Rise Again Below Zero (43 page)

“I hope you’ve been safe and well,” Cad said, pitching his voice for the crowd, not the individual. “Do you want for anything?”

“We want our kids back is what we want, Broker,” Darren said. “We didn’t fill out adoption papers. We handed our children over to you on the condition that you’d keep them safe.”

“And they are,” Broker said.

“You said
we’d
be safe, too,” Darren interrupted. “But this whole place is a cult.”

“Sir, there is a strict separation of church and state here,” Cad said. “If you have a problem with the true believers, that’s none of my business.”

“I mean this whole damn thing is a cult. We want our kids back.”

A dozen people took up this cry. The spokesman Broker waved them to silence.

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“If this is the safe zone for us, I can only imagine what the hell you’re doing with the kids. You got them in pens? Jail cells? I don’t think it’s any damn country club. Not if this is your idea of a town. Damn head-busting thugs everywhere. Curfew. Never enough food.”

A general shout went up at this. Danny wondered why they didn’t allow visiting hours or something. It seemed obvious. Maybe they’d tried it and it didn’t work. But even prisons had visiting hours. Even West Point. The Architect was making a mistake here. Unless it was all part of the plan. That seemed more likely.

“Sir, the children are cared for as our most precious resource,” Cad said. “The line here is effectively one-way. That’s how it works. That’s how we keep the children from further trauma, from accidental exposure to disease.
We have a crisis on our hands. We can’t undo what we’ve done or we lose the war on the undead.”

“That’s bullshit. That’s just words. This isn’t a crisis, it’s the new normal. We live in a zero-infested world, end of story. You don’t call alligators a crisis.”

“It’s the new normal in the sense that the crisis is ongoing and there’s no end in sight. So we’re agreed on that. And the last thing—the
last
thing—that anybody needs is to introduce the children back into this chaos before we’ve got a handle on it. You’re right. Things here in town are kind of wild. We’re working on it. That’s what the so-called ‘thugs’ are doing. Do you really think this is a fit place for children?”

“Wait a minute. You take both sides of every damn argument and somehow the answer always comes out the same. I’m not falling for that.” More shouts of agreement from the crowd.

“I don’t care what you think, sir,” Cad said, dabbing his face with a handkerchief. Danny wondered if it was a theatrical gesture—he might already be so far gone in his condition that he didn’t perspire anymore.

He continued: “Here’s why I don’t care: because you’re not thinking, you’re just reacting. The kids are safe beyond the mountain, and we’re here. It’s
working
for the kids. Not one of them has died. If you decide to be selfish and insist on having
your
way when the whole system is set up to go the
other
way, you’re just creating a nightmare for everybody. The kids most of all.”

“Everybody?” A man not far from Danny shouted. “Everybody wants their kids back.”

“I see about thirty to fifty people here,” the spokesman replied. “That’s not everybody.”

“I see five hundred people here. And there’s a lot more where we came from.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on the math. The point is we can’t have mob rule. We can’t allow a momentary failure of courage on your part to turn into an endless nightmare for everybody else.”

“You said this nightmare was
already
endless.”

There was a lot more shouting. Danny saw something arc through the air—a shoe or a piece of wood or something. It clattered off the facade of the bank. She decided she didn’t want to be there if crowd control became an issue. She didn’t need a riot, she needed a ninja. So she turned her back on the scene just as one of the guards started shouting through a megaphone
and the vans pushed into the throng. She was a block away when the gunfire started—into the air, by the sound of it, but a moment later she heard the stampeding feet and screams of a panicked mob.

•   •   •

She had a good lead on them, so she trotted easily, heading in the general direction of the hospital. The exercise warmed her up. She entered the school grounds without difficulty; her interview with the Architect had apparently squared her with all the guards. She was one of them, now. Then she strode around for a while up and down the halls until she ran into Dr. Joe, who was emerging from what appeared to be a ward for flu cases, once a science classroom. Danny heard a lot of wheezing and coughing in there.

“Ah, Sheriff,” he said, when he saw her. He stank of alcohol. Danny wondered if he was a secret drinker until she realized he was rubbing sanitary gel all over his hands. “How’s the head?”

“Good,” Danny said. “I’m fine. Listen, can we talk?”

“We can talk here,” he said, seeing nobody in the hall but them. Danny got up close.

“I need a favor,” she said.

“I’m all done with favors,” he said. “I’ll be lucky if they don’t take me down right along with you, at this point. I don’t know what the Architect and you have in mind, but I am only here to take care of people.”

Danny ignored the protest. She didn’t have a choice, so as far as she was concerned, neither did he. “I’m going to give you directions to a farmhouse not too far from here. There will be some buddies of mine there. Tell them I need my backpack. Black one with a lock, weighs about fifty pounds. I’ll let you know where it’s hidden, and that’s how they’ll know you’re legit.”

Dr. Joe shook his head.

“I can’t do this for you,” he began, but Danny held up her fingerless hand to silence him.

“The Architect wants me to do something. Lives are at stake. I need that backpack. Sixteen hundred hours tomorrow, no later.”

Joe opened and closed his mouth, but nothing came out. At last he turned around and went down the hall.

“I’ll be in my room,” Danny said. She meant it. She needed a nap.

•   •   •

Amy visited Danny in the night. Her old friend was asleep, and she decided not to wake her. The hospital-school was quiet, except for the heating system kicking on now and then. Amy was deeply tired. The drama of the
last couple of weeks had caught up with her, and along with it the grief. The Tribe had fallen apart, Danny had finally, irretrievably lost Kelley, a prisoner had been murdered, and if the kidnapped children were here in town, nobody was lifting a finger to reunite them with their proper guardians. She knew this was catnip for Danny. A windmill to joust at.

Amy sat in the chair by the door, looking across the room at Danny’s bed. It was rare to see her at peace. She might even be awake, and only pretending. Danny did that sometimes when they were girls.

“You’re a good egg,” Amy said, in a voice neither quiet nor loud. “It’s been a hard time and you made some good from it. I wish Kelley didn’t end up like she did, but she did. So there you go. Did and done. I’m sick of you being Mrs. Angry Pants all the time, and I’m sick of you being a drunken drunkard. But I don’t care about that. I heard from the nice Japanese doctor about your brain problem. It’s serious. I love you and I want you to get better. So don’t do stupid stuff, please. Me and Patrick and some others are leaving town in the morning, so we probably won’t see you again. I guess that’s it. The end.”

Amy sat for a while, hoping to see some sign Danny had heard what she said. But the eyes remained shut, the face slack. It might be that Danny was having a proper sleep for once. Amy wasn’t going to wake her for that. She wanted to express her love of her battered friend somehow, but there wasn’t a way.

“Good night,” she said, in the same soft tones, and left the room.

•   •   •

Danny walked into town the following morning with a light snow swirling down around her. It stopped before she reached the town center. She strode to the cadence of the church bells, like any of the worshippers around her, but didn’t turn to go into the church. Instead she positioned herself beside the war memorial in the middle of the square and looked up at the bank. To her surprise, the Architect himself was on the upstairs balcony of the bank, outside his office door. In the daylight, she could see he was wearing heavy makeup, painted like an old nearsighted showgirl. His head turned toward her and froze for a few seconds; despite the sunglasses he wore, she could feel his eyes on her. She showed no recognition, and neither did he. But he made a point of looking at his watch.

Danny observed an unusual number of blaze orange vests in the area, and the outlines of men crouched at the rooftop parapets. A crowd of worshippers had assembled around the statue in the middle of the intersection,
making a show of force before they went inside the church; there was a crowd of onlookers lurking around the perimeter. It was similar in atmosphere to the confrontation of yesterday. It wasn’t clear which way the general population’s sympathies lay. With whoever looked to win, Danny assumed. She was reminded uncomfortably of the finale to
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
, or possibly
The Wild Bunch,
movies she would never see again.

She saw Nancy emerge from the bank. A ripple of ill-tempered remarks spread out among the churchgoers, who recognized her as one of the Architect’s close advisors. She was flanked by security men with automatic weapons; despite the firepower they walked in a broad arc around the hostile part of the crowd. Danny realized they were heading in her direction.

As the woman approached, Danny studied her condition. Not as far along as Cad, maybe. Not as dead as the Architect. But committed.

“Good morning,” Nancy said, as she reached Danny’s position in the shadow of the bronze warrior. Danny said nothing.

“So,” Nancy continued. “We noticed you were at church yesterday. Did you find it interesting?”

“It made me puke,” Danny said.

“So we saw. But you went in for a talk.”

Danny didn’t reply. Let the silence do the work.

“My employer has already said he will equip you as needed for your mission, whatever you want. A prerequisite he failed to mention, and he so seldom makes even a small error that it’s an inspiration to us all, but a condition he failed to mention is that you have no further discourse with his ah, um, opponent, or
rival
if you will.”

“It’s kind of too bad he didn’t bring that up,” Danny said. She saw motion in the tail of her eye and glanced back at the church. The acolytes were filing out through the doors, lining up on the steps as if there might be a rumble; there was a renewed noise from the crowd. The cordon of guards around the intersection closed in a few paces. “Because my buddy in there did make me a counteroffer.”

“Then you’ve broken our agreement,” Nancy said, her voice flat.

“Not if your boss up there is still on his feet, I haven’t. Tell you what, if you all want to fight it out right here and now, go ahead. You don’t need me. Kill that thing on the cross and burn down the church. I’m sure his followers will return the favor to your little bank. Me? I’ll be on the road a hundred miles away, laughing my ass off.”

The crowd had spread out, people forming sides, until it was divided across the intersection. Danny’s anonymity had ended. She was now a player. Even the onlookers appeared to be choosing teams: They wanted a fight, and didn’t care what it was about. Danny didn’t know which side was stronger. It didn’t matter. The important thing was that the balance of power was thrown off: The authorities were evenly matched with the civilians. That’s when things got done. Nancy must still have had her human emotions intact, because she looked plenty rattled.

Danny observed an earbud tucked in Nancy’s left ear: She must be in communication with the Architect by radio. The Architect, his balcony sufficiently distant from the onlookers so he could pass for human, appeared to be chewing; Danny now guessed he was speaking, probably into a lapel microphone. Such technology was available for free wherever looting could be done in the post-technological age they’d entered, but it had fallen out of use. Why rely on something that could never again be replaced?

Nancy was listening, but watching Danny. Then she spoke. “You’re trying to play both sides against the middle,” she said.

“In case you haven’t gotten too stupid, I am the middle, you dumb half-rotten fuck,” Danny said.

“How dare you!” Nancy gasped.

“You gonna eat some of those tasty little kids, Nancy?” Danny asked, stepping closer to the woman, keeping her voice down. “You gonna go around the mountain and visit those kids—”

“Shut up!” Nancy hissed, her voice low but urgent. “If these people hear you there will be absolute pandemonium.”

“I’d call this a standoff, then.”

“You ruthless b—”

“—Was that you talking, or did you just quote the Architect?”

Nancy pursed her lips, seething, and listened to the earpiece again. Then she said, “He wants to show you something. Follow me.”

Danny swept her eyes around the town square, taking in the guards, the civilians, the acolytes, the Architect, the bronze Civil War veteran on his pedestal above her. Beyond the train station at the end of the street, she could see the mountains shelving up beyond the rooftops, and thought she could tell on which ledge she and Topper had spent their brief time together. Her situation had become so strange she almost felt as if she must still be up there, watching all this through the telescope.

“Why the hell not?” Danny said, and looked provocatively back at the
church. The Preacher was standing inside the doors, now, surrounded by true believers. His arms were folded across his chest and his face was sour. Danny winked at him: Let him take it how he would. Then she sauntered on up the street after Nancy, swaggering much the way that sonofabitch did inside the church.

•   •   •

The arrival of Dr. Joe Higashiyama created a brief sensation at the farmhouse. He showed up in a pickup truck, alone, driving in that slow, brake-tapping way that had once been associated with deliverymen in unfamiliar territory, back when there were deliverymen. The Boston Terrier had become alert to his approach first, snarling at the glass of the front window in the living room; Conn went upstairs and spotted the truck with binoculars, and within a couple of minutes there were armed scouts hidden all around the front of the property, waiting for the truck to arrive.