Absynthe, page 32
Liam did so, and an inflatable slide expanded. It took some time, but they managed to get everyone down safely. As several of the others began setting up a rough camp, Liam and Jonathan, the curly haired technician who’d been stung by Dakota, went to the lower compartment.
Like the upper compartment, the walls of the lower compartment were riddled with bullet holes. Secured with straps in beds were Morgan, Alan, Dakota, and Ruby. While Morgan and Dakota were both unconscious, Alan was awake and seemed little more than dazed. Ruby, however, wasn’t breathing. Blood coated her gown along her left side. The bullet wound at the center of it was a deep crimson, the blood still tacky.
Liam felt so much regret looking into the lax features of her face. She’d been tortured, twisted by the strain she’d been infected with, but a kernel of her former self had remained. Her loss was another among the many De Pere would pay for.
Jonathan, on the other hand, hardly looked at her. With wooden movements, he unstrapped Alan and guided him from the compartment. Alan complied without a word and sat against the trunk of the pine tree Jonathan led him to.
Morgan and Dakota took more effort. Their beds were detachable, becoming stretchers that could be used to transport them through the escape hatch. Working together, Liam and Jonathan brought them to the clearing where the others had gathered. After a brief inspection, they found that Morgan had suffered abrasions where the straps had held him down during the crash. Dakota was similarly hurt and was breathing heavily. All things considered, the two of them were doing well.
Liam was about to regroup with Stasa when he noticed Jonathan lingering. He was staring intently at Dakota while rubbing the bloody bandage on the back of his neck. That he’d been infected by Dakota’s sting was hardly in doubt—the barb had sunk too deep for it to be otherwise. The real questions were which of the three strains she’d chosen to infect him with, and how long it would take before he succumbed. The answers would have to wait. At the least, days would pass before the first of Jonathan’s symptoms manifested. They needed to get out of this forest alive first. Then they could tend to Jonathan’s health.
“Come on,” Liam said.
Jonathan glanced over, as if just remembering Liam was there. He nodded numbly and accompanied Liam to where Stasa was kneeling on the ground and the others were tending to the wounded.
“What now?” Liam asked Stasa.
Before Stasa was an open, metal chest, the largest of their medical kits. Inside it was a black box with a speaker on the front face, a portable wireless. When Stasa picked it up and turned a dial on the front face, its speaker popped then hissed softly. “We wait for communication from the others.”
“What about the Cabal?” Liam waved to the hulking form of the fallen lab and the parachutes hanging from the trees. “It won’t be long before they find us.”
“Well, we can’t move,” Stasa said. “Too many are wounded.”
That didn’t seem to sit well with Jonathan, who had a deep scowl. “How did they find the Nest, anyway?” His gaze drifted to Morgan and Dakota, as if he’d already made up his mind as to the answer.
Stasa, following Jonathan’s gaze, said, “I doubt it was them.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because the Nest was miles away from everyone and everything—that was the entire purpose of its location.”
“Yet you yourself admitted we aren’t certain how the new scourge strain is affecting them. We don’t know if they’re able to communicate over long distances like the psis can.”
“The sedative we gave them suppresses that ability.”
“And yet”—Jonathan flung a hand toward Dakota—“she did what she did.” His angry gaze shifted to Liam. “And there’s no telling how long your friend’s going to last. He may become like her at any moment.”
“I think we’re safe for the time being,” Stasa said in a calm yet stern voice.
Jonathan said nothing in reply, but his eyes had drifted to the medical chest in front of Stasa. Among various bandages, tape, vials of liquid and syringes, was a compact firearm, a Walther Model 9.
With more calm than Liam was certain he, himself, could have managed, Stasa closed the lid of the chest, an answer to Jonathan’s unspoken question.
Jonathan’s nostrils flared. His jaw worked. “I’m going to go scout the river,” he said, then headed away.
It wasn’t the wisest move for anyone to break away from the group, but Liam supposed Stasa was right: they probably were safe for now, and Jonathan needed time to cool down.
The mood around their makeshift camp lightened, and Liam’s thoughts returned to his interlinked dreams.
“While I was asleep,” he said to Stasa, “I remembered more about my past.”
“Same pattern as before?” Stasa asked. “You, then Colette?”
Liam nodded. “In mine, Colette injected me with the permanent serum. She’d already taken it herself.” He paused, considering. “It seems important that we were the first two.”
“You got it before Kohler?”
“Apparently so.”
Stasa chewed on the information while laying out several bottles of medicine. “Maybe that’s why your dreams keep chaining together as they do. You getting the permanent serum immediately after Colette might have linked the two of you in ways that couldn’t have been predicted at the time.”
“There’s more.” Liam found himself shivering as he told Stasa about the terrible feelings of loneliness Colette had experienced, the feeling of being controlled. “She wrote about it in a journal, but by the end, she was writing to someone else.”
Stasa frowned. “How do you mean?”
“It felt as if the serum had created something within her, a dark presence. She called it Echo. Or actually, it called itself Echo. She was so fearful of it she took out a gun and held it to her head. She nearly pulled the trigger.”
Worry lines appeared across Stasa’s forehead. It was a while before he replied, “Have you heard of Multiple Personality Disorder?”
Liam shook his head.
“Under times of extreme, prolonged stress, the mind can disassociate with reality. It splits, and distinct personalities are formed. It can arise from childhood trauma, from experiences undergone during war, but also as a reaction to medical procedures or psychoactive medicines. You and Grace have both said Colette was worried about what had become of her work. She was apparently wracked by grief over what President Nolan and De Pere had already done with it, and what they would do with it. And there was the serum itself, a substance that has not yet been studied in depth for its long-term effects. It could be that she reacted to it in a strongly negative way, creating the new personality you saw. It might have been a way for her to compartmentalize her own actions, those she deemed wrong or outright evil.”
Liam recalled how coldly Colette had acted toward him after waking. Maybe she had already shifted toward the part of her named Echo. And in the days and weeks that followed, things changed even more—with Colette, with Kohler, with the Devil’s Henchmen. The war intensified, and those many relationships, their collective, became strained. Colette became progressively more irritable, even toward Major De Pere, who back then was not only charismatic but also level-headed, sane, one of the least deserving of Colette’s scorn. Liam was now certain that—whatever worries De Pere and Colette may have had about politics putting a halt to things—the squad had taken the permanent serum. What the circumstances might have been, and what it had led to, Liam couldn’t recall.
Since meeting with De Pere at the flashtrain ceremony, and later with Grace, Liam had felt as if his slowly unfolding memories were leading toward understanding, yet it still lay out of reach. It was frustrating beyond measure, but there was nothing he could do about it. He seemed to have no control over when these memories surfaced.
At movement to his right, Liam turned to see Jonathan sprinting back toward the camp. “The Cabal!” he said in a breathless rush. “They’re here. A squad’s moving along the river toward . . .”
His voice trailed away as he stared where Dakota and Morgan were lying.
Liam turned to look. Both were still strapped onto their stretchers. But Morgan’s eyes were now fluttering, as if he were half in dream and half awake. And Dakota’s eyes were open. She was staring at the sky, and her lips were moving, as if she were whispering to someone.
“She’s speaking to them!” Jonathan’s voice was fearful and high-pitched. “They have a scourge with them. That’s how they know where we are.”
Liam touched Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan opened his eyes and stared up dreamily. “They’re coming,” he said. “They’re already close.”
His eyes fluttered closed. Liam shook him until he’d opened them again. “Fight them, Morgan.”
“I’m trying.” Morgan swallowed hard. Tears gathered in his deeply bloodshot eyes. The blue veins running through the skin around them were stark under the light of the sun. “But it’s getting harder.”
“Jonathan, no!” Stasa shouted.
Liam spun to find Jonathan standing near Dakota. He had the Walther from the medical kit. His face was red and angry. His hand was shaking. The gun was pointed at Dakota’s head.
Liam raised his hand and approached slowly. “Please, just lower the gun.”
“Don’t you get it?” Jonathan said in a rasp. “It’s not just us, here, who they’re putting in danger. It’s everyone in the country. Everyone in the world!”
Liam took another step forward. “That’s why we need to—”
His words were interrupted by the gun’s loud report. A hole appeared in Dakota’s head, a burst of red on the fabric beneath. Jonathan fired again, causing her head to jerk to one side, and another hole appeared beside the first.
Liam was certain Morgan was next. He worked as fast as he could, calling into being an illusion of Morgan rising, sprinting toward the fallen lab.
Jonathan tracked him. Fired once, twice, as the fake Morgan sprinted on.
By then, Liam was charging full-tilt. He grabbed Jonathan’s wrist, then drove him to the pine needle-covered ground. He forced Jonathan’s face down, twisted his gun hand around his back, and wrestled the gun from his grasp.
“Liam,” Stasa said in a strained voice. He was staring at Alan, who’d turned toward the river.
Liam followed Alan’s gaze and saw, through a narrow gap in the trees, a man in a black uniform bearing a rifle. Another soldier followed close behind. Neither appeared to have spotted their camp so far, but it would be only moments before they did.
Liam stared at Dakota’s unmoving form, then at Morgan, whose eyes were fluttering once more. “Can you sedate him?” he said in a low voice to Stasa.
Stasa nodded, then worked quickly to administer a sedative to Morgan’s neck.
Liam, meanwhile, pointed the others toward a clutch of pine trees. “Everyone, go there. Take Morgan and hide in the trees.”
They’d just started to comply when one of the Cabal soldiers shouted, calling to the others. More soldiers became visible, a full squad, followed by what looked to be a man in green overalls, likely the scourge Morgan had been speaking to.
“What are you going to do?” Stasa asked.
“I’m going to lead them away,” Liam said, “but only if you hurry.”
As those who could helped the rest toward the trees, Liam calmed himself, spread his arms wide, and cast an illusion. Though the Cabal soldiers were close enough to see, he took his time—he was tired, and he had to make sure this worked. The illusion showed himself, Stasa, and the others fleeing through the woods, away from the crash site. At the same time, he masked their true location.
It wasn’t long before the first of the soldiers reached the fallen lab. Coming behind was indeed a scourge, a man of middling years with salt-and-pepper hair, stark blue veins, and black pits for eyes.
Behind them came a familiar looking mechanika that made Liam gape in wonderment. Dear God, it was Alastair, and he was strolling beside the soldiers as if he were with them.
At first Liam had no idea what to make of it. But then more and more pieces of this strange puzzle fell into place: Alastair being deactivated by the strange flashing light from the cop car; Liam’s discovery of him being suddenly awake in the room above the pneumatics garage, and again on the Eisvögel; Alastair wandering the Nest as if he were taking inventory, then staring down at the ground from the edge of a catwalk.
The Cabal had found Alastair, probably right after Kohler had attacked Liam outside Dr. Ramachandra’s office. They’d found him and reprogrammed him to act as a spy. He’d surely reported their whereabouts and actions until they reached the Nest, the pride of the Uprising. Liam was now certain that when he’d spotted Alastair at the platform’s edge, he’d been sending a signal to the Cabal, giving away the Nest’s position.
Alastair had been the one to call the attack down on the Nest.
Thirty-Nine
By the time the Cabal search party reached the Nest’s breakaway compartment, the illusions Liam had created of their fleeing forms were gone, apparently lost to the woods beyond. Some of the search party headed inside the compartment, while others combed the area around it. The man in green overalls, the scourge, came perilously close to where Stasa and the others were hidden. Liam was right there, his mind bent on making sure that the only thing the Cabal agents saw beyond the fallen compartment and the parachutes was an empty forest.
He wasn’t confident the illusion would work on the scourge, though. He didn’t understand their nature well enough. And even if it did work, there was the very real possibility he’d sense Morgan, even unconscious.
Liam breathed a sigh of relief as the scourge moved on with the others, following the path Liam had laid for them. As they moved beyond the crash site, Liam was finally able to spare enough concentration for something more. He chose one of the Cabal scouts, the one who seemed most eager, and dropped into his perceptions the faint sound of a breaking branch.
“Over here!” the scout called and sprinted ahead of the others.
Then Liam tried something dangerous, something he’d never done before. He wrapped the scout in his own eagerness. He gave him the will to continue along the trail and find what he was most desperate to find: more clues that would lead him to the survivors of the crash.
“I hear them!” he called, pointing to something beyond Liam’s field of vision.
It was risky, but Liam couldn’t keep up the illusions forever. He was too tired, and he needed his concentration for the second part of his plan. As the search party, including the scourge, followed the overeager scout, Liam pulled out his pen knife, unfolded the blade, and gripped it tightly. Then he isolated Alastair and laid something different over his senses—the sound of a cat, Fireplug, Morgan’s tabby from the Aysana estate. She had a strange, growling sort of mewl, especially when she was hungry.
Alastair slowed on hearing the sound. He’d always loved that cat. He turned and stared into the forest’s emptiness. He strode stiffly over a patch of grass-covered ground as if he wasn’t sure that separating himself from the search party was allowed. But then he seemed to commit himself to a short search and began taking confident strides forward.
“What are you doing?” Stasa hissed from the trees.
Alastair noticed. His head swiveled in their direction, but he turned back as Fireplug meowed again. Liam made them longer, progressively more pained, and Alastair’s pace quickened. He searched more desperately for Fireplug.
Stasa left the trees and gripped Liam’s arm. “You’re going to get us caught,” he said, though this time Liam was ready and masked the sound from Alastair.
“They don’t get to take Alastair.”
“He’s already theirs,” Stasa said evenly.
“No, he’s not,” was all Liam had time to say.
When Alastair came abreast of him, he charged and sent all his weight into the mechanika’s lighter frame. Alastair stumbled, but his reflexes were good. He nearly recovered. When Liam hooked one of his ankles, however, he went sprawling to the soft earth.
Gripping his pen knife tightly, Liam sent the blade’s tip into the narrow gap surrounding his front access panel. But Alastair was not only quick, he was strong. He snatched Liam’s wrist. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to do that, sir. The Cabal wouldn’t like it.”
Liam managed to rip his arm away, scraping his wrist bloody in the process. He tried stabbing the knife again, but again Alastair was too swift. He caught Liam’s wrist, and this time there was no stopping him. Alastair’s other arm, the one with the repeating rifle, swung around. His hand cocked downward, exposing the barrels’ mouths.
Liam struggled, but Alastair was simply too strong. The rifle’s aim tilted toward Liam’s head. Just as it was coming in line, someone swept in and fell upon it. The barrels spun and fired twice, shattering the silence.
Stasa, Liam realized, was the one who’d swept in. He was pressing his weight on Alastair’s arm, aiming it away from Liam. Jonathan came flying in a moment later, along with the nurse who’d tended to Morgan most often. Together they weighed Alastair down, keeping him immobile.
Liam, meanwhile, stabbed his pen knife into the narrow gap at the top of the access door, then worked it back and forth until the latch inside was freed. He’d had to do just this when Morgan’s youngest sister, Lily, had hidden Alastair’s keys from him.
The access door popped open. Alastair, despite the others trying to keep him in check, managed to tear his left arm free and club Liam hard, but Liam was already pressing the sequence of keys that would shut Alastair down. Stasa took a metal fist to the forehead before Liam managed it.
As Stasa rolled away, moaning and holding his head, Alastair went limp. His eyes dimmed. After a moment they brightened and dimmed once more, the cycle indicating that Alastair had entered quiescence.
