“Damn,” said Justin, thinking furiously. “That doesn’t sound very promising. But why is he the leader of these others? Doesn’t he have the same deformities?”
“No,” said Cass. “Physically speaking, anyway, he’s normal. No lumps or freaky long arms or tentacles or anything. Mentally speaking? Well, that’s another issue.”
“He say what he want?” asked Teresa. “What he gonna do with us, mebbe?”
“No, not exactly,” said Cass. She looked at the younger woman for a long moment and then cocked her head quizzically. “But what are you doing here? I thought you were back at Baron Zero’s House. And how did you all come to be here, anyway?”
Erin filled the nurse in on their latest misadventures, but Justin sat back, massaged his temples, and tried to think. He’d had all kinds of experience with madmen in the course of their travels, from simple homicidal maniacs to complex paranoid psychotics, and knew that there was usually a way—generally a specific, unique way—of dealing with them. One had to identify and then appeal to whatever it was they were fixated on; humor them, give them what they wanted, and then, if possible, beat a hasty retreat. More or less talk one’s way to freedom. And with any luck the same strategy would apply here.
What worried him more was Cass’s description of Lampert’s health. If she was right and the Old Man was coming down with pneumonia, the end would not be far off. He knew Lampert’s ancient body wouldn’t be able to fight it for more than a day or two. Frustrated, he shook his head, gave a feeling sigh, and turned back to Cass, who had now been brought up to speed.
“What about others?” he asked. “Besides this Emperor person, that is.”
Cass nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “There are others here like us. Matter of fact, the guy himself is here, the one who tranq’ed you and stole Mr. Lampert and the car. Or, at least he was.”
“Really?” said Erin. “They got him, too, huh? Where is he?”
“Dunno,” said Cass. “They moved us, after the first day. I get the feeling he’s not the only one, either. There are a lot of these caves down here, cells like this one, and I’m pretty sure, judging from the noise, that a lot of ‘em are occupied. God only knows by who or what.”
“Interesting,” said Justin. “And this Emperor man said nothing about his intentions? You have no idea what he’s up to?”
“Not a clue,” said Cass. “I mean, this guy is nuts, OK? Who knows what he’s doing or why? There was one weird thing, though…”
“Yes?” prodded Justin.
“Oh, just that there was this big room, this big cave, you know? They brought me through it on the way here. And damned if it wasn’t all decorated and set up like they were gonna have a party! Streamers, balloons, tables and chairs all set up… damndest thing I ever saw.”
“A party?” said Erin. “Down here? What are they celebrating, Ground Hog Day?”
No one laughed. Justin frowned and scratched his chin. “That is strange,” he said. “But then, like you say, who knows what this man’s particular problem could be? I think our best bet is to wait and see what he wants.”
Everyone nodded and fell quiet. Justin noticed that Teresa no longer complained about waiting.
Chapter Forty-Nine
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Lumler had never liked it when people talked about him as if he wasn’t there. It reminded him of when he was a little kid in the pediatrician’s office with his mom and the doctor telling her that her son was big-boned and had better watch it or he’d get fat when he grew up. Like he was livestock, or some kind of science project. Like he wasn’t there.
At the moment, though, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Santiago had led him a twisted way to this place, a big abandoned warehouse on the south side of town, and then asked him to wait. They’d found some clothes that fit Lumler (not an easy feat) in a half-burned store along the way so that now, instead of his snappy black uniform, he sported a cheap suit, brown, ill-fitting, and of a style popular about twenty years ago.
Adamantly not thinking about what he’d done and what the repercussions would be, he’d sat in the big empty space and listened to the little sounds of rats, dripping water, and the faint pop of rifle shots from somewhere outside. He’d started when a police siren suddenly blared forth from somewhere not far away, but then the noise had receded and faded out and he’d relaxed. He’d been waiting for an hour or so when finally the sound of hushed voices and footsteps told him that Santiago had returned. And he’d brought his friends.
Now, sitting between a group of Santiago and six other men and women, he tried to sit still and keep his face flat as they debated his fate. Still, it felt just like the pediatrician. With an effort, he shook off the thought and listened to the argument. It didn’t sound too promising:
“He’s a fucking Pig!” one of the group said. This was a short, thin black man with a shaved head and very intense dark eyes. “And you know what these fuckers do! Or have you all forgotten Miss Sarah and Fat Billy and the others? I say we shoot his ass right now, have done with it, and dump him in the fuckin’ river.”
Another man, this one older, white, with a sort of scholarly air to him, nodded at the other man’s statement. “He’s right, Santiago,” he said solemnly. “I don’t normally condone capital violence, but this man is obviously a plant, a cheap effort to infiltrate our group. Yes, I think Daniel is right. Get rid of him now, before they can trace him to us.”
“Now, hold on, Prof,” said a woman, a tallish gal, maybe forty years old, not bad looking but with a severe sort of aura. She walked up to Lumler and eyed him with a sneer before turning back to her comrades. “Maybe we can use this Pig. We could ransom him, for one thing, or we could even turn him, send him back to the Governor as a double agent. At the very least, we could sell him to the cannibals out by the East Gate. You know they got those AK bullets we need.”
“Oh, come on, Still,” said Santiago, walking forward. “Get real! I mean, do we really want to stoop to that? Do we want to be as bad as the people we’re fighting?”
Cowed, the six men and women shuffled and mumbled. Apparently his friend held some sway with these folks. That was good. Santiago let them grumble for a little while and then spoke up again.
“Look, everyone,” he said reasonably. “I know this isn’t easy for you to wrap your heads around. The PF are responsible for a hell of a lot of pain, misery, and death. That’s a fact. But here’s another fact: People make choices and people can change. And Doug made a choice, understand? When he saved my life, when he gunned down another PF officer, he made a choice. And he changed.”