Remnants 13 - Survival (10 page)

She didn’t know where she was.

She had no idea of what to do next.

The enormity of it pressed Tate down. Made getting up off the floor unthinkable. She lay down flat and stared at the glass ceiling. She was the last human alive in the universe. She was too tired to move. Her foot hurt. She let her head fall slightly to the right, closed her eyes, and slept.

Tate dreamed.

The dusty landscape, the bands of travelers plodding hopelessly along, the hidden destination.

Tate’s mind was hyperalert. She struggled to solve the puzzle. Was the journey a metaphor for something? Maybe it stood for hope, a journey toward a better life. Or maybe it stood for just the opposite — inevitability, the march toward death.

Was the number of travelers important? Tate tried to count them, but she couldn’t tell them apart, couldn’t concentrate long enough to be sure exactly how many there were.

She felt she was grasping at smoke. Trying to find meaning where maybe none existed. It was a dream, nothing more.

Nobody could be sending her messages because nobody else was alive.

“DON’T WORRY.”

Sixty-one cycles later

Tate woke.

She was staring at the ceiling. She tried to close her eyes, go back to sleep, return to her dream

—

But her eyes wouldn’t respond.

They were no longer under her control.

Gravity was gone.

The ache in her foot was barely there.

Tate thought she’d been prepared for this moment — she knew one of the others would attack her eventually — but the sudden loss of control was still shocking, horrifying.

It’s Amelia,
Tate told herself angrily.
It has to be Amelia. Stupid! I was stupid to let her have a
taste of control,
even
for a minute.

<> Tate asked with as much swagger as she could muster. She had to know. She had to be sure it was Amelia and not Yago. She had to know that Yago hadn’t betrayed her.

That his friendship hadn’t been a trick.

“Hello,” a strange voice whispered back. It was her own voice and yet it was somehow —

Charlie’s. Charlie,

Now, this Tate had never imagined. Charlie. Charlie — who was so fearful, so paranoid.

She’d never guessed Charlie would
want
control of her body, much less do anything about it.

He was getting up out of bed. He began to make her body pace the perimeter of her bedroom.

“That feels good,” Charlie moaned happily. “I’ve had such bad leg cramps. I know it’s silly. I don’t actually have legs anymore, but —”

Then Charlie giggled — a creepy, not-quite-right-in-the-head sound. “Actually, I guess I
do
have legs now. Again. Whatever. Ask me, Tate, you sit still too much. And you sleep
way
too much. What have you got against
moving?”

<> Tate said carefully. She was desperately trying to figure out how to play this, how to get control back again. How could she plan strategy when there were so many unknowns? Did Charlie have Amelia and Yago on his side? Why weren’t they saying anything?

Did they feel as unsure as she did?

Should she try to grab control back now — while Charlie still seemed uncertain about controlling her body? Or was it better to wait until Charlie was sleeping?

Suddenly Charlie was shouting. “Stop it! I’m warning you — stop it right now or — or else!”

<> Tate wasn’t sure what had happened. Had she unconsciously reached out with her mind and wiggled a finger or toe? Had Amelia done something? Or Yago?

Maybe. Or maybe Charlie had just exploded for no reason.

<> Yago said soothingly. <>

<> Amelia said.

Suddenly Tate was watching her body thrash madly — arms twitching, legs flailing, head snapping around, eyes shifting all over the place. Amelia was making her grab for power Charlie wasn’t letting go easily.

“Daughter!” Charlie shouted. “A knife!”

<> Tate yelled. But it was no use. Daughter couldn’t hear her. Her voice was audible only within her own head.

Tate saw the knife appear in her hand. She watched as that hand held the knife to her own throat.

“Back down,” Charlie said with cool fury. “Back down now or what happens next is going to be very messy.”

The next two cycles passed slowly.

Tate felt like a hostage. One false move and Charlie could kill them all. Mostly, Tate and Yago and Amelia kept quiet. Tate spent the time planning what she’d say to Yago and Amelia when she got the chance.

Charlie paced and paced and paced and paced. He had tucked the knife into the waistband of Tate’s pants. He refused to lie down on Tate’s bed — or even get too near it. Too tempting, apparently.

“If I sleep, you’re going to attack,” Charlie muttered out loud as his exhaustion grew. Unlike him, they didn’t need sleep. They had no bodies to rejuvenate. Without this weakness, Charlie never would have been able to steal control from Tate.

<> Tate said soothingly. <>

Charlie laughed. “You think I trust
you
I may be slightly crazy, but I’m not stupid.”

<> Tate said. She knew Charlie would have to sleep eventually. All she needed was patience.

Finally, well into the second cycle, Charlie slumped against the laboratory wall and let Tate’s eyes close. Before long, Tate could hear his soft snores.

<> Tate whispered.

<> Amelia said.<>

<> Yago said, <>

<> Tate demanded.

A short pause.

Then Tate couldn’t contain herself any longer. <> she demanded curi-ously. <>

<> Amelia whispered reluctantly. <>

<>

<> Yago said sternly.

<> Amelia said doubtfully.

<> Tate demanded irritably, fighting to keep her voice as quiet as Amelia’s. <>

<> Amelia said. <> Tate didn’t like what she was hearing. She’d been planning to attack Charlie while he was asleep. If that wouldn’t work, she’d have to go to Plan 2 — and she didn’t like Plan 2. It required teamwork and the last thing she wanted to do now was rely on Amelia and Yago.

<> Tate asked bitterly. <>

<body?>> Amelia demanded. <>

<> Tate shouted.

<> Amelia said sullenly.

<> Yago said. <>

<> Tate said. <>

<> Yago said casually.

<> Amelia said.

<> Tate asked warily.

<> Amelia said.

<> Tate said, speaking out of instinct. <>

Amelia snorted. <>

<> Tate said, trying to sound persuasive. <>

<> Amelia said coldly. <>

<> Tate said.

<>

<> Tate made it sound like a fact. She wasn’t sure it was.

<> Amelia said confidently. <>

<> Yago said bitterly. <>

<> Amelia shrieked. <>

<> Yago said. <>

“Wh — what?” Charlie mumbled in a confused, sleepy tone. Their screaming fight — the only kind they could have — had finally awakened him. “What are you guys doing?” he asked with a soft giggle. A rhetorical question. “Forming coalitions?” He began to laugh harder

“Trying a little diplomacy, Tate?”

Tate didn’t bother to answer. She settled in to think and to wait for the next time Charlie fell asleep.

The days with Charlie in charge took on their own rhythm. Early in the cycle, he would spend hours searching Daughter’s databases for information about the American Civil War.

He was obsessed with the Battle of Antietam. Or, as Yago called it, the Battle of Tedium.

He’d skip dinner because around that time he’d be busy singing the few Motown hits he could remember. Target practice began after dinner and lasted well into the night. He changed Mother’s course daily. “To keep them confused,” he explained. Nobody but Charlie knew who

“they” were.

On the fifth night, Charlie came very close to puncturing the hull with a machine gun blast as he ran through the ship doing a poor imitation of the Rider battle cry.

<> Amelia said as soon as Charlie had passed out. <>

<> Yago asked.

<> Tate said.

<> Amelia said. <>

<> Tate said.

<> Yago said flatly.

<> Tate agreed.

<> Yago asked. Again, his tone was neutral.

<> Tate said, feeling terrible about the cruelty of her suggestion. <>

<> Amelia said thoughtfully

<>

<> Yago said. <>

<> Yago said harshly.

<> Tate wanted to reassure Yago. <>

<> Amelia said. <> Tate felt a chill imagining all of that silence. It would be like being dead herself.

<> Yago asked.

<> Amelia suggested, <> Tate showed her agreement by saying nothing.

Three cycles later.