Finding Zach (25 page)

“We gave them all the information we were going to when he first came back,” Jane said indignantly. “What more do they want?”

Richard shrugged. “They weren’t happy with what we told them. They want more. They’re like bloodhounds, Jenny; they know there’s more to the story, and they want it. We didn’t make a big deal of Zach’s homecoming, but it’s gotten out that he’s living here now, and they want to talk to him directly. Get his ‘perspective’ on what happened. Hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

“We can’t,” Jane gasped. “Zach wouldn’t be able to stand it. As it is, I worry about him leaving the compound at all. Does this mean we have to keep him home?”

“No. No, that wouldn’t be good for him. Let’s just keep working with the security team at Tyler. Zach’s careful about not letting people know who he is and he looks different enough from what he did as a kid that he’s been lucky so far.”

“His luck’s not going to hold forever,” Jane said.

“No, but let’s hope he’s mentally in a better place by then.” Richard touched his forehead to hers. “In a worst-case scenario, we give a controlled interview with somebody who’ll let us authorize the story; that way we can manage what comes out. But I don’t even want to do that to Zach. He needs to have some time to recover before he has to dredge it all up again.”

“From your lips to God’s ear,” Jane whispered. Richard just folded his arms around her and held on tight.

Chapter 17

“I
DIDN
’
T
get a chance to look around the one time I was here,” David said. “Nice place. This stuff new, or did Alan leave it furnished?”

It was Sunday evening. Mike had headed over to his sister’s in Gunnison, and David and Zach had left the house a little while ago, ostensibly to watch some movies at Zach’s.

“No, most of his stuff was pretty old by the time he left,” Zach said. “The kitchen table was his, but he had this grotty plaid couch I dumped immediately. Mom and Dad gave me the TV for Christmas.”

David glanced around in puzzlement. The wine leather couch faced French doors leading out to the balcony overhanging the garage, and there was no sign of a television. “What TV?”

Zach picked up a remote from the end table and clicked a button. A screen descended from the ceiling in front of the French doors, completely blocking out the light and turning that wall into a movie screen. “You can set the size of the image,” Zach said, and pressed another button. An ESPN sports show appeared on the screen, covering only a small portion of the center. “Twenty-six-inch,” Zach said, and pressed another button. “Thirty-two. Thirty-eight. Forty-two… by six-inch increments, ’til you get to just about the whole screen. And the resolution doesn’t change; it’s still high-def.” He grinned as the screen went black, then the words “Star Wars—Episode IV” crawled across the now-enormous screen.

“You are such a geek. I take it that’s not a projection system, though.” David went to the wall and fingered the edge of the heavy fabric curtain.

“No, it’s new tech. Dad’s thinking about buying the company. Not so much for this as for some of their nanotech projects. This is just a toy, though it might be a godsend to the movie theater industry: every showing is as crisp and high-definition as the first, no film to distribute, deteriorate, or jam projectors—no projectors. Just nanoflix.”

“Nanoflix?”

“Yeah, that’s what I called it. Dad liked the name, though.”

The giant star destroyer cruised across the screen as David said thoughtfully, “You ever think about going back to school?”

“I think about it, yeah. You want something to drink?” Zach switched off the screen and it crawled silently back up into its holder on the ceiling.

“No, thanks. So… are you?”

“Drinking? Yeah.” Zach turned from the fridge, a Corona in his hand.

“Going back to school.”

“No.”

“Why not? You’re only twenty-two; it’s not like you’d stand out or something. Didn’t you get that scholarship to MIT?”

“MIT? Are you fucking nuts, Taff? I don’t even have a fucking GED, and places like MIT won’t even look at people with GEDs, anyway.”

“That’s bullshit. You could pass the GED in your sleep, and MIT would take you in a heartbeat.”

“Because of my dad’s money.”

“Your dad’s money didn’t get you the early admission, Zach. You’ve got brains….”

“I
had
brains,” Zach snapped. “Fuck, Taff, the first time I even heard of an iPhone was less than two years ago. I missed the digital revolution. I’m as clueless as a caveman. I listen to Dad talk about shit and he might as well be speaking Klingon. My folks got me the latest and greatest CAD software ’cause they know I used to love playing with it, and I don’t fucking understand how to even open the program!” He threw himself on the couch. “I’m a fucking Neanderthal. I can’t even work on newer cars ’cause I don’t understand their computer systems.” He drank, then set the bottle on the end table. “I’m down on points, Taff, and I don’t know if I can catch up.”

“You don’t have to win the game, Zach,” David said quietly, “you just have to play.” He sat down beside Zach and threaded his fingers through Zach’s. “Okay, maybe you’re not ready for prime time. Maybe you need to just recover some lost ground. Get the GED, maybe take some classes at UCo….”

“No,” Zach said. “Maybe some online classes. I’m not going to sit in a classroom and have people stare at me.” He swallowed and his fingers tightened on David’s. “Who I am and what I am and how I look—bad publicity for Tyler Tech, Taff. Especially if I’m taking remedial math classes and stuff.”

“Fuck Tyler Tech. Hire a tutor, then. Hell, I can tutor you. I’m teaching a
class
on Computer-Aided Design. Sure, it’s basic CAD, but you can use it as a refresher. Get you back up to speed. You can even audit some classes if you want. I’ll bet the admin at Wesley will let you register under a fake name if your dad asks.” He drew Zach’s fingers up to kiss them. “It’s not an insuperable obstacle, Zach. Just one small step after another.”

“I feel like I’m stumbling around in the dark,” Zach said wearily. “I don’t know where to go or what to do. I gave up in Venezuela, Taff. Nothing was ever going to change except whatever bullshit Esteban was going to pull that day. But it was
familiar
, like it was all I’d ever known—all I ever would know. The only dream I had was to kill Esteban, and I knew that would never happen. I didn’t dare think of what would happen after that. But here—now—I’ve got all kinds of choices, all kinds of options. And I don’t feel capable of a single one.”

“You are capable of
all
of them,” David said fiercely.

Zach said nothing, just turned and slid from the couch to his knees, laying his head against David’s thigh. David stroked the thick pelt of Zach’s hair as Zach wrapped his arms around David’s calves like a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood.

After a while David said, “What do you want to do, Zach?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what do you think you might
like
to do?”

Zach was quiet another long moment, then said, “Build things.”

“What kind of things? Houses? Buildings?”

“High-speed rail. Fusion power plants. Spacecraft. Nanomedical equipment.” Zach looked up at David, a spark in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Stuff that integrates the green-tech that Dad’s working on with stuff that’ll make the future happen.”

“See?” David smiled. “You do know what you want to do. And it’s brilliant. Beautiful.” He leaned forward and kissed Zach. “And do you know what I want?”

Zach released David’s legs to cup his face. “What?” he breathed.

“I want to watch you do it.” David kissed him again and stood. Drawing Zach to his feet, he pulled Zach’s face down toward his. “I want to be there when you do it. I want to be right by your side when you show the world what you’re made of.” He traced Zach’s cheek with one finger; his cheek, and his jaw, and his lips. “But you know what I want most of all?”

“What?” Zach whispered again.

“I want you to do what
you
want. Change the world—or not. Build a ladder to the stars—or not. Be what
you
want, ’cause whatever it is, it’ll be great because it’s you. And I love you.”

Zach’s eyes were blurry, but he could see well enough to kiss David. “Thank you,” he said against those soft lips.

T
HUNDER
rumbles. Esteban looks up from his computer where he’s probably watching snuff porn, and says, “Puppy needs a bath.” I whimper, knowing what comes next.

He gestures for Che to push the cage out into the middle of the camp, into the clearing that’s open to the sky. Lightning flashes to brighten the black sky, but it’s a camera-flash on a dark night, fast and fierce and gone instantly. I curl up in a ball as close as I can to the corner of the cage, knowing it won’t do any good, that the wire of the cage gives no protection from the violence of the tropical storm. Unimpeded by leaves, the rain will pummel the ground
—
and me. Sometimes it hails, and while the cage does protect me against the bigger, bone-breaking hailstones, it does nothing to guard me from the stinging, pellet-sized hail. Rain or hail, it doesn’t matter; it’s going to hurt.

But it doesn’t. The patter of raindrops is soft, and gentle, and warm. I remember a YouTube video of a choir of people imitating the sound of a storm by rubbing their hands and snapping their fingers. (Why do I remember YouTube? I’d never heard of it before the jungle swallowed me up.) This is like the finger-snapping
—
the soft pops of raindrops plopping.

I turn my face upward toward the soft rain, my eyes closed. A drop hits my lip and I lick, eager for the sweet taste of rainwater.

It tastes strange, metallic, like copper. Like blood.

I open my eyes.

Taff’s dead face gazes down at me. It’s scored and bloody, like the rest of his body, spread-eagled across the top of the cage. What I heard as the soft plop of rain are the drops of blood falling from dozens of knife wounds
—
little cuts, none of which individually would matter, but together have flayed Taff’s skin from his bones. His dead eyes stare at me, unseeing.

I scream.

The dead eyes don’t blink, but the dead lips form a word: “Zach…”

“
Z
ACH
! Zach, come on, wake up!!”

He blinked, and David’s face swam into view, David’s very alive, very frightened face. “Taff?” Zach’s voice was hoarse and his throat hurt.

“Jesus, Zach, scare the fucking shit out of me, why doncha?” David’s face was white, his eyes wild.

“Sorry. Nightmare.”

“Nightmare, my ass,” David said. “That
has
to be an understatement. I’ve never
heard
screaming like that.”

Zach reached up and touched his throat. His skin was wet. “What, did you throw water on me or something?”

“No, dweeb. That’s sweat. Fuck, I thought you were having convulsions. Then I thought one of those panic attacks, but I didn’t think you could have one of those in your sleep.”

“No, just nightmares.”

David sat back on his heels and rubbed his forehead. Zach sat up and grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his face. There was a big scarlet patch on one cheekbone. “I hit you,” he said flatly.

“No big,” David said. “You were just kind of flailing around and I walked into it. I’ve had worse.” He reached out and brushed his thumb across Zach’s lips. “Besides, now we’re even for me socking you last night. You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” Zach threw his legs over the side of the mattress and sat up.

“This happen a lot?” David asked quietly. “The nightmares, I mean?”

“Often enough,” Zach said curtly. “That’s why I moved up here. Used to wake my parents. Freaked ’em out.” He stood and reached for his sweats.

“Where you going?”

“Need a drink. My throat hurts.”

He went into the kitchen but bypassed the bottled water in the fridge for the bottle of Scotch on the counter, pouring himself three fingers’ worth and tossing that down. He relished the burn on his raw throat before refilling the glass. Then he crossed the floor to the couch, dropped down onto the leather cushions and gazed out the French doors at the lightening sky.

A minute later David joined him on the couch, not saying anything, not touching him, just sitting there. Zach said roughly, “No point both of us being up. Go back to bed.”

“Too much adrenaline in the system,” David said. “Not sleepy.”

“Sorry,” Zach said, and took a swig of his drink. “And before you ask, no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” David replied. He was quiet a moment, then said, “Wanna fuck?”

Zach froze in the act of raising his glass to his lips again. After a beat, he said, “Thanks for not asking that question when I had a mouthful of booze. This stuff’s expensive.”

“I thought about it,” David said, “but you’re right. Shouldn’t waste the good stuff. So.” He held up his hand. There was a condom between two fingers. “You—ahem—up for it?”