Remnants 13 - Survival (3 page)

Yago stopped. He let go of her Tate rolled into a fetal position and lay there feeling miserable.

Why was she still alive? Why didn’t Yago just get rid of her? Tate turned her face to the ground and groaned.

Yago nudged her with his shoe. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Tate mumbled.

“Amelia wants to — see you.”

“Oh — so now you’re Amelia’s assistant or something?”

“No!”

Yago’s voice. There was something wrong about it. His usual arrogant tone was gone. His lofty messianic tones were gone. He sounded — scared.

Tate opened her eyes and looked up at Yago.

“Come on,” Yago repeated.

Tate got to her knees and pulled herself shakily to her feet. She actually wanted to see Amelia now. Yago was pathetic. But maybe Amelia — well, maybe Amelia would help her draw this little drama to an end somehow. Tate didn’t have the energy to hope for a happy ending.

“Which way?” Tate asked.

“Upstairs,” Yago said. His expression was hard to read. Tate thought she saw something like relief mingling with wariness.

She took a step toward the elevator before she realized what Yago was telling her. Her guilt and inadequacy welled up. “Amelia is upstairs? I think — I was looking for her down here. Isn’t she controlling the ship from one of the pits?”

Yago shook his head no and gestured with his chin toward the elevator. They walked single file with Tate in the lead. Yago was silent — no wisecracks, no self-aggrandizing remarks.
Geez,
Tate thought,
maybe whatever Amelia was doing to him wasn’t so bad…

The elevator moved silently upward, and seconds later they were walking out under the towering arches into the alien hallway. Tate stepped forward cautiously — half-expecting Amelia or Charlie to jump out and tackle her Nothing. The place felt as deserted as the basement.

Tate relaxed for a moment — and then the smell hit her. It was a humid, salty smell. The smell of growing things — like the sea at low tide.

Tate felt the fear welling up in her belly. Adrenaline pumped into her veins. She looked around wildly, trying to locate the origin of the smell.

Yago stood a few steps behind her, grinning and then laughing at her Laughing at her sudden fear.

She felt like smacking him. Yelling at him to shut up.

Because she
was
afraid. Somehow, intuitively, she knew this smell was bad. That earthy organic smell didn’t belong on this cold dead ship.

Then the sounds filtered into her consciousness. She didn’t know how she had missed them at first.

Moist sounds that went on and on. They sounded — greedy. Like a baby sucking his soggy thumb or a derrick pulling oil from the ground.

“What is that?” Tate whispered.

“Go onto the bridge,” Yago said. “See for yourself.”

Tate hesitated.

She didn’t want to get closer to that smell, that sound. But — she couldn’t run away. She knew she would eventually come face-to-face with whatever was on the bridge. She preferred to face it on her feet. Delay would only make her weaker, more afraid.

Tate pushed down her fear. She took a step forward. And then another She had to go fast or not at all. Yago stayed right behind her, making sure she went through the doorway onto the bridge and then blocking her way out. Tate wasn’t sure what she was expecting but it wasn’t —

Webs.

The machinery, the computers, the clean architecture of the bridge — it had all been covered by webs.

Something like spider webs.

But no, that wasn’t quite right. These were webs but they weren’t clean and precisely built like the webs of spiders. No — these were more like dirty cotton candy. Ugly, dirty swatches of grayish fuzz that made Tate long for a big can of Raid. She remembered a sweet old lady from her neighborhood trying to spray the gypsy moth nests that appeared in the trees around their apartment buildings.

You’d need an awful lot of Raid to take out these webs. They were huge — dirty wrappings stretching from the towering supporting struts all the way down to the chairs just a few feet from where Tate stood.

Tate’s gaze darted to three lumpish masses inside the webs. They were writhing, squirming. Vaguely human forms. Amelia. Charlie. Duncan.

So.

This was their evolution.

This was how the Troika had achieved their “advanced forms.” Tate could almost pity them. They were nothing but bugs. It was almost — sad.

But then—then her eye caught on a fourth lump, smaller than the others and covered in some sort of white goo — and her sadness turned to disgust. She could just make out a familiar jointed shape. It was the leg of a Rider. The leg was about all that was left.

Tate took a fast step back and whacked into Yago. He stood firmly in the doorway, blocking her escape.

“Why — why did you bring me here?” Tate asked, now cold with fear.

“Cells,” Yago said bitterly. “As it turns out, living cells are the Troika’s favorite snack food. I guess their big transformation is giving them the munchies, and since all of the Meanies and Riders are gone, you’re going to be recycled. Sorry, but them’s the breaks.”

Tate let a beat pass as she absorbed this bizarre explanation. Had Yago finally slipped into true mad-ness?

No, no — the evidence was here! The Troika wanted to — they wanted to devour her like they’d eaten that Rider. No. Please, no —

While Tate’s brain skipped, Yago moved swiftly behind her and grabbed her by the wrists. Tate sensed a movement above her — inside the web.

No!

She didn’t want to die like a fly caught in a spiderweb.

How could Yago do this to me?
Tate thought wildly.
How could he do it to any living being?

He was Evil.

He was Betrayal.

Tate felt barely like herself

Something was happening. She was seeing in red, everything in red. And brighter than everything else, the Enemy….

She/It surged forward.

It was big and powerful.

It was tongue. It was teeth. It was warm and wet and it stank of use.

The Mouth.

It closed over the head of the Enemy and it thought,
Now this evil will go away.

“HOW LONG BEFORE THEY — HATCH?”

Tate stumbled, shakily caught her balance. Through a pinkish mist she could see the towering door to the bridge. She was still alive. Yago hadn’t gotten her yet, hadn’t trapped her in the webs….

Where was Yago? On the ground were nothing but a slick pool of slime.

Tate’s head swam. She half-walked, half-crawled into the hallway, desperate to make sense of what had just happened.

Okay.

She had gone Mouth. That much was clear. She remembered the blood-colored vision from her last — episode.

But… but had she really ingested Yago? The last time she’d just sort of
nibbled
on him. But the last time. Jobs and 2Face and Anamull had come to Yago’s rescue.
This
time they weren’t around to do the job.

Tate noticed — well, she wasn’t hungry anymore.

And … and — then there was the foul taste in her mouth.

Tate’s stomach heaved. She tried to hold it down, frightened of what she would see come up. But —

no use. Her stomach cramped and she was powerless to stop it.

She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and felt her way down the hallway. She wouldn’t look, nobody could make her look….

<>

Yago’s voice. Ringing in her head.

Tate froze. She quickly scanned the hallway.

Empty.

Tate whimpered. “Yago is dead,” she told herself shakily. “He can’t hurt you. He can’t talk —”

<> Tate covered her ears.

She turned to run down the hallway, back toward the elevator.

<> came Yago’s voice.

“We’re — we’re not going anywhere!” Tate screamed. “Go away — leave me alone!” Her voice was high with hysteria.

<ask
you to go Mouth or whatever, you know. The least you can do now is to behave civilly. In fact, I think you owe me an apology.>> Tate made fists of her hands and stomped her feet like a toddler having a temper tantrum.

<> Tate stopped and did a slow circle. She couldn’t flee Yago’s voice. Yago was somehow inside her.

Either that, or she was going completely mad.

<>

Yago could see out of her eyes? Tate blinked slowly and rubbed her eyes. She — she didn’t know how she felt about that. She — she would think about that later What she needed now was to put her head down somewhere. No, to actually lie down and take a little nap. Tate sat down against the wall of the corridor and stretched out. She was so sleepy….

<>

Yago’s taunts continued, but Tate drifted off.

Tate dreamed.

She was flying through space, Earth spread out below her like a great gray marble. She could see the Dark Zone, the Light Zone, the strange misshapen lumps that had come from the impact with the Rock.

Then something happened. Something began to spread over the gray like mold. Tate experienced a moment of fear — what was this new assault on Earth? Then she realized the something was green.

Plants,
Tate thought luxuriously, knowing she was dreaming and enjoying the dream. She watched until all of the gray patches were covered and the gray marble had become a soft fuzzy sphere. Her vision zoomed in.

Now she was walking through a garden, surrounded by apple trees and grass green enough for a golf course. A gentle breeze rippled though a clump of orange daylilies and Queen Anne’s lace. She put out one hand and ran it through the leaves of a bush growing along the pathway. Soft.

Children were playing hide-and-seek. She could hear their high-pitched squeals of laughter.

Her attention was drawn to a little girl with brown hair and Jobs’s distracted brown eyes.

Jobs’s daughter.

Somehow she knew the little girl’s name was Tate.

Then the garden was gone and Billy was standing before her. With a strangely distant smile, a benevolent smile, he reached out and handed her something.

Tate looked down. It was a birthday card. The front of the card showed a pink cake topped with blazing candles. Tate could see her own brown hands opening the card.

Inside it read:
Three elements: The Source, the five embodied in me, and
—

The dream-Billy abruptly screamed, his voice sounding like a siren. “Wake up! Wake up!”

Tate sat up fast and felt her dream world spin away. The lovely garden was gone. She was back on Mother. With a very nasty taste in her mouth.

The overwhelming sleepiness was gone, but she still felt sluggish. Her head was pounding, she couldn’t quite catch her breath, and — and her arms and legs were twitching uncontrollably.

What now?
Tate wondered wearily. Was she having a spasm? A seizure?

Tate’s right arm violently jerked up in the air like a puppet’s and then fell limply at her side.

<> A puppet…

Yago! Yago was trying to control her body! Terrified, Tate watched her hand jerk a few inches to the left. She thought of the Baby, the eyeless horror that had controlled Tamara. Poor Tamara … it’d been a long time since Tate had even had a moment to think about her. Hard to grieve on the go.

Tate’s hand twitched again. Angrily, she crossed her arms, pinning her hands under her armpits.

“Stop it, Yago!” she said shortly, aware of how ridiculous she would look if anyone could see her. The simple act of talking made her breathless. “Go ahead and — and haunt me if you must but have some respect for my body. Please.”

<> Tate felt deeply uneasy talking to a voice in her head. She had enough problems without dealing with — with schizophrenia. Or whatever this was. She had to figure out what was going on. Maybe she could hear Yago’s voice because she felt bad about what the Mouth had done to him….

“Just — just quit it, okay?” she whispered edgily.

<> Yago challenged bitterly <>

“Hurt myself,” Tate said immediately.

<>

“Try me.”

There was a pause. A long one. Long enough for Tate to hope Yago was gone for good. But then —

<> Yago said. <

The Troika has plans for your sweet little cells, remember?>>

“I’m not sure I can walk,” Tate said.

<>

With effort, Tate fell forward onto her hands and knees. She forced herself to move a leg, the opposite arm. Blood pounded in her veins. She moved a few inches toward the elevator. Then a few more. The pain in her head made her nauseous. She gagged, paused for a deep breath, moved forward again.

<> Yago seemed unaffected by her physical distress. <>

“How long before they — hatch?” Tate gasped.

<>

Another few inches. Tate had crawled a few feet now. The elevator looked slightly closer

“Can they — grow — without more cells?” Tate asked.

<> Yago said forcefully.

<>

“How do you know?”

<>

Tate had to admit Yago had been right to get her moving. Maybe he was right about the Troika, too. Maybe she would be wise to trust him — at least a little bit.

She crawled up to the elevator and pulled herself into a shaky stand.