Crisped + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 2) (39 page)

And his first word. His first word! It wasn’t
dada
or
ma
or
cat
or
spoon
or
apple
like anything it
should
have been, anything that would have been
normal
for him to say, normal for the things that existed in his little world. No, his first word was
car
, and cars didn’t
exist
anymore, not really, they were all just burnt-out husks of rusted metal, all long since ransacked, sometimes with bones still in the driver’s seat. He didn’t even remember how he’d heard it or what brought it up, but they passed by a little shop, the screen door wide and welcome, tattered drapes hanging in the dirty windows, and there was a picture. A picture hanging on the wall, faded and cracked and it said
GET YOUR KICKS ON ROUTE 66
. Beneath the legend was a car with no top, a
convertible
, his mind had supplied from its dark recesses. And inside the convertible were happy, smiling people, part of a happy, smiling family, and they were getting their
kicks
, man. They were getting their
kicks
on route sixty-fucking-six. And his
son
. His
son
who lived in a world that was gray and muted and two-thirds dead, his son
smiled
. He
smiled
and he reached toward the happy, smiling people in their shiny convertible from Before and he said
car
.
Car. Car. Car. Car
.

Cavalo had been so shocked he’d almost dropped Jamie right then and there.

So yes. Here. Now. Cavalo laughed.

The bees didn’t understand. They tried to find more rubber bands to break, but there were none left.

He laughed.

Patrick boomed, “It appears he’s lost his mind. Can you
see
?
This
is the man you’ve all been
afraid
of.
This
is the man they tell
stories
about. He was your
ghost
in the woods, your
monster
that would come at night.
This man
. How can you be afraid of
this man
? He is
broken
, and he is
defeated
, and he is
nothing
. This will be his ending. This will be the ending of
all things
, of this fucked-up and fractured world. I will give you power. I will give you missiles. I will give you motherfucking atoms that
split
until they blossom into
fire
.”

The Dead Rabbits screamed in response. The ones with guns took aim at Cavalo and Lucas. At Bad Dog, whose ears flattened against his head, tail tucking between his legs. At Richie, who stood by his side. They took aim at Bill and Aubrey. Hank and Alma.

Cavalo just
laughed
.

“I’m done with you,” Patrick said, his voice crackling angrily in the static, the
thumpthumpthumpthump
heavy all around them. “Robot.”

For a moment nothing happened. For a moment Cavalo stopped laughing and held his breath.

Then, “Yes, Father.” Voice flat and blaring and mechanical.

“Do you see Cavalo?”

Hesitation. Then, “Yes, Father.”

“Do you
see
him?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. Robot. I want you to go to him.”

Cavalo narrowed his eyes.

Even above the helicopter, he could hear the moment SIRS started moving, his metal feet scraping against the concrete.

He knew the command keys. He didn’t think Patrick knew he knew them.

This—

The robot stood beside him, his arm brushing against Cavalo’s, the first touch they’d shared since SIRS broke his wrist and escaped the prison.

And his eyes were just as red then as they were now.

The robot didn’t look down at Cavalo.

He only had eyes for Patrick.

Patrick, perched on this throne of technology, the key to the future etched into his skin and the skin of his son.

Cavalo whispered, “I gave a man butter—”

Patrick lost the showman’s smile. “Robot,” he said, speaking into the mic. “Do not let him speak.”

SIRS moved then. A flash of silver amongst the spinning snow. A cold metal hand closed over Cavalo’s face, grip tight, those spider-fingers stretching out over his nose and mouth, curling around his eyes, the tips into his hair.

There were shouts of anger. Of warning. Of triumph.

“Hold him out to me,” he heard Patrick say, and Cavalo was
pulled
by his
face
, the pressure bordering
painpainpain
and thinking his skull would crack and split. He brought his hands up, grabbing onto the robot’s arms, his feet scrabbling for purchase behind him, dragging in the snow.

And then there was nothing. Nothing below his feet.

The pressure stretched into his neck as he held on to the robot with his hands, feet kicking out into nothing. His breath was rattling dangerously in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears enough to almost wash out the sound of the helicopter.

SIRS, his friend, one of his very first, was holding him over the edge of the dam by his face. Cavalo could only focus on the hand that held him, the way he felt heavy and weightless all at the same time. The way his hands gripped his friend’s arm, his broken wrist screaming, the bees screaming, everything just
screaming
. Cavalo heard his own muffled groans, his pleas.

The whine and thump of the helicopter grew louder, and out of the corner of his eye, Cavalo could see the machine getting closer, the wind stronger. The helicopter hovered briefly near the edge of the dam, and for a moment nothing happened.

Then Patrick stepped out onto Dworshak. The axe strapped to his back caught a blinking light at the bottom of the helicopter, causing a brief shining reflection mixed in with the snow. His coat whipped around his body. He looked strong. Amused.

The helicopter pulled away, moving up behind SIRS, hovering above the partially collapsed building, at the rear of the dam. The noise from the machine was noticeable but no longer deafening. Cavalo could actually hear himself think now, but none of it was good because it was all
DEFCON 1
and
LOSE SOMETHING, CHARLIE
and
I CAN’T BREATHE I ALMOST CAN’T BREATHE.

Patrick, of course, took his time.

He moved slowly, every step deliberate. He was calm. Cool. Collected, and in
charge
. He
knew
he had won, he
knew
they hadn’t stood a chance, maybe more so than Cavalo ever had, because Cavalo had come here expecting to die. Expecting all of them to die. To kill Lucas if he had to so no one would get the map on his skin.

But now.

Now
Patrick had Cavalo hanging off into nothingness. Patrick had Lucas back in his hands. Patrick had guns pointed at the people who had followed Cavalo into the dark, even though he’d never wanted them, never wanted to mean
anything
to them. They’d made mistakes. They’d killed innocent people in the name of survival. Cavalo had been no better (undoubtedly much, much worse), but he’d judged them and
they still followed him
.

He said, “SIRS, please don’t do this. Please help us.”

It came out muffled and intelligible.

He thought he felt the spider-fingers tighten briefly, but the eyes remained red.

Patrick stopped in front of Lucas, who was now restrained by two Dead Rabbits standing on either side of him, hands curled around his biceps. Patrick reached out and dragged his fingers along Lucas’s cheek, wiping away a smudge of black. Lucas’s eyes were dark with rage, and Cavalo thought maybe he too had been submerged. He waited for Lucas to lash out with claws and teeth, but it didn’t happen, even if his skin vibrated with it.

“Stay,” Patrick said. “Good boy.”

Lucas only stared murderously.

He ignored Bad Dog and Richie, both held off to the side, Richie with a knife to his throat, Bad Dog growling at the end of a catchpole, the noose circled crudely around his neck. The dog was saying
no
and
Tin Man
and
MasterBossLord please don’t hurt please don’t.
But since only Cavalo could hear him, his cries went unanswered.

Patrick came to stand next to SIRS. He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head.

Patrick said, “I didn’t want it to come to this.”

Cavalo didn’t believe him. He struggled and kicked, his arms tiring.

“I didn’t,” Patrick said. “My hope was that we could have found a peaceful solution to all of this. I told myself when I left St. Louis that I would do anything I could to protect the people who deserved it. That we would survive by whatever means necessary. You know. My son and I.”

Kill you
, Cavalo thought.
Kill you. Kill you. Kill you.

“They were like monkeys when I found them,” Patrick said, glancing back at the Dead Rabbits, an almost fond expression on his face. “Living in the trees. Crude. Some semblance of hierarchy. It was funny, really. I stumbled upon them and expected to be eaten then and there. Instead they made me their god. It was their weakness, Cavalo. They desperately needed guidance with a harsh yet loving hand, and I knew no one else could do it like I could. So I accepted my responsibility. My lot in life. My fate or my destiny. However you want to see it.”

The showman’s smile fell away. Cavalo could see the monster hidden in his depths rising up.

“Then there was you,” Patrick said.

Cavalo futilely kicked his legs again. He thought he heard the metal in the robot’s arm creak.

“You,” Patrick said, “a mere slip of a man. A forgotten relic. A
ghost
. You chose to defy me with such
fire
that I could not help but be awed. Enraged, yes, but awed. You took from me what was mine. You fought for something that never belonged to you. You convinced a town of frightened
sheep
to go against me. I am in such awe of you, Cavalo, and I wish this could end differently. But it can’t, because as long as there is someone like you, some
thorn
in my side, then… well. I guess it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, speaking only for Cavalo. “They’re
scared
of you,” he said. “The Dead Rabbits. Seeing me kill you will only cement my position as a deity. I thank you for your sacrifice.”

Kill you. Kill you. Kill you.

Patrick must have understood what Cavalo’s muffled protests had meant. His eyes softened, and he clucked his tongue. “If it’s any solace, I’m sure your wife and son are waiting for you. You’ll be with them soon. Rest, Cavalo. Leave me here to do my work, and you can just
rest
. Robot.”

SIRS straightened, eyes brightening. “Yes.”

Patrick frowned, but it fell away quickly. “You hold in your hand a mistake that must be corrected.”

“A mistake.”

“A
mistake
. We are going to demonstrate what happens to those who chose to stand against me. And how fitting would it be to have his blood spilled upon this place, this glorious construction that will be our future. Robot. I want you to crush his skull in your hands. I want you to do it slowly. And once his body has stopped twitching, you will drop him off the edge, and he will be
nothing
. You don’t
fuck
with a god!”

The Dead Rabbits roared their approval.

“Robot!” Patrick bellowed. “Kill James Cavalo!”

And Sentient Integrated Response System said, “
No
.”

The quiet fell immediately. All that could be heard was the
thumpthumpthump
of the machine hovering overhead.

Cavalo opened his eyes. They felt like they bulged from the pressure on his skull.

The robot’s eyes were red. And they watched him.

“What was that?” Patrick asked, low and dangerous.

SIRS began to click and grind. “I am… there is
nothing
. Most…
most
… direct.
Directive
. Directive four, eight, fifteen, sixteen, twenty-three, forty-two. D-d-direct—” His head rocked back, eyes pointed toward the nuclear-struck sky. He blared, “
MOST UNFORTUNATELY IN THE LIVES OF PUPPETS THERE IS ALWAYS A ‘BUT’ THAT SPOILS EVERYTHING
.” The gears ground together. The robot sparked and sered and that deep burning came from inside him, more pungent and severe than it had ever been before, as if it was cancerous and eating him from the inside out.

For a moment, the pressure on Cavalo’s head increased, and he thought
this is it this is it this is—

The robot’s head fell forward again. His eyes flashed between red and yellow and orange, and in that orange, that warm fire orange, Cavalo saw glimpses of his friend, the robot who’d saved him again and again, and he was
fighting
it, he was
fighting
the commands of Patrick, and they were
running out of time
—