Prometheus Road (13 page)
“Do you want us to take anything with us?” Dead Man asked.
“Get Tom to safety. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Magnus took a moment to solemnly shake hands with Sandoval. As Magnus turned to open the escape hatch, Dead Man gave Sandoval a quick hug. “See you on the Road, Sandoval.”
Sandoval nodded. “On the Road.” Then he quickly shook Tom’s hand. “Find your destiny, Tom. Right the wrongs of the world and save us from ourselves. I, myself, know you can do it.” He thumped his chest with his fist.
No pressure or anything, Tom thought, smiling at Sandoval. “I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s all I ask,” Sandoval said, pulling a heavily wired helmet out of a drawer and hooking it into the visual display.
Tom followed Magnus and Helix through the escape hatch, crawling through the long tunnel, feeling the cold metal that brushed against his shoulders and cooled his hands, listening to the noisy thumps of their hands and knees and ticking claws, aware that Dead Man was behind him cutting off any chance of retreat. Magnus had retrieved a bright flashlight from Sandoval’s toolbox, and that served as Tom’s beacon in the darkness, silhouetting Magnus’s shambling form until they reached the ladder in the vertical air shaft. While Tom tucked Helix under his arm, hoping he’d be able to climb the ladder while carrying his passenger, Magnus shined the light up the fifty-foot shaft, then turned toward Tom and put a finger to his lips. “Sound probably travels pretty well up this shaft, so let’s keep it quiet. We don’t want to let Humboldt or anyone else know that we’re coming.”
Tom nodded and followed Magnus up the ladder. He glanced down at Dead Man, steadily following him wherever he went—and he thought that seemed symbolic somehow. Was he escaping from trouble or moving toward it? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t see any way of changing his mind now, and death was following him wherever he went.
HUMBOLDT was worried. The power cell on the DNA sniffer that Hermes had given him was running low, and he was reasonably certain that Tom Eliot had come that way, but the trail had suddenly stopped in this broad meadow. He’d found a door that appeared to lead to an underground home, but it was securely locked and he hadn’t been able to locate any light tubes or access shafts so that he could climb down and see what was going on. He knew that bad things would happen to him, and probably to his father, if Hermes discovered that he had lost Tom’s trail; but there didn’t seem to be any other choices, and he had to tell Hermes something during his hourly check-in report. Then it occurred to him that he could lie and nobody would know the difference. If he said he was certain that Tom Eliot had gone down a hole inside this hill, and he could make Hermes believe it, then he’d be off the hook, at least for a while. That would give him time to think of a more clever excuse if Hermes proved him wrong. However, things had gone better than expected when Humboldt made his report. Hermes had told him to wait there so he could “take care of this Tom Eliot problem once and for all.” Humboldt assumed that meant Hermes was coming for a personal visit, and he would certainly find a way to open the locked door that led down to Tom’s hidey-hole. In the meantime, all he had to do was wait, try to stay warm, maybe take a quick nap, and leave the transmitter on so Hermes could stay locked on his position.
The problem of staying warm would be easily solved. He’d tripped over plenty of deadwood in the dark during his study of the meadow, so all he had to do was gather some of it and start a nice fire. While he piled kindling into his arms, he heard a sudden rumbling behind him. He dropped the wood, spun around, and was blinded by a sudden flash of light. Blinking and stumbling backward as a cloud of dust stung his eyes, he hurled a dead branch at the light and it hit something large with a loud thump. The light went out. He heard a whirring of squeaky gears.
Then an impossibly loud voice boomed out of the darkness. “Prepare to die!”
Humboldt turned to run, but tripped over a log instead, falling flat on his face. The earth trembled beneath him. He yelled as something began to pound on his back, then rolled over and put up his arms to block the blows. Desperate, he grabbed at the weapon, and it came away in his hands. When he finally got a good look at it, he saw that the weapon was a broom.
“Prepare to die!” boomed the voice, very close now, as a wet mop slammed into the side of his head with a loud squish.
“DO you hear something?” Tom asked, breathing hard as he stopped and turned around. They had been jogging along a dusty trail up the hill for about twenty minutes when Tom heard a shrieking noise behind them in the distance.
Helix immediately sat down on the trail next to Tom and whined. Magnus and Dead Man turned to look back.
At that moment, the entire forest around them exploded into flame. All of them were slapped to the ground by a giant, unseen hand, and they heard the roar of the same giant, almost deafening in its intensity as the ground shook beneath them. A blast of cooler air followed, pelting them with dust, leaves, rocks, and branches.
“Sandoval,” Magnus gasped, as the wind died down. He rolled over on his side, checked that Tom looked okay, and sat up to stare back down the trail. Magnus suddenly looked older than Tom had ever seen him before as he exchanged a glance with Dead Man that didn’t require words.
Feeling a lump move beneath his chest, Tom sat up, and Helix poked his head free of Tom’s shirt collar, warily looked around, and whined to make it clear that he wasn’t coming out until they got away from the burning trees that crackled and smoked over their heads.
Tom hesitated, then took a deep breath, swallowed, and looked down the hill past Dead Man, dreading what he knew he would see.
The boiling crater was there, just as he remembered seeing it at the Eliot farm when his family was murdered. A soft blue glow, crackling with static electricity, shimmered above the crater, where mud pots began to form, hissing sulfurous smoke into the air while the crater slowly widened and the soil continued to liquefy. The silo was no longer there.
Sandoval was gone.
Humboldt was gone, too, and Tom was surprised he felt bad about that. How would Tempest learn about her brother’s death? Tom knew that her misguided father would blame himself for his son’s death, and with good reason; but he felt bad about that, too, almost as if he were directly responsible for the loss of so many lives. And so it seemed to be. Sooner or later, he would have to acknowledge that the blood was on his hands, even though others might blame the gods. He was responsible for starting this whole chain of events, and he finally realized that he would have to be the one to stop it. Magnus said there was a way Tom could help, and he certainly didn’t have anything else to live for, so he might as well focus on putting an end to all this bloodshed; otherwise, he might just lose his mind . . . if he hadn’t already.
Tom grabbed Magnus by the arm and hauled him to his feet as a burning branch crashed to the ground beside them, showering Magnus with sparks. “Come on, Magnus. We have to get out of here.”
Dead Man gestured at Tom. “Up the trail. We must outrun the fire.”
Wondering if he’d ever be able to stop running from the fire, Tom led them up the hill.
JUANITA Lopez leaned against a battered paw of the Sphinx and looked up at the evening sky. She was on her break, looking high above the black glass pyramid where she worked, watching the stars pop into view. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the dry desert air, thinking how nice it would be to smoke a stimstick right about now. A powerful light snapped on at the tip of the thirty-six-story pyramid, sending a brilliant white beam straight up into the clear sky. She knew the Institute had originally been the Luxor resort hotel a long time ago—a fantasy version of ancient Egypt in the middle of Las Vegas—but the building served a far more serious purpose now. The casino on the main floor was still in operation for tourists because the gods liked to watch their human guinea pigs run the maze of slot machines and gaming tables, testing them with positive and negative feedback strategies in their ongoing experiments. The former hotel rooms had become cells and offices, with special facilities residing safely on the subterranean levels among the replica treasures from King Tut’s tomb. Under the watchful eyes of ancient Egyptian gods made of fiberglass and plaster, misguided individuals and freethinkers were shown the error of their ways. Those who accepted rehabilitation were released into the world as model citizens, while those who rejected the wisdom of the Dominion were released into the recycling bins.
There were no vehicles driving down the broken pavement of Las Vegas Boulevard, but the buildings that crowded together along the Strip had begun their nightly performances, their brilliant lights and giant gaudy holograms splashing the street with manic daubs of dancing colors. Juanita could imagine crowded streets full of life, the sound of voices and traffic, the odor of humanity mixing with the delicate scents of a desert evening at the end of a hot day. She’d seen the holos and flicks of the city’s past in the time before the Dominion, and it contrasted sharply with the controlled environment that existed now. The small numbers of people walking the sidewalks made little noise, and their voices were immediately swept away by the hot desert wind; but the city continued its enticing dance without the music, flashing its lights as if they were refractions on the facets of a diamond, hinting at mysterious wealth beyond the casino doors. As moths were drawn to a flame, the tourists and recently released model citizens were drawn to the blinking colors that beckoned them through the portals, only to be trapped inside more human behavior experiments and studied by the Dominion.
Juanita hated herself for being a part of the Institute, but it was a necessary evil. Despite any efforts on her part, the rehab facility would remain, churning out zombies as it stamped out individuality and creativity. She could help the occasional inmate when the conditions were right, but most of the time she had to act like a model employee. She had helped many over the last six years; but security was tight, and the danger of potential discovery always kept her on the edge, tense and ready to snap if any suspicions were aroused. She had led many different lives on the streets of Las Vegas, and there were safer ways to make a living in this town, even if they were less reputable occupations, but she knew she’d found her calling as an administrative nurse at the Institute. In one of the most carefully guarded Dominion cities, working in one of the dreaded rehab units, Juanita Lopez was above suspicion, and that allowed her to lead her secret life.
The com plug pinged in her ear, and she heard the carefully modulated voice of the administrator AI. “J. Lopez, you are required immediately at the intake facility, sub-level one.”
Juanita inhaled another lungful of clean air and started walking back toward the main entrance of the pyramid. She glanced up at the sky again, just in time to see the long white trail of a meteor burning up in the atmosphere, and it made her wonder if it was an omen of some kind. She shook her head—if it was an omen, it was wasted, since she didn’t get the message.
Descending below the casino floor on a broad stone staircase, Juanita saw an orderly at the cage by the admitting desk, the hulking Bruno, shutting the door on an attractive woman with long brown hair who looked like she was about twenty years old. Her black dress was torn in several places, her hair was rumpled, and she looked as if she’d spent a lot of time crying recently. This would be a tough one. Her automatic response was to find a way to get the woman out of there and help her, but Juanita had a role to play until she knew details: whether the woman was dangerous or suicidal, foolish or smart, trained or unskilled, sane or crazy. And there were rumors going around that mutants were gathering on the other side of the shield wall, ready to break through into the borderlands at any time, so Juanita had to be careful—she didn’t want to be the first victim of a mutant border jumper. Potential threats from the other side were expected hazards associated with being so close to the wall. The primitives on the other side had always seemed peaceful to Juanita, despite being trapped in the nanotech wasteland, but she really had no way of knowing what went on over there. Perhaps it had taken this long for the mutants to get organized and find a way through the shield wall. In any case, the rumors appeared to have some basis in fact, because she’d seen more blue-suited troopers patrolling the streets, and even more seemed to be coming into town every day.
Juanita checked the holomonitor glowing above her desk, then frowned at Bruno. “Is this Tempest Gustafson?”
“Aye,” Bruno said with a gap-toothed smile. He rubbed his palm across his crew cut and glanced at his fingerwatch.
“I wasn’t expecting her until tomorrow. Did she give you any trouble?”
Bruno held up his hands. “Hey, she looked like this when they gave her to me at the train. They say she beat the crap out of two that arrested her, though. It took six of those mutant fellas to pin her down, they said.”
Juanita glanced at Tempest, who was staring at the floor of the cage. “She doesn’t look that tough. Are you a hard one, dear? Are we going to need a shock collar for you?”
Tempest slowly raised her eyes to Juanita’s face. The look gave Juanita goose bumps. “It depends,” Tempest said with quiet menace. “Are you afraid of me, too?”
Juanita cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders back, standing a bit straighter. She might be twenty years older than Tempest, but she stayed in shape, and she still had a dancer’s body. “I’ve handled my share of tough cases in here. Maybe half the people we see want to fight the inevitable; but they all leave the same way, so there’s no point in making it harder for yourself. I’ll take good care of you if you don’t put up a fuss. I’m here to help, not to harm you.”
“I suppose turning my brain to mush isn’t harming me?” Tempest asked.
Juanita wondered how much the woman knew about what they did at the rehab facility. She glanced at the information on the monitor. Tempest was the daughter of some local official in Marinwood, wherever that was, so she really must have pissed someone off to be sent here. Her parents definitely wanted her back, but she wasn’t marked for any special handling. “We’re only here to reeducate you, Ms. Gustafson. No one’s brain will be turned to mush.”