could feel this sad. “What if I can’t find you again?”
“You will.” Peter’s voice was even and very calm, as if their roles
had reversed. “You can come back anytime you want. All you have to
do, Chris, is remember how to dream.”
“But I’m afraid.” He closed his eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake
again, a big one, like I did with Lena. And what about Simon?”
“Simon will be what he will be. You will make mistakes. Count on
it. You’re only human. But you’ve found your people, Chris. Go back
now. Help them, and let them heal you.” Peter’s hand cupped his
neck. “Finish the wine. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”
He tipped the last sweet swallow over his tongue.
Apples,
he
decided.
Apples and honey.
Then Chris turned to face his friend. “Peter, I—” But he lost what
he wanted to say, his voice suddenly stoppering in his throat as Chris
finally saw Peter as he was now.
Peter was in the sun. All Chris’s dazzled eyes made out was a stark
silhouette: the form of a head and those broad shoulders and strong
chest, and that glistening fall of golden hair. The glow around Peter
was so very bright, Chris had to close his eyes.
“Shh. I know. I love you, too. It’ll be all right, I promise.” Peter
placed a cool hand over Chris’s eyes. “Wake up now, Chris, and give
them back the light.”
Peter’s touch bled away. When Chris woke, it was to Ellie, staring
down.
“Hi. Sorry, but Tom said we better go while we still have daylight.”
She cradled a cloth sack about the size of a softball in both hands.
Ghost was behind her. When the dog saw Chris’s eyes open, his right
ear perked while the nubbin of his left only twitched.
“Okay.” He lay swaddled in a sleeping bag on fragrant hemlock.
He didn’t want to move, not just yet, afraid he would tear the frail
web of that vision. Worried he might never get it back.
“Chris.” The girl’s eyes studied his face, her brows puckering in a
frown. “Are you going to be okay? Did you have a bad dream again?”
“No,” Chris said, sitting up and swiping away wet from his cheeks.
To the west, the sun was just beginning to melt into the lake. The
wind had kicked up and now cut a chill down his spine. Clouds were
gathering, too, their underbellies glowing a lush peach with the sunset. From high in the trees came the staccato
rata-toc-toc-toc-toc
of a
woodpecker. A scent of wood smoke hung in the air. He looked to
the crackling fire, where Alex and Tom perched on low stones. They
weren’t speaking, but Chris saw Tom take her hand and their fingers
lace. It didn’t hurt, maybe because he was used to it now and this
really
wasn’t
one of those books. It was late April, almost May, and
spring was coming, and these were his people.
“You sure you’re okay?” Ellie asked.
“Yes. I’ll be fine.” He reached to cup her cheek. “For once, sweetie,
it was a really good dream.”

Space.
That was all Tom said when she asked.
Give her some time,
honey.
Time, space: Ellie just didn’t get that. She had this terrible feeling
about Alex that she couldn’t put into words because they were so
tangled up in memories of her dad and how weird he was whenever
he came back from Iraq. Sleeping on the floor instead of a bed. Just .
. . not all there. Like Alex.
And time was almost up. Cupping her cloth bag in both hands,
Ellie walked between Chris and Tom as Ghost, Jet, and Buck followed. Tomorrow, they’d leave Mirror Point to make their way from
the Waucamaw to Houghton and then across the bridge onto Copper
Island. She worried about that, too. Houghton had been this
major
town. Big towns were trouble, even if they were going to cross the
bridge and, maybe, blow it if they had to.
Chris and Tom said they couldn’t hide in the woods forever. All
the books and equipment and, maybe, professors as old as Isaac and
Kincaid were too valuable to just let die. Tom said someone had to
be the first to come out of hiding—
leave the wire
was what he called
it—and make a stand. So, might as well be them.
Yeah, just so I don’t get eaten.
She arrowed a quick glance toward
Alex, but she was on Tom’s right. All Ellie really got was a glimpse of
her hair.
Just so Alex comes back all the way.
If she could. No . . . that was
wrong: if Alex would
let
herself.
We have to help her stay.
Ellie wasn’t sure if she knew how. They
had walked for such a long time already. Maybe this was as far as
Alex wanted to go. She hadn’t
said
anything . . . but Ellie just had this
feeling.
She even kind of got why. The first night they made camp in the
Waucamaw, she’d screwed up her courage and asked Tom about hiking back up to Moss Knob:
It’s where me and Alex left Grandpa Jack.
It
was a long shot; she wasn’t dumb. October happened six months ago
and it was the end of April now. Almost spring, which also meant that
Ellie wouldn’t have to wear a parka, like,
every single second.
Although
Alex said spring always came late to the Upper Peninsula—it was
why all the trees were still bare and it got cold at night—and they
still might get snow. Heck, Alex once saw snow in
June
when she and
her folks went to Marquette and Alex’s dad dared her to jump off
Blackrocks because, sometimes, you just feel like a nut.
Mostly, what Ellie liked? That Alex told a story about her parents.
It made for a really good time, even if Alex went off to her own tent
and away from them after that. Ellie didn’t know why Alex giving
them that story was important, but she had a feeling that stories
were a kind of remembering. (Like reading to them around the fire
at night, another good thing Alex was doing:
A Wrinkle in Time
, one
of Peter’s books. A pretty terrific story Alex said her mom read to
her.) And look, Alex gave her the whistle back, said Ellie should keep
it safe. Alex still wore Mickey. So if Alex trusted them with all these
memories—books and stories and a whistle—that was good, right?
You didn’t give memories to just anybody, right?
Anyway, Tom had listened about Moss Knob and then said, “Ellie,
if that’s what you want, of course, I’ll help you. But honey, I honestly
don’t think he’ll be there. It’s been a long time.”
She wasn’t a stupid little kid anymore. Tom didn’t have to say the
rest. Dumb idea. So they didn’t go. But that didn’t mean Grandpa
Jack’s ghost wasn’t still hanging around on Moss Knob. That made
her sad and a little guilty, too. Like when they walked out of here, his
ghost would be lonely. If she could just figure a way to fix that . . .
“Oh, guys,” Alex suddenly said, and Ellie heard the wonder in her
voice. “Look.”
Ellie looked up. Just a few feet away, the trail petered out. What
she first spied were the gold underbellies of clouds above and a huge
expanse of blue-black water below, spread as far as the eye could
see: away into forever. The trees simply ended. In four more steps,
Ellie found herself on the narrow crescent of a towering sandstone
bluff heavy with moss. To her right, a waterfall cascaded over red
and brown and yellow rocks in a silver-white ribbon. She could hear
the tick of the dogs’ nails over stone, and hoped like crazy they didn’t
slip, because it was a
long
way down. This being Mirror Point, she
wondered if you really could see yourself from way up here. From
the clouds in the water, she thought you just might. (The clouds,
which had been with them ever since they’d come to the Waucamaw,
totally blew. Because Ellie had kept an eye on that moon. Hadn’t said
anything to anyone. But she kept turning it over:
what if
.)
Yet there was still enough sun to spray the bluffs. The sight made
her chest go tight, but in a good way. The light turned what you’d
only think were regular old rock-rocks into bands of deep rust-red
and gold and, best of all, neon orange, as bright as Iraqi sand. On the
water itself, the fall’s ripples shimmered like molten lava.
When she saw this, Ellie realized: Alex’s parents were right. This
was where Alex’s mom and dad had fallen in love, and Mirror Point
was all so bright and beautiful and there were so many colors, even
as clouds threatened, it really was the perfect place to begin—and to
end. To sleep forever. This didn’t make everything suddenly okay. But
the ache in Ellie’s chest wasn’t quite as sharp. It felt like her insides
were the lid on a jar of strawberry jam, capped too tight, and now
someone strong enough had finally twisted to release all that pressure with a little
pop
.
Tom must’ve sensed something. He was really good at that.
Without her even asking, he bent and picked her up so she could
wrap her legs around his middle and thread her arms around his neck
and let him carry her to the edge, just the way her daddy used to
when she was only a little kid.
Please, God.
Gripping her cloth sack by the neck, Ellie buried her
face in Tom’s shoulder.
Please make it all right. Please make it better so
we can be us again.
Chris went first. His cloth sack was heavier, and more than
enough for each of them. Holding his fist over the water, Chris said,
“I’m not sure what’s the right thing to say. It’s weird that I lived in
Rule, but I don’t know the Bible much. Maybe because we were
always reading the wrong parts, I don’t know. But I keep having this
dream about . . .” Pausing, Chris cleared his throat. When he started
up again, his voice quavered and Ellie saw the first tears rolling down
his cheeks. “I keep dreaming about this mountain and a valley, and
it’s beautiful, the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. But I think it’s
beautiful in my dream only because you’re there, Peter. You did a lot
. . . a lot that was wrong,
really
wrong, but I think you . . . you did it
out of love. That doesn’t make it right . . . but I understand, a little
better, about . . . about love. Because you did save me. You c-cared
what happened to m-me. Nobody . . . nobody ever d-did that before.
So I wish I could’ve s-saved you. Because I n-never got a ch-chance to
tell you, I never s-said it . . .” Chris stopped again and used his arm
to wipe his eyes. “I love you, Peter,” he said, lips trembling and the
tears still coming—and his weren’t the only ones. “And I forgive you
. . . and I hope you let me find you again, because I miss you . . . I
m-miss . . .”
And then Chris couldn’t talk anymore. He was crying that hard.
His fist relaxed and he let part of Peter go in a rain of gray dust and
ashes that the breeze snatched and whirled and spun down to golden
water. Then they all released Peter to the wind and the lake until he
was gone.
For a little while, maybe just a few moments, Chris stood alone,
with only an empty sack. It was Alex who went to Chris first, and all
of a sudden, he was crying into her shoulder. For a second, it was
just the two of them, swaying together, until Alex looked to her and
Tom. Alex’s face was wet. In the sunset, her hair was red as the rocks.
When Alex held out her hand, Ellie’s heart flopped in her chest.
This is good.
She clung to Tom’s neck as he carried her over, limping a bit because his leg was still on the mend. The dogs bounced
after, not only because they didn’t want to be left out, but whenever
Alex went, they followed unless you made them mind. When they
were close, Alex pulled Tom and her into the hug, too.
And this
—Ellie slipped an arm around Chris’s neck, so she held
them all—
is better
.
This is Meg Murry, in the garden.
They stood in that embrace for a long time. No one pulled back
until Chris was ready. So it took a while and that was fine. What was
the rush? Even crying with Chris, Ellie never felt so warm, not even
with a really good parka. Eventually, though, she did have to take her
turn. Her sack wasn’t half so large, but that was all right. There was
still plenty for everyone.
A week ago, the same night she asked Tom about Grandpa Jack,
Ellie had said, “I don’t know what to say. It doesn’t have to be about
God or anything, does it?”
“It can be whatever you want. You don’t have to say anything,
honey, if you don’t want to.” Crouching, Tom chaffed her arms with
his hands as if trying to help her get warm. Which was when she
noticed she was shivering, and what was with
that
? “There are no
rules. If there are words, say them. If not, if your heart’s too full,
that’s okay, too.”
Now, with her right fist suspended over the water, and Tom’s hand
in her left, she stood on her own two feet. Alex was to her right, very
close, and she felt Chris move behind her, which was the perfect spot.
You can do this. This is for Eli and Roc, too. This is for everybody.
“I didn’t want you.” Her teeth snuck out to grab her lower lip,
which had started to quake, but she couldn’t both chew her lip and
talk, so she let go. Her eyes were blurry again, and she figured,
crap
,
she was going to cry through this whole thing. “You weren’t my
idea . . . and I . . . I was really m-mean to you for a l-long t-time.
I was m-mean to ev-everybody, es-especially Grandpa J-Jack.” Her
voice thinned and went squeaky high, and she kept having to snuffle.
Behind, she heard Ghost whine and then felt his nose bump her butt.
“And I’m really s-sorry about that. You turned out to be the b-best
friend I ever . . . I ever h-had . . . and he was a good grandpa and you
pro-protected me and made me feel better. M-mostly . . .”
She stopped. Her throat was all clogged up and she could barely
see. It was like she was underwater. Oh boy, she just knew this was
going to happen.
Just say it, Ellie.
It was the closet-voice, the one that helped her save
Chris; the one that might be made up of every person she had ever
loved, and wasn’t it good that some of those people were still here?
Say it fast, honey, and let this go.
“Ellie?” It was Tom, his voice very low, so gentle, and he said the
exact right thing. Not
you don’t have to go on
, like she was a stupid little
kid, but, “Whatever you say and however you say it will be the right
thing.”