The Last Star (37 page)

The green pill fell out when I ripped myself from the Wonderland chair, and I picked it up without thinking about it, without even looking at it. Then I saw Ringer lying in that hallway and I remembered we’d swapped jackets. She’d been carrying around the bomb the whole time and didn’t tell anyone. I think I know why. I know her as well as she knows herself. Better, even, because I can remember what she’s forgotten.

I press Vosch’s severed thumb against the launch button. The hatch door closes, the locking mechanism hums. The ventilation system kicks on; cool air brushes against my cheek.

The pod shivers. I feel like raising my hands.

Yes, Daddy, I want to fly.

ZOMBIE

I LOSE THE KIDS
when we hit the water. The force of our landing snatches them away. The chopper tumbles into the river several hundred yards upstream and the fireball paints the surface a dusky orange. I see Megan first, her face breaking the surface enough to allow her a gurgling scream. I grab her wrist and yank her toward me.

“Captain!” she yells.

Huh?

“I lost Captain!”

She kicks against my legs, reaching with her free hand toward the teddy bear that spins lazily away from us.
Oh Christ. That damned bear.

I look over my shoulder.
Nugget, where are you?
Then I see him at the shoreline, half in, half out, back arching as he coughs up a gallon of river water. The kid is truly indestructible.

“Okay, Megan. Climb aboard; I’ll get him.”

She hitches herself onto my back, wrapping her thin arms around my neck and her stick legs around my torso. I kick over to the bear.
Gotcha.
Then the long swim to shore, which isn’t that far, but the water’s freezing and Megan on my back bears me down.
Bears me down.
That’s a good one.

We collapse on the shore beside Nugget. Nobody speaks for a few minutes. Then Nugget goes, “Zombie?”

“Somebody hit the kill switch. Only thing that makes sense, Private.”

“Corporal,” he corrects me. Then he says, “Ringer?”

I nod. “Ringer.”

He processes for a second. Then, his voice shaking because he’s afraid to ask: “Cassie?”

CASSIE

THE HAND OF GOD
slams down as the pod explodes up the launch shaft, a massive fist flattens my body into the chair, and then the fist closes around me,
squeezing.
Some wiseass has
dropped a two-ton rock on my chest and I’m finding it very difficult to breathe. Also, somebody with no regard whatsoever for my comfort and safety has turned off all the lights—I can’t even see the eerie green glow that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Either that or my eyes have been shoved to the back of my skull.

ZOMBIE

NO, NUGGET.
She probably didn’t make it.
Before I can say the words, Megan slaps my chest and points toward the base. A shining ball of green light shoots over the treetops into the rose-colored sky. The afterimage lingers in our eyes long after it’s lost in the atmosphere.

“It’s a shooting star!” she says.

I shake my head. “Wrong direction.”

I guess, in the end,
I
was wrong.

CASSIE

THE FEELING OF
being slowly crushed to death in total darkness lasts for several minutes. In other words, forever. Okay,
forever
is one word.

A word we throw around like we can even grasp it, like
forever
is something the human mind can comprehend.

The straps across my chest loosen. The two-ton boulder dissolves.
I take a huge, shuddering breath and open my eyes. The pod is dark—gone is the green light and good riddance; I always hated Other-green, not my shade at all. I look out the window and gasp.

Hello, Earth.

So this is how God sees you, sparkling blue against the dullest black. No wonder he made you. No wonder he made the sun and the stars so he could see you.

Beautiful
is another word we tossed around too casually, slopping it over everything from cars to nail polish until the word collapsed under the weight of all the banality. But the world is beautiful. I hope they never forget that. The world is beautiful.

A water droplet bobs before my eyes. Floating free, the oddest tear I’ve ever brushed away.

Never forget, Sams. Love is forever. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be love. The world is beautiful. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be the world.

The wildest thing about holding my brother’s memories inside me? Seeing myself through his eyes, hearing myself with his ears, sailing the Cassiopeian sea in three dimensions, the way we experience practically everything except the one thing we’re supposed to understand the best: ourselves. To Sam, there is the bundle of colors and smells and sensations that make up
Cassie,
and that
Cassie
is not Ben’s Cassie or Marika’s Cassie or Evan’s Cassie or even Cassie’s Cassie; she belongs to Sam and to Sam alone.

The pod rolls, the shining blue gem slips from sight, and for the last time in my life I am afraid, as if I’ve fallen off the edge of the world—which I guess in a sense I have. Instinctively, I reach for the vanished Earth; my fingertips bump against the window.

Good-bye.

Oh, I am too far away. And too close. There I am, hearing a tiny voice scratching in the wilderness,
Alone, alone, alone, Cassie,
you’re alone.
And there I am looking through Evan’s eyes at the girl with the indispensable teddy bear and the useless M16, huddled in her sleeping bag deep in the woods, thinking she’s the last person on Earth. I watch her night after night and go through her things while she’s away foraging. What a bastard I am, touching her stuff and reading her journals, why can’t I just kill her already?

That’s my name. Cassie for Cassiopeia.
Alone as the stars and lonely as the stars.

Now I discover myself in him and I am not the person I expected to find. His Cassie sears the darkness with the brightness of a billion suns. He’s as baffled by this as I am, as humanity is, as the Others are. He can’t say why. There’s no reason, no neat explanation. It’s impossible to understand and impossibly irrelevant, like asking why anything exists in the first place.

He had the answer, all right. It just wasn’t the answer I was looking for.

I’m sorry, Evan; I was wrong.
It wasn’t the idea of me that you loved, I know that now. The stars outside the window fade, overtaken by that nauseating green glow, and after a minute the hull of the mothership slides into view.

Oh, you bitch. For a year, I’ve hated your green guts. I’ve watched you, filled with hate and fear, and now here we are, just the two of us, Other and humanity.

That’s my name. Not Cassie for Cassandra. Or Cassie for Cassidy. And it’s not Cassie for Cassiopeia. Not anymore. I am more than her now.

I am all of them, Evan and Ben and Marika and Megan and Sam. I am Dumbo and Poundcake and Teacup. I am all the ones you emptied, the ones you corrupted, the ones you discarded, the thousands you thought you had killed, but who live on in me.

But I am even more than this. I am all those they remember, the ones they loved, everyone they knew, and everyone they only heard about. How many are contained in me? Count the stars. Go on, number the grains of sand. That’s me.

I am humanity.

ZOMBIE

WE MOVE TO
the cover of the trees. If what I suspect has actually happened—that someone inside the base has zapped everyone else—there’s not much risk in bringing them with me, but there’s
some
risk, and somebody who should know once told me it’s all about the risk.

Nugget is furious. Megan seems relieved.

“Who’s gonna watch her if you come with me?” I ask him.

“I don’t care!”

“Well, one of us does. And that person happens to be in charge.”

Through the woods and into the no-man’s-land boundary that runs the perimeter of the base, toward the closest entrance and the watchtower beside it. I have no weapon, no means to defend myself. An easy target. No choice, though. I keep walking.

I’m soaked to my bones, and the temperature hovers in the midforties, but I am not cold. I feel great; even my leg doesn’t hurt anymore.

CASSIOPEIA

THE GLISTENING GREEN
SKIN
of the ship fills the window, blotting out the stars. It’s all I can see now, and the light from the sun sparks off its featureless surface. How big did they say it was? Twenty-five miles from tip to tip, roughly the size of Manhattan. I’m seeing only a tiny slice of an enormous whole. My heart pounds. My breath shortens, exploding from my mouth in roiling plumes of white. It’s freezing in here. I don’t remember ever feeling so cold.

With shaking fingers, I reach into my pocket and fish out the capsule. It slips from my grasp and spins like a lure through water toward the top of the pod. I catch it after a couple of tries, closing my fist tightly around it.

Damn, I’m cold. My teeth are chattering. I can’t keep my thoughts still. What else? Is there anything else? What have I left undone? There isn’t much—I am more than the sum of my own experience now. I’ve got ten thousand times my fair share.

Because here’s the thing: Seeing yourself through another’s eyes shifts your center of gravity. It doesn’t change the way you look at yourself. It changes the way you look at the world. Not the
you.
The
everything-but-you.

I don’t hate you anymore,
I tell the mothership.
And I’m not afraid of you anymore. I don’t hate anything. I’m not afraid of anything.

At the center, right in the middle of my view, a black hole grows, reminding me of a mouth slowly opening. I’m headed right for it.

I slip the capsule between my lips.

No, the answer is not hate.

The black hole expands. I’m falling into a lightless pit, a void, the universe before the universe was the universe.

And the answer is not fear.

Somewhere in the mothership’s belly, thousands of bombs twenty times the size of the one in my mouth are rolling down chutes into launching bays. I hope they’re still in there. I hope they haven’t started to fall. I hope I’m in time.

The pod crosses the threshold into the mothership and jerks to a stop. The window’s frosted over, but there’s light outside; it glimmers in the ice. The hatch behind me hisses. I must wait until it opens. Then I must rise from this chair. Then I must turn and face what waits for me out there.

We’re here, and then we’re gone,
he said to me,
and it’s not about the time we’re here.

There’s no unraveling us, no place where I end and he begins.

There’s no unraveling any of it. I am entwined with everything, from mayflies to the farthest star. I have no boundaries, I am limitless, and I open to creation like a flower to the rain.

I’m not cold anymore. The arms of the seven billion enfold me.

I rise.

Now I lay me down to sleep . . .

I draw in deep my final breath.

When in the morning light I wake . . .

I bite down hard. The seal breaks.

Teach me the path of love to take.

I step into the
out there,
and breathe.

ZOMBIE

I’VE REACHED THE GRAVEL PATH
that borders the security fence when the sun breaks the horizon—no, not the sun, it can’t be, unless the sun’s decided to rise in the north and has swapped its gold for green. I whip to my right and see the stars winking out one by one, obliterated by a massive burst of light on the edge of the northern horizon, an explosion in the upper atmosphere that washes over the landscape in a flood of blinding green.

My first thought is for the kids. I don’t know what the hell is happening and I haven’t connected the projectile hurtling from the base to the enormous northern flare. It doesn’t occur to me that for the first time in a very long time, something might have actually gone our way. Honestly, when I saw the light, I thought the bombardment had begun and I was witnessing the first salvo in the destruction of every city on Earth. The idea that the mothership could actually be gone didn’t even cross my radar. How could it be gone? That ship’s unassailable as the moon.

I hesitate, trying to decide whether to keep going or turn back. But the green light fades, the sky glows rosy again, and no terrified children burst from the woods seeking rescue. I decide to maintain my heading. I’ve got faith in Nugget. He’ll know to stay put till I return.

Ten minutes inside the base and I find the first of many bodies. The place is a tomb. I walk through fields of the dead. They lie in piles, groups of six to ten, their bodies contorted into portraits of silent agony. I stop to examine every gruesome stack, looking for two familiar faces; I’m not going to rush, though a voice screams in my head with each passing minute to
hurry,
hurry.
And in the back of my mind I’m remembering what happened at Camp Haven—how Vosch was willing to sacrifice the village in order to save it.

This might not be Ringer’s doing—it may be the result of Vosch exercising the final option.

It takes me hours to reach the last level, the bottom of this death pit.

She barely lifts her head when I open the stairwell door. I may have shouted her name; I don’t remember.

I also don’t remember stepping over Vosch’s body, but I must have: It was in my way. My boot hits the kill switch lying beside her. It skitters across the floor.

“Walker . . . ,” she gasps, pointing over my shoulder down the long hallway. “I think he’s—”

I shake my head. She’s hurt and still imagines I’d worry about him for even one second? I touch her shoulder. Her dark hair brushes the back of my hand. Her eyes shine. Their brightness goes all the way down.

“You found me,” she says.

I kneel beside her. I take her hand. “I found you.”

“My back is broken,” she says. “I can’t walk.”

I slide my arms beneath her. “I’ll carry
you.”