The pilot and the co-pilot walked to the other side of the chopper, lit cigarettes, and stood smoking in silence. When the call came it was via satellite phone, and the co-pilot unclipped it from his belt.
“We’re on deck,” he said. “Five klicks from the camp.”
“Send the men,” said the caller.
The pilot was leaning in to listen to the call, and he met his co-pilot’s eyes. The co-pilot said, “We haven’t received the go order from WhiteHat.”
“I’m giving you the order,” said the caller.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we were told that only the lady can give the order.”
“I’m calling on her behalf.”
“Sir, I—”
“She is ill and cannot make this call.”
“I get that, sir, but our orders were very specific. We’re not supposed to go into Havoc mode until we get the word from the lady. That was what she said, and I’m going to have to follow her orders.”
There was a brief silence on the line.
Then, “Very well. Move your team into position one half kilometer out and wait for the lady to call,” said John the Revelator.
The co-pilot lowered the sat phone and lit another cigarette, then shared the match with the pilot. They smoked the fresh cigarettes halfway down before either of them spoke.
“You think she’s already dead?” asked the pilot.
“I don’t know,” said the co-pilot. “Maybe. Last time I saw her she looked like she already had one foot in the grave and the other on a slick spot.”
They watched their smoke rise into the humid air.
“What if it’s just John running the show now?” asked the pilot.
The co-pilot shrugged and flicked the butt out into the woods. “Then fuck it. The world’s for shit as it is. This ain’t going to make it worse.”
The pilot said nothing. He glanced over at the six silent, scarred soldiers. He nudged his partner lightly.
“Tell you what, though,” he murmured. “I want to be in the air and far away from here before we flip the switch on these sons of bitches.”
The co-pilot nodded and offered a fist for a bump, got it, checked his watch, and then whistled for the six soldiers.
“Game time,” he said.
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
“Wake up, my darling,” murmured John.
Zephyr Bain opened her eyes very slowly and tentatively, as if they were heavy, as if opening them hurt. “I…” she began, but had no idea where she wanted to go with that, so she let it go.
“You need to wake up,” coaxed John, his voice soft and warm.
“I can’t,” she complained.
“You must.”
“I’m tired… I’m sick.…” She curled up and turned away, closing her eyes again. She knew that she was in her bed, but the sheets were wet. Had she peed the bed again? No, there was a soapy smell, and she realized slowly that he must have carried her here from the tub without rinsing her off or drying her. Or dressing her. “Let me sleep,” she said.
Except that isn’t what she said, and Zephyr heard her own words as a strange interior echo.
Let me go.
Which meant Let me die.
“I will,” he promised. “Soon you’ll be able to sleep as long as you want. You’ll be able to sleep forever and swim in the warm, dark waters as long as you want.”
“No more poetry, damn you,” she pleaded. “Just leave me be.”
“It’s time to give the word. The dogs of war are straining at their chains. Everything is poised to go. The world is breathless, waiting for the great change.”
She shook her head in a long, silent no.
“Zephyr,” he said with a harder edge to his tone. “You promised.”
“No.”
“This is what you’ve always wanted.”
His voice was strange. Deeper, rougher. Uglier. She opened her eyes to slits and turned to look at him. John sat on the edge of the bed. Naked, covered in sweat as if he were in a sauna, his penis engorged and erect, spit glistening on his white teeth, eyes swirling with wrongness.
“This is what you’ve always wanted,” she protested, and it hurt her — scared her — to hear how small and frightened and faraway her voice had become in the past few days. It was as if she could feel herself going farther and farther away. Leaving this world, leaving life. She never expected to be able to feel it happen. She’d always figured it would be like going to sleep. Some pain and then nothing.
She also never expected John to be such a monster. Her vagina ached, and she wondered — not for the first time — if he had taken her while she slept. Raping a corpse. Taking the inability to respond as consent.
Yes, she thought. That’s exactly what he did. He was like so many men, who thought that consent, once given, was an ongoing license. If she had the strength, she would have risen up and kicked the shit out of him.
If he could be killed.
Even now, after all these years, after knowing him so intimately, Zephyr had no idea what he really was.
“You need to give the word,” he told her, bending over her. She could feel the pressure of his stiff cock against her naked hip. So hard and so cold. Like a spike of Arctic ice.
“No,” she whined.
“Yes,” he insisted.
“I don’t care about it anymore.”
“You do. You must, my sweet. You have spent your life preparing for this moment.”
Zephyr felt a flare of hot anger in her chest, and she shoved at him with one hand. It didn’t move him even an inch, and her hand flopped back onto the bed.
“I wanted this because I thought I’d see it, goddammit. Now that’s for shit. You killed me.”
“No, my girl, I gave you thirty years. I gave you all the time you needed to change the world. Now, all that’s left is to tell Calpurnia to start. All you have to do is speak one word. You owe this to me.”
“I… don’t owe you anything,” she said, her breath labored just from the effort of trying to shove him. “You took everything… from me.”
“No. I gave you the world.”
“You… twisted me all around… you made me crazy.…”
He laughed. A chuckle that sounded like thunder. Weirdly deep, oddly loud. “You were born crazy, my darling. You were a loaded gun from the time you could form your first thought. All I did was aim you in a useful direction.”
She wanted to scream, but she lacked the energy. She wanted to weep, but her body was a dry husk. She wanted to die, but he seemed to be able to keep her here, in the world, in this bed, with him.
“Say the word,” he demanded. “Say it and I will let you go.”
He pressed his hardness against her.
“No,” she snarled. If her body was a crumbling house, then that word blew like a sudden gust through the open windows. It made the last candle flame of her life flicker and dance, and the glare through goblin shapes on all the walls. She screamed it again.
“NO!”