97
Arkadian turned off the road just short of a second roadblock. Beyond it the city of Ruin spread out like a ghost town. There were no people visible, no cars moving down the streets. The only movement was a military truck, crawling along the long, wide boulevard that arrowed its way to the center of the city where the Citadel rose like a spire.
“This is sort of a no-man’s-land,” Arkadian explained, “far enough away from populated areas for the air to be deemed safe by the health authority. We use it as a command center for policing the quarantine. You’re safe here but I still have to ask you to put on one of these.” He leaned into the back of the car and fished a fresh surgical mask from an open carton. Arkadian waited for him to put it on before he opened the door and stepped out.
Shepherd was struck by the sound coming from the other side of the large building they were walking toward — the shrieks and laughter of children playing, their voices tinkling and swooping like birds in the air. “This is one of the kindergartens,” Arkadian explained. “All the children have been evacuated from the city now.” He pushed through the entrance and went inside.
The lobby was choked with posters for mountain hikes and biking and handwritten postcards on bulletin boards offering guided tours of the Old Town. Arkadian walked over to a door in the far wall that opened into an office with a few desks and computer terminals. “Welcome to the police department,” he said, moving to a desk in the corner. “It doesn’t look like much but it’s plugged in to all the relevant databases, all the ones you require, at least.” He pulled a second chair over and gestured for Shepherd to sit then typed in his log-in name and password. Shepherd noticed he was favoring his left hand.
“How’s your arm?” he asked. “I read about what happened.”
“You ever been shot, Agent Shepherd?”
“No.”
“It hurts more than you would imagine and it’s still not properly fixed. The mornings are worst and it aches whenever the weather is about to change.”
The screen flickered and Shepherd caught his breath as a photograph of Melisa appeared.
“Melisa Ana Erroll,” Arkadian said, catching Shepherd’s reaction. “What is your interest in her, exactly?”
“I’d like to talk to her — in relation to an ongoing investigation.”
Arkadian turned in his seat and stared straight at him. “Shall we be honest with each other?” Shepherd shook his head as if he wasn’t sure what he meant. “I’ll start, shall I?” Arkadian offered. “When I got your message I called a few people and ended up speaking to your partner.”
“Franklin?”
“You have another partner?”
Shepherd shrugged. “I’m not sure Franklin would call himself my partner.”
“Well, whoever he is he told me everything, or at least enough so that I know why you’re looking for this woman.” Arkadian removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is never easy and there is never any way to say it except straight. Melisa Erroll fell victim to the blight four months ago when the spread was still in its early stages. She was taken into the Citadel for treatment and apparently died three days later.”
Shepherd couldn’t breathe. Part of him didn’t believe it. He felt the ache inside, stronger now than ever, the red threads still pulsing and twisting.
He looked at the screen in case the photograph wasn’t her. But it was.
He was suddenly aware of everything: his breathing; the way his clothes touched his skin; how his whole body felt awkward in this seat, in this room. He was aware that Arkadian was still talking, and studying him with his knowing eyes, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. He tried to concentrate until some of his words swam into focus. “Do you need a minute?” He shook his head.
“According to the records her father contracted it first and she looked after him until he was taken into the mountain. Then she fell ill herself.”
Shepherd took a breath and felt his voice vibrating in his head. “Is she — is her body buried somewhere?”
Arkadian shook his head. “All victims of the blight are cremated inside the Citadel.”
Shepherd put his hand to his chest where he still felt the ache. “She can’t be dead,” he said. “I can feel her.”
Arkadian looked at him for a moment, his eyes curious. Then he rose from his chair. “Come with me,” he said, “there’s someone you should meet.”
Shepherd drifted after him like a ghost, down a long corridor with open doors to dormitory-style bedrooms on either side.
“Wait here,” Arkadian said, pointing through one of them to a room filled with triple-decker bunks. Shepherd went in and sat awkwardly on the edge of a bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, unable to sit upright in bunks that were built for kids. The sound of children playing rose in volume as Arkadian went outside then faded to silence again as the door shut behind him. The beds were still ruffled from sleep, a different stuffed toy standing guard by each pillow. The one he was sitting on had a rabbit on it. Next to the bed three small suitcases were lined up against the wall, each containing the whole world of an evacuated child.
The door opened again to let the swooping shrieks of happy children flood back into the building. Shepherd looked up to discover a young girl standing in the doorway, her small hands clasped in front of her, her head tilted forward so her dark, wavy hair fell over her face, giving her something to hide behind. Two dark eyes peered out from behind it.
Her mother’s eyes.
Shepherd stared at her, not noticing Arkadian standing behind her until she pressed herself back against his leg. “Hevva, this is Mr. Shepherd.”
“Joseph,” he said, smiling at her to try and put her at ease. “Do you speak English?”
She nodded, a move so tiny he wouldn’t have seen it at all but for the movement of her hair. “Are you real?” she asked.
Shepherd’s smile broadened at the strange question. “As real as you.” He frowned in mock seriousness. “Unless you’re not real; are you real?”
Another tiny nod, this time with the flicker of a smile.
“I knew your mother,” Shepherd said.
“I know,” the girl said, her voice sounding older than her years. She took a step forward, those familiar eyes watching him all the way. She still seemed a little wary of him and he didn’t want her to be. She was a living reminder of the woman he had loved and he just wanted to look at her.
She stopped in front of him, held out her clenched hands and opened them. Inside was a locket, held on a chain around her neck. She slipped it over her head, waves of hair tumbling over her face as the chain pulled free of it. He took it and looked at her, not sure what she meant by giving it to him. Then she reached out and — with tiny, nimble fingers — she opened it.
Tears flowed down Shepherd’s cheeks when he saw what was inside. It was a tiny photo of Melisa, bordered in black, and opposite it — a picture of him.
98
Gabriel continued to improve.
His occasional fits dwindled to nothing and after a few weeks he no longer needed to be strapped to his bed. But as his strength returned, so did his desire to leave the mountain and return to Liv. Dr. Kaplan assured him that, though great progress was being made with his blood work, they still had not found a cure, nor had they ruled out the possibility that Gabriel was an asymptomatic carrier. He still had the virus inside him, it just wasn’t killing him anymore.
Rather than sitting around he made himself useful where he could. He spent a lot of time sifting through the ash and rubble in the Crypto Revelatio, hoping he might find some of the clues they needed to interpret the Starmap. But the fire had been so intense that even the clay tablets had baked to dust and the few stone items that survived offered nothing but more lost languages and further riddles to solve.