Prometheus Road (14 page)

“Unless you ask for it,” Bruno said with a chuckle. “You want some company, my pretty, you ask for Bruno. He’ll give you something to think about.”

Juanita rolled her eyes. “Get a grip, Bruno. I’ll be monitoring her, not you.”

“You always get all the fun,” Bruno whined. “Maybe she wants Bruno instead.”

Tempest turned and gave Bruno an odd little smile. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Eh?” Bruno frowned and took a step back.

Juanita sighed as she picked up a towel and an ID collar, then moved around to open the cage door. “Move it, Bruno. I’ll take it from here.”

Grumbling, Bruno backed away. When Tempest stepped out of the cage, Juanita sealed the black ID collar around her neck before guiding her through another door with a window in it. There was no furniture, but a variety of scanners on the walls were ready to do their jobs. She handed Tempest the towel and turned toward the small control panel by the door. “Stand in the middle of the floor, get out of those clothes, and wrap yourself in the towel.”

Tempest did as she was told while Juanita powered up the scanners and started the series. Other than a low hum, there was no indication that the scanners were doing anything, but the data dump would be waiting for her in the tank room when they arrived. Hearing excited laughter at the door, she looked up and saw Bruno leering through the window, so she stepped over and put her face in the way of his view of Tempest. His smile disappeared, and he turned away to sit down behind the desk.

“Thank you,” Tempest said, waiting patiently in her towel. She looked more muscular than Juanita would have suspected, lending some credence to Bruno’s story about her arrest.

Juanita nodded, glanced at the controls to make sure the scanners were finished, then opened the door and led Tempest out of the room by the elbow. Bruno pretended not to notice them as they walked past the desk and down the corridor to the stairwell, but Juanita saw him watching when she glanced at a mirrored window along the way. Another two hours before the shift ended, then Bruno would be someone else’s problem. With any luck, more arrivals would come in on the train, and he’d stay busy picking them up.

When they neared the bottom of the stairwell two levels down from the intake facility, Juanita leaned in close to whisper in Tempest’s ear. “I want you to do us both a favor. When we step through into the hallway, start to run away.”

“What?” Tempest shook her head.

“Just trust me,” Juanita whispered, opening the door. “I can help, but this has to look good.”

Juanita wasn’t sure if the woman was smart enough to cooperate, but that was part of the test, really. She had to make snap judgments about people, and this one seemed like she had potential if she would accept the opportunity that Juanita was offering.

Tempest hesitated when they went through the door, then shoved Juanita aside and sprinted down the long, empty stone corridor past numbered doors guarded by fierce statues from ancient Egyptian folklore. Regaining her balance, Juanita took off after her; but Tempest was halfway to the other end before Juanita was finally able to tackle her. Tempest sprawled on the cold floor at the foot of a hawk-headed Osiris statue, then grabbed her towel and wrapped it around Juanita’s neck—a move that Juanita hadn’t expected. “Hey! I’m trying to help you!”

“I’m helping myself,” Tempest said, tightening the towel as she straddled Juanita’s waist. As the woman’s eyes bulged, Tempest saw what looked like a red rose tattoo on the white of her right eyeball.

“You have to get off me,” Juanita hissed, gagging as she struggled to pull the towel free of her neck. “If this goes on too long, Bruno will see it on the cameras and come down here with a stunner. We’re in a dead zone without audio pickups, but he can still see us.”

Juanita sensed the hesitant shift in Tempest’s weight and used the moment to roll sideways, slamming Tempest against the wall as she pulled the towel loose. She pressed her lips against Tempest’s left ear. “Look, you crazy fool, I just wanted to tell you not to worry. Just get in the tank when I tell you. I won’t turn it on. When I get a chance, I’ll try to get you out. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut.”

“Why?” Tempest gasped, her torso pinned under Juanita’s weight.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” Juanita said, roughly hauling Tempest to her feet to make it look good for the camera. “Just be happy you won’t leave here like a zombie.”

THE rippling water in the eastern part of the bay looked as if it were on fire as Tom slogged along in the shoreline mud inhaling gnats and slapping at mosquitoes. He was exhausted from traveling all day in the wake of Magnus and Dead Man, who seemed to have limitless amounts of energy at their disposal despite appearances to the contrary. Helix was also looking tired, even though Tom had carried him for hours. They had stopped twice to eat strange, dried food items that Magnus carried in his pack, allowing Tom a few minutes to massage his burning leg muscles. He knew he’d be quite sore the next day and hoped his sadistic companions weren’t planning to repeat their performance.

The wind picked up, rustling the water weeds and grasses along the flat shoreline, giving Tom some respite from the bug eating and slapping. He had no idea where they were going, and he didn’t really care at that point, simply hoping that they would stop before it got too dark to see or before Tom lost his will to live. He knew they were in the east bay and that they had taken a circuitous path to avoid the numerous shoreline security wards, but he wasn’t familiar with the terrain.

When Dead Man finally stopped, Tom almost ran into him. After staring at the mud for so long, Tom was startled to look up and see an enormous wall of rusty gray metal towering over their heads and extending away for hundreds of feet on both sides. Although he’d only seen such objects in photographs, he gradually realized that the ominous-looking wall was actually a huge ship beached in the shallow waters. Despite its dilapidated condition, it gave the impression of readiness, as if it might suddenly turn and head out to sea, well aware that it would break up among the waves but stubborn enough to try it anyway. The rotting hulks of other metal monsters poked out of the water or lay in rusted sections half-buried in the mud. The wind howled through the wrecks, and they creaked in response. The lonely feeling that the boneyard of metal dinosaurs had been abandoned and forgotten by the world was almost overwhelming.

As Tom’s eyes began to pick out details on the side of the gray leviathan, he saw a faded number “61” at the forward end of the ship. “What does that mean?” Tom asked. “Sixty-one?”

Dead Man turned his bulging eyes toward Tom. “This is the USS Iowa, a Navy battleship. Sixty-one was the Navy ID number.”

Helix growled at a small fish taunting him from the water’s edge. It was a rare sight to see a fish in the bay, but Tom had never been to the eastern side before, so maybe it was normal here. His leg muscles twitched, appreciative of standing still but wondering when Tom would finally give them a real break.

Distracted by Dead Man, Tom was startled to see that Magnus had climbed up the dangling anchor chain. He was now perched, with perfect balance, on the rail of the ship, looking down at them. The wind whipped at his cloak and his hair as he cupped his hands around his mouth to yell, “Come along, boy! We need to be in place before the fog gets here!”

Tom looked out across the water. On the far side of the bay, the fog had crawled over the western hills to make its way across the water in thick streamers that curled ahead of the main fogbank. The sun had vanished below the horizon, leaving only a bright grayness beyond the hills. “In place for what?” Tom asked, looking at Dead Man.

“The gray shroud covers the faces of many, and it blinds them,” Dead Man said, looking out across the water. “However, the person who understands the nature of the shroud can remove it. Do you understand?”

“No,” Tom said, slogging toward the anchor chain with Helix in his arms.

Dead Man hissed softly, and when Tom looked back over his shoulder he realized that the hissing was actually the laughter of the dead. “You will understand, Tom Eliot. You will meet the shroud yourself, and you will master it—or it will consume you.”

With Helix stuffed into his shirt, Tom began climbing the anchor chain. “That’s reassuring.” While he had no idea why Dead Man was laughing, he began to think that another training exercise would be forced on him in the near future. All the conditions were met: he was exhausted, he was in a strange place, and the two oddballs he was traveling with had that conspiratorial look about them that always spelled trouble for Tom.

He was right.

Ten minutes later, Tom found himself seated on top of a massive armored turret with three enormous gun barrels poking out of it. The silent guns were aimed at the oncoming fog, which was now only a short distance away, drifting and curling across the surface of the water, covering everything in its path with a blanket of gray. Sounds became muted, but Tom still heard the creaks and pops of aging metal on the ship, the hollow slap of wavelets against the hull, the periodic clank of a bell on an old buoy marking the watery graves of the ghost ships, the occasional snore from the dog sleeping on his lap, and echoes of Magnus’s distant voice as he continued talking to himself somewhere below the weather decks of the ancient battleship.

Dead Man patted the gun turret as he folded his legs into a lotus position. “An example of raw, physical power. One of these guns could lob a shell the size of a railroad freight car over twenty miles.”

Tom had never seen a freight car, and the largest shell he’d ever seen was an iridescent abalone shell that his father had kept nailed to the wall of their barn. He was going to ask why anyone would go to so much trouble to hurl shells through the air, but he changed his mind and simply nodded. “Impressive. You seem to know a lot about the past.”

“Memories fade unless we revisit them, or unless we create them. I’m sure Magnus has mentioned that to you. We can fix a point from the quantum wave of space-time to create a link between our perceived past and our intended future, and that is another form of power—a power that is more formidable than that of this giant gun.”

“He mentioned it. I don’t pretend to understand it.” Tom felt dizzy again, and he wondered how long the poison would last in his system before he felt more serious effects. He began to sweat as the air chilled in the face of the oncoming fog.

“That’s because you have yet to experience the power of your consciousness. All paths lead to the Road—we just have to find the shortest path for you. And that’s one way I may help you. Now, listen carefully to my voice, and let it be your anchor no matter what happens. I tell you now that you’re going to have to learn some things very quickly—your survival depends on it. When that fog gets here, I will help you see the phantoms and other dangers that live behind the shroud, and they will know that you can see them. The phantoms won’t threaten me, but they will challenge you. If you fail, you will be wrapped up in the arms of the fog, and you will become a phantom yourself. I won’t be able to help you if they take you, and neither will Magnus. If you win, you will gain mastery over the fog, and the fog will teach you things.”

Tom swallowed, then took a deep breath, trying to remain calm in the face of the oncoming fogbank. Despite what Dead Man was saying, he knew it was only water vapor, and it couldn’t harm him, but there was a menace about the fog that he hadn’t noticed before. The bow of the ship was wrapped in wet cotton, gradually disappearing as if it were dissolving in acid. Dark shadows seemed to move about just beyond the swirling gray boundaries, although he couldn’t make out any distinct shapes to focus on. Was this a different kind of fog, or was Dead Man trying to make him see things that weren’t really there?

“Could we do this tomorrow?” Tom asked. His legs were going numb in their cross-legged position. “I could really use a rest and something to eat.”

“Keep your mind here in the present,” Dead Man barked. “This is not a joke, and there is no turning back. The fog is here, and it’s going to kill you, do you understand? Look into its depths. Do you see the phantoms? You will know the touch of their cold fingers very soon, and your mind must be ready for the shock.”

Tom licked his lips as he tried to make out the shapes of the fog entities. “What do you want me to do? You haven’t told me how to fight them.”

“You must learn that for yourself. Close your eyes, see beyond your eyelids as Magnus showed you, and stop thinking. You can’t rationalize your way out of this threat. Your body knows what to do if you’ll listen to its wisdom. Focus on your breath flowing in and out of your body. Fill your lungs with air and let it out slowly. Think of a protective shell around your body; a sphere of energy that will repel the icy touch of the creatures within the fog. Each breath should take you deeper into the core of your being, sinking farther with each exhalation, feeling the sphere radiating out from your body to shield you and keep your spirit safe. Your death stands waiting, so you must focus on the sphere and believe in its power, for it is your only defense.”

Tom had his eyes closed, and he was trying to visualize the sphere of energy as he focused on his breathing, but he couldn’t see through his eyelids so he had no idea of how close the fog was, or where it was, or if the phantoms were reaching for him. He didn’t know how to defend himself from creatures he couldn’t see or hear. Sweat trickled down his face, and he felt the humidity rising, so the fog must be close. Yet he had to wonder, if he was as important as Magnus said he was, would they really take the chance of losing him this way? Perhaps Dead Man was hypnotizing him, making him think there were creatures living in the water vapor that blanketed the old battleship when there was actually nothing there at all.

He had to look.

Squinting, he opened his eyes just a bit, then gasped and jerked back away from the massive golden eyes hanging just inches away from his face. The fog was all around him, and he had no energy shield, and his concentration was broken, and he was going to die. Helix was gone, but Tom heard him whimpering in the distance, somewhere behind him. The phantom smiled with confidence, its golden eyes glittering, backing off a bit so Tom could see its enormous ghostly face drifting in the swirls of water vapor. It was a large caricature of a human face, almost as if it were painted on a transparent balloon bobbing in front of Tom. Tendrils of something like feathery seaweed floated above its head where they were attached to the scalp in place of hair. The mouth was much too large, large enough to swallow Tom’s head, and the black pit inside the mouth looked like the entrance to Hell.

“Close your eyes!” Dead Man commanded. “The more it sees in your eyes, the more it knows about you, feeding on your thoughts and emotions, and it may know too much already! Watch through your eyelids, if you must, and that will give you some protection.”

Tom tried to control his breath and focus on it, in and out, as he imagined an egg of blue energy shielding his body from the phantoms in the fog. Then he shivered as he felt ice on his left wrist, cold fingers sliding up his arm. His heart thumped in his chest, bouncing his body in the rhythm of his pulse. He thought he could feel each water molecule in the fog bumping against his skin as if they were tiny slivers of ice.

“Your shield is weak,” Dead Man said. “Concentrate! Focus your energy!”

Tom felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention, and he sensed a presence close to his face, but he kept his eyes closed and tried to imagine the details of his energy shield, the sparks that danced across its surface, the hum of power, the blue glow.

The dizziness in his head suddenly got worse. He was doomed. Then he realized he was seeing through his eyelids, and through his head, in a complete circle where he could view only fog . . . and the group of phantoms that were crouched in a circle around him, reaching out with frozen fingers to poke him and grab at his head, their eyes glittering with delight. Dead Man was gone. Tom was alone with his death. The certainty that he was about to leave this world calmed him somewhat. His heart slowed, and his breathing became more regular, in and out, waiting for the inevitable.

The blue sphere appeared, maybe three feet away from his body, and he felt as if he were seated inside a glass bubble. The phantoms screamed and recoiled, some of them leaving fingers, hands, or entire arms thumping to the bottom of the blue bubble. They jumped to their feet, dancing in anger, beating their fists against the sphere and screaming. And Tom felt good. He felt powerful. He imagined the static sparks jumping around on the surface of the bubble, getting larger as they built up their electrical charges, then lancing out like tiny bolts of lightning to bury their points in the faces and bodies of the phantoms. The air vibrated with piercing shrieks and thunderclaps that echoed inside the bubble, forcing Tom to cover his ears to keep his eardrums from rupturing. Brilliant flashes of lightning rapidly pulsed through the air, effectively blinding him.

The distraction made him lose focus. His shield disappeared, and the last spark of static popped at the same instant, leaving the air full of a strong ozone smell but nothing else. The fog thinned. He took a deep breath.

The phantoms were gone.

Tom opened his eyes as he felt Helix returning to his lap. The little dog looked around suspiciously.

Dead Man still sat nearby, looking at Tom and shaking his head as the fog drifted back, leaving them in a clear space like a hole in a ball of cotton.

“I did it,” Tom said with a gasp, waiting for congratulations. “I’m still alive.”

“You overdid it. You use power like a club. You are not here to kill everything you see, Tom. This is not Stronghold. Yes, you’re still alive, so you didn’t lose—but you didn’t win, either. The idea was to master the fog and make it clear to the phantoms that you could defend yourself, not to destroy them because you feared them or didn’t understand them. The fog can teach you things, just as it has already taught you something; but you could have made those phantoms your allies, and they would have been around to help you wherever there was fog. You need the help of the natural forces of this world. To make enemies of the elements, or to kill the creatures that reside in them, only does harm to yourself. The fog will not hinder you now, nor will it help you when you need it. Through inaction, the fog will be your silent enemy.”