Fungus of the Heart (15 page)

“Your wife ain’t touched,” the middle-aged woman says. “I seen the creature too. I can corroborate her story.”

But I trust this hick even less than my wife.

“Tell them you can’t remember,” I say to my wife.

She nods.

And I run.

A few times, I stumble on steps and the roots bulging from the earth, and I remember the veins that swelled on my mother’s forehead whenever she exercised or threw my father’s porcelain horses at the wall. She limited herself to only destroying a couple every few weeks, because she wanted them to last.

Eventually, I end up catching my breath beside what looks like a fallen petrified tree. But no, I read about this in the brochure. Log Rock’s a natural sandstone bridge, and my Filter’s supposed to edit out all the vandalism, the names and messages scratched into the stone.

For a few moments, however, I see enormous letters that run almost the entire length of the bridge.

THE MONSTER IS INSIDE.

And I hear a chorus of screams.

Then, silence.

*

I follow the escort into the Coal Mining Museum and Guardian Headquarters, up the stairs, to a large office on the fourth floor.

Standing in front of Warden Rose is almost like looking in a mirror. The same buzz cut. The same color suit. And if you squinted, you might mistake one tie for the other.

While the escort whispers into the Warden’s ear, I let my eyes explore the photographs on the wall. Photographs that the Warden obviously acquired from the exhibits, because the pictures impart a bloody history of the coal industry. Mining accidents, burning houses, dead families. I also see some newer photos of the reconstruction, when the mines were transformed into the jail it is today.

Warden Rose shakes my hand, smiles. “Do you always bring suits along on your camping trips, Mr. Carter?”

“Yes,” I say.

He sits, and motions for me to do the same.

I obey.

Then he leans forward, frowning. “I want you to know, we’re making every effort to find your son. We already tracked down his Filter, but I’m afraid the device wasn’t attached to his head.”

My head vibrates with a shiver. “Would such a removal cause him any permanent damage?”

“That depends on our enemy’s knowledge of Filters, and the tools at his disposal. For now, let’s assume your son is alive and well.”

I nod. “Do you have any leads?”

“Yes. But I didn’t call you here to brief you on the investigation. Your desire to assist in this case is understandable. However, you aren’t qualified—”

“I fought in the war, Warden Rose. I’m more than capable of—”

“With all due respect, Mr. Carter, your attempts to help would only reduce your son’s chances of survival. I read your file, and I know you’re a man of myriad abilities. But this is a matter of harmony. If I allowed you to enter our system, we could no longer synchronize and achieve perfection. I hope you understand, I’m not trying to insult you. I only want to save your son.”

I still feel angry, but I also feel more respect for this man and his organization. “I understand.”

“Good. Now.” The warden taps a button on his desk, and a monitor lowers from the ceiling. “As you must know, there are security cameras in place throughout Kingdom Come. One such camera captured the initial moments of the kidnapping.” He presses another moment.

And I see a monster with black matted fur and metallic fangs. It pushes my wife’s chest. Snatches up my son. Runs.

Then the warden turns off the monitor. “I don’t blame you for not believing your wife. Like me, you’re a man who refuses to accept outlandish stories without empirical data.”

A hint of guilt tingles in my gut, but the feeling’s soon overpowered by rage. I told my wife not to talk about the monster, and she did so anyway.

“But now you’ve seen the truth,” the warden says. “Now you can give your wife the validation she needs. Don’t tell her about the recording. Just tell her you believe her. And convince her that what she saw was a man in a suit. I’m sure she’ll see reason, if it’s coming from you.”

I nod.

“One more bit of advice,” Warden Rose says. “Take your wife to the show tonight. I hear our guest is a genius in his field.”

“I’m not in the mood for comedy,” I say.

“That’s exactly why you should attend. Laughter is the best medicine, Mr. Carter. At least promise me that you’ll consider the matter further.”

“Alright.”

“Good.” The Warden stands, and I do the same. “I’ll contact you as soon as I find your son.”

“Thank you.”

We shake hands.

And halfway to the door, I turn around. I almost forgot. “My Filter’s been malfunctioning ever since my son was taken.”

The Warden sits. “How so?”

“The audio and visual editor shut off once, for a few seconds. And my dialectal translator doesn’t seem to be working at all anymore.”

Warden Rose rubs his eyes. “I apologize for the inconvenience. To be honest, the Filters have a hell of a time coping with the effects of heartbreak. Still, this is no excuse. My Guardians assured me they’d stomped all the bugs in this new model, and they’re going to suffer for their failure, I assure you. I’ll send a technician to your tent tonight, and he’ll fix your Filter while you sleep.”

“Thank you,” I say.

And all the way back to my tent, I search myself for the heartbreak warden Rose spoke of.

Sure, I find annoyance, outrage.

But I don’t feel any sorrow.

In fact, I can’t even picture my son’s face.

*

The Guardian tries to stand, fails.

So I help him to his feet. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says. “It ate my gun, knocked me unconscious. I’m sorry.”

I check the tent.

Empty.

And still, I don’t feel anything but anger.

Anger at the monster, of course.

Anger at this pathetic excuse for a Guardian.

And more than that, anger at myself. Because what kind of man doesn’t protect his own family?

A man like my father, that’s who.

I punch my forehead, hard.

And a few hours later, I’m lost among the trees. This isn’t easy to accomplish, due to my impeccable sense of direction. But I manage, somehow.

Once again, the natural world makes me feel small, connected.

Calm.

And I realize, I’m not even looking for my wife and son anymore.

Because without my fury, I’m numb.

Empty.

Or maybe not.

Maybe the words on Log Rock were meant for me.

Maybe there’s a monster inside me.

I laugh at the thought, and then feel an aggressive desire to return to my tent.

But I ignore the emotion.

Eventually, I find myself staring at a patch of thirty two luminescent flowers, and part of me hopes that my Filter will malfunction again.

Then my wish comes true.

And there are thirty two men and women sitting on blackened circles of earth, weeping, screaming, the hairs on their bodies sticking straight out.

They look ridiculous.

I search their faces, looking for my father.

He was caught four years ago, so there’s a chance he’s serving his time here.

I used to tell myself that I didn’t want to confront my father, but right now I feel eager, desperate.

And I don’t know if I want to hug him or kill him.

Probably the latter.

But I don’t find out, because he’s not one of the men.

As I sit there, watching them shake and jerk in agony, I begin to feel a faint cramp in my chest.

Empathy.

I feel sorry for these insurrectionary bastards, when I can’t even muster the same sentiment for my own missing family.

There must be something truly wrong with me.

“You deserve this,” I whisper.

These people are political prisoners of the worst kind. And if the Guardians didn’t force these traitors onto the anomalies, the unhampered energy would erupt and find another human body to bind with. Man, woman, or child.

The energy doesn’t discriminate.

So if someone has to suffer, better the guilty than the innocent.

Better them than me.

*

According to Warden Rose, criminals are like coal. If you press them hard enough, they’ll eventually become diamonds. But once in a great while, the Guardians find themselves clashing with an unfortunate soul beyond help, beyond hope.

Hunter Hill is one such devil.

“I can’t give you back your family,” the warden says. “But I can give you Hunter.”

So about thirty minutes later, I’m underground, in a white room, holding the warden’s gift, tight.

Hunter struggles against the ropes.

Useless.

I let out a primal roar, and judging by Hunter’s expression, I’m a monster in his altered vision.

A monster with black matted fur and metallic fangs.

Just like the warden promised.

“Beg,” I say. “Beg for your life.”

Hunter trembles. “I ain’t playin’ your games no more, Rose.”

“I’m not the warden.”

“Whoever. Just do what you come to do, and let me back in my cage.”

“You’re not going anywhere until you beg.”

“No.”

I growl and slash his face with my claw.

“Fuck you, Rose,” Hunter says.

“My name is Samson Carter,” I say.

“Don’t ring no bells.”

“You killed my family.” I take the gun out of my pocket.

And how this looks to Hunter, I don’t know. Maybe I’m ripping the weapon out of my flesh.

“I knew you was Rose,” Hunter says.

“Will you stop saying that?” I say. “I’m Samson Carter.”

“You got the warden’s gun.”

“He let me borrow it.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t never let anybody touch your pistol.”

After a deep breath, I point the gun at his face. “You killed my family, and now you’re going to die.”

“I ain’t no killer. That’s why I got sent here in the first place.”

“Shut up.” I cock the hammer.

A tear rolls down the bastard’s cheek, and he closes his eyes. “Goodbye, Earl.”

I lower the gun. “Who’s Earl?”

“I weren’t talkin’ to you.”

Again, I point the gun between his eyes. “Who’s Earl?”

“A better man than you.”

And I consider pressing the matter further, because I see love and respect for this man swarming in Hunter’s eyes. And if this Earl is a prisoner in this facility, maybe I could torture him in front of Hunter.

The warden would probably permit me that right.

But I’m feeling more than a little tired.

So I pull the trigger.

And Hunter’s skull bursts with fall colors, dazzling my eyes.

I laugh.

Then metallic fangs gnaw on my innards, and I double over and vomit.

I’ve killed men like Hunter many times before.

But somehow, this feels different.

I feel different.

And maybe the warden was wrong about me.

Maybe I’m not brokenhearted.

Maybe I’m just broken.

*

I try to stand, fail.

The audience laughs.

I’m in a cave, and Guardians fill the amphitheater risers, and Warden Rose approaches me, smiling.

“What am I doing here?” I say.

“You’re here for the show,” the warden says. “You’re going to entertain us with your comedy.”

“What?”

Warden Rose helps me to my feet, then points his pistol at my face. “Get on your knees.”

I obey.

“Beg for mercy,” he says.

“Why are you—”

“Beg!”

“Please. Don’t shoot me.”

“You can do better than that.”

I force my hands together. “Don’t shoot me!”

The Guardians laugh.

Warden Rose lowers his weapon, and smirks. “You’re pathetic. You know that, don’t you?”

I don’t move a muscle.

“I asked you a question, Earl,” the warden says, looking right at me.

“What?” I say.

“I said you know you’re pathetic, don’t you, Earl?”

I don’t know why he’s calling me that, but I nod anyway. “Yes.”

“Good. Now we can start the second act.” He presses a button on a remote.

And my mind surges with fear, and I imagine my body filled with TNT.

But, of course, I don’t explode.

Instead, my Filter hums and drops off the back of my head.

“I have some questions for you,” the warden says. “They should be easy enough for an intelligent young man such as yourself. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I say, because he’s still holding the gun.

“Who are you?”

“Samson Carter.”

“Wrong.” And he shoots my leg.

I collapse, screaming.

The audience cheers.

“Let’s try that again.” The warden points his gun at my other leg. “What’s your name?”

But I don’t answer, consumed by my hatred for this man.

“Hurry now,” the warden says. “Before your time runs out. What’s your name?”

“Earl,” I say.

The warden nods. “Now tell me the names of your wife and son.”

I grasp at shadows. “I don’t know.”

And in fact, I don’t think I ever knew.

“One last question, Earl,” the warden says. “What’s your last name?”

I open my mouth to say, “Carter.”

Then the fog clears.

And I know myself again.

“Hill,” I say.

That’s the right answer, but he shoots my leg anyway.

Just like I knowed he would.

“Enough questions.” The bastard points at a space behind me. “Let’s begin act three.”

I look back.

And John Miller, the Curator, winks at me, standin’ beside a small glass box.

“Fuck you, Miller,” I say, and turn back. “Fuck you, Rose.”

Rose chuckles, then flicks his hand. “Put him in.”

I struggle against his foot soldiers.

Useless.

So they get to work.

And I think about what they done to me.

Raped my mind with their fuckin’ machine.

Made me act like ’em.

Think like ’em.

Even tricked me into killin’ the man I love.

I shake and jerk with sorrow.

And when they’re done with me, I’m naked, trapped in a much smaller cage than I’m used to, tubes jammed in my holes and flesh.

Rose faces his men.