Off to my left I heard a sound and risked a slanting look. It was a twisted shape that almost, but not quite, looked human. He wore white pajamas that were smeared with food and snot and piss and blood. His skin was wrinkled and puckered and blistered. He was exactly as I’d seen him in my dream.
I said, “Hello, Prospero.”
What was left of Prospero Bell smiled at me with white teeth in a burned red face. His eyes glittered with emerald fire every bit as bright as the gems on his machine. There was pain in those eyes, and wildness, and absolutely no trace of sanity. As he stepped forward I heard a tinkling sound and realized that the boy had a metal cuff locked around his ankle, and a chain that trailed back to a squalid corner of the room where there was a soiled cot, a filthy toilet, a card table, and a chair. Beyond that was an elaborate computer workstation that was as clean as the rest of Prospero’s cell was dirty. And I understood how it worked. The young man was a prisoner here, a captive of Harcourt Bolton for God knew how many years. Since the Ballard academy had burned down, maybe. He was allowed to continue his work but the chain did not allow him to reach the mouth of the God Machine. A slave forced to toil in the shadow of what he believed was his salvation. I felt so bad for the kid, but the clock was ticking.
04:18
“You’re wearing your hat this time,” said Prospero Bell, pointing at my skullcap. “You’re safe from the monsters.”
Prospero took a step toward me, but the chain brought him up short.
“Get back, boy,” snarled Santoro. “This man is dangerous.”
“Prospero,” I said quickly, “I know you want to go home.”
“They won’t let me,” said the prisoner.
I took a chance. “I will. Do you know what they’re going to do with your God Machine? They’re using it to control Kill Switch devices in ten cities. They have hundreds of drones in the air, each one rigged to blow when the power goes out. Each of those drones is carrying weaponized smallpox. Do you know that? Did they tell you that’s what they were doing with your machine?”
“Don’t listen to him,” snapped Santoro. “He’s just trying to confuse you.”
“No,” I said, “Harcourt Bolton has replicated dozens of the Kill Switch devices. They’re in the ten biggest cities in America. He’s going to kill millions of people, Prospero. Most of them are children, like you were when your father stole the God Machine from you….”
But the prisoner shook his head. “Children like me? No… there are no children like me. And what do I care? They said that once the sequence is finalized they’ll let me go home. I want to go home. That’s all I ever wanted to do.”
“Prospero, listen to me,” I said, feeling each tick of the clock like a crack of thunder, “they’re never going to let you go home.”
“He’s lying,” warned Santoro.
“The machines will kill millions of people, Prospero. Millions.”
Prospero shrugged. “They’re not my people.”
“Yes, they are,” I said. “Some of them are.”
The boy stared at me. “What?”
“He’s lying,” said Santoro. “You know you’re unique. That’s why we love you. That’s why we keep you safe, yes?”
04:16
“Prospero… I know someone who’s like you,” I said. “Her name is Junie Flynn. She was born in the same place as you. They called it a hive. She looks just like you. She could be your sister. Or maybe she is your sister.”
Prospero’s eyes went wide. “Sister…? Yes… I dreamed I had a sister….”
“He’s trying to confuse you,” said Santoro. He began shifting toward my blind side. I saw it and compensated, but I kept between Santoro and Prospero.
“I’m telling you the truth, kid,” I said. “She does look like you. And she knows about you. She wants to meet you. She wants to share her secrets with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Junie knows she’s not from here, either,” I said. “She knows she doesn’t belong here. She knows she’s from another place.”
“He’s making it up,” snapped Santoro, but Prospero was listening to me. Very closely.
I fished inside my head for something, some way to prove it. And those strange words floated to the surface of my need. In as clear a voice as I could, I looked at Prospero and said, “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”
I have no idea what it means, or if it really means anything. Lovecraft wrote it into one of his stories, and I heard it in my head. I had to take a chance.
Prospero Bell closed his eyes. “Please,” he whispered. “I just want to go home.”
“Then help me,” I begged, “and I’ll help you. How do I stop it? Help me save your sister and I will help you go home. I swear it by everything I love. Give me the reset code.”
Tears glittered in the corner of those burned eyes, and Prospero said, “The reset sequence is—”
“No!” cried Santoro, and he attacked. He hooked a toe under one of the lengths of pipe, flipped it up, caught it, and swung it at my head with shocking speed and power. I ducked fast, but the pipe still caught me a glancing blow. I staggered, bells exploding in my head. I ran sideways, fighting for balance, trying to clear my eyes, and saw him come at me again. I jumped forward this time, crashing into him and slamming his shoulders hard against the side of the machine.
It was the wrong thing to do. The impact hit something and suddenly all of the lights flashed at once and there was a heavy, bass whoooom. The lights ringing the gateway flared so bright it stabbed my eyes. I shoved Santoro away and tried to run, but it wasn’t something that could be outrun. It was like trying to outrun the sound of a scream. It was like trying to outrun a tsunami. It rose above me and wrapped around me and smashed down on me and it took me. It was at once totally alien and yet disturbingly familiar.
I’d felt this before. Down, down, down in the cold bottom of the world. When the machine Erskine had built in the ancient city had pulsed and then exhaled its foul breath all over Top, Bunny, and me. The breath of something evil and hungry and strange. Then it had only been a puff of that air. Now it was a roar.
Now it was a scream that burst from the mouth of the gate and slammed into me, lifting me physically off the ground, hurling me across the room like I was nothing. Spitting me out like a piece of gristle. The wall was there. It seemed to reach for me. To want to hurt me.
And it did.
I spun, curled, tried to position myself to take the impact in a way that wouldn’t ruin me. I hit. God, I hit. Shoulder. Head. Hip. The pain was like falling into boiling water. It was everywhere. Inside and out. I collapsed onto the metal floor as the God Wave washed over me and filled the room.
And filled me.
The lights in the room stayed on. The lights inside my head went out. The last thing I saw was the digital display on the inside of my goggles.
03:59
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-TWO
Lydia left Bunny on the patio while she went in to take a shower. She was quick about it, though, and pulled her robe on over wet, bare skin. Her attempts to entice him into the shower with her had been answered by a single, slow shake of the head. No words.
As soon as she stepped into the living room, though, she knew something was wrong. Badly wrong. The couch cushions were missing and the gun safe hidden beneath them had been opened. Boxes of ammunition, spare magazines, cleaning kits, rags, and three handguns lay scattered across the floor. A six-shot nickel-plated Smith & Wesson Special lay in a growing pool of gun oil that ran from a plastic bottle that had been stepped on. Oily footprints led in a wandering trail out to the patio, but when she ran to the French doors, the patio was empty. One of the guns was missing. A Glock 26. The trigger lock had been removed and lay where it had fallen. There was no time to count the magazines to see if one was missing, but a box of.9mm shells had been torn open and bullets littered the floor.