If possible, Eph would have just kept driving until daylight. But gasoline was an issue, and stopping to refuel was simply too dangerous. They were going to have to risk waiting for daylight at the river, potentially as sitting ducks.
On the plus side, the farther north they drove, the fewer roadside strigoi they saw. The lower rural population was in their favor.
Nora was at the wheel. Reading maps was not one of Gus’s strengths. Nora was confident they were moving north in general but knew that they had occasionally gotten sidetracked a little too far east or west. They were past Syracuse, but suddenly Watertown—the last city of any size before the Canadian border—seemed so far away.
The radio at her hip had crackled a few times, but every time she tried to raise Eph, she received only silence in return. After a while she stopped trying. She did not want to chance running down the batteries.
Fishers Landing. That was what Eph had said, where they were to meet. Nora had lost track of how many hours it had been since sundown, how many more it would be until sunrise—all she knew was that it was too many. She wanted daylight far too badly to dare to trust her own gut estimation.
Just get there, she thought. Get there and figure it out.
“Here they come, doc,” said Gus.
Nora looked all around the street in front of her. She saw nothing, driving so intently through the darkness. Then she saw it: a hint of light through the treetops.
Moving light. A helicopter.
“They’re looking for us,” said Gus. “Haven’t spotted us yet, I don’t think.”
Nora kept one eye on the light and the other on the road. They passed a sign for the highway and realized they had drifted back near the interstate. Not good.
The helicopter circled toward them. “I’m cutting the headlights,” she said, which also meant slowing way down.
They drifted down the dark road, watching the helicopter come around, approaching near. The light grew brighter as it began to descend, maybe a few hundred yards north of them.
“Hold up, hold up,” said Gus. “It’s landing.”
She saw the light setting down. “That must be the highway.”
Gus said, “I don’t think they saw us at all.”
She continued to roll down the road, judging its margins by the black treetop branches framed against the less-black sky. Trying to decide what to do.
“Should we take off?” she said. “Risk it?”
Gus was trying to see through the windshield up to the highway. “You know what?” he said. “I don’t think they were looking for us after all.”
Nora kept her eyes on the road. “What is it, then?”
“You got me. Question is—do we dare to find out?”
Nora had spent enough time with Gus to know that this was not actually a question. “No,” she said quickly. “We need to go. To keep going.”
“It could be something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Why we have to look. I haven’t seen any roadside bloodsuckers for a few miles anyway. I think we’re good for a quick look.”
“A quick look,” said Nora, as though she could hold him to that.
“Come on,” he said. “You’re curious too. Besides—they were using their light, right? That means humans.”
She pulled over to the left side of the road and turned off the engine. They got out of the car, forgetting that the interior lights came on once the doors were opened. They closed them quickly without slamming them and stood and listened.
The rotors were still spinning but slowing down. The engine had just been turned off. Gus held his machine gun away from himself as he scrambled up the weedy, rocky embankment, with Nora just behind and to the left of him.
They slowed at the top, their faces rising beneath the guardrail. The chopper was another one hundred yards or so down the highway. There were no cars in sight. The rotors stopped rotating, though the helicopter light remained illuminated, shining off to the opposite side of the road. Nora made out four silhouettes, one of them shorter than the others. And she could not be sure, but she believed that the pilot—probably a human, judging by the light—was still inside the cockpit, waiting. For what? Taking off again soon?
They ducked back down. “A rendezvous?” said Nora.
“Something like that. You don’t think it’s the Master, do you?”
“Can’t tell,” she said.
“One of them was small. Looked like a kid.”
“Yeah,” said Nora, nodding … and then she stopped nodding. Her head shot up again, and this time she looked over the top of the guardrail. Gus pulled her back down by her belt, but not before she had convinced herself of the identity of the ragged-haired boy. “Oh my God.”
“What?” said Gus. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
She drew her sword. “We have to get over there.”
“Well, sure, now you’re talking. But what’s the—”
“Shoot the adults but not the kid. Just don’t let them get away.”
Nora was up and over the guardrail before Gus could get to his feet. She was running straight at them, Gus having to hustle to keep up. She watched the larger two figures turn her way before she had made any real noise. The vampires saw her heat impression, sensing the silver in her sword. They stopped and turned back to the humans. One grabbed the boy and tried to lift him inside the helicopter. They were going to take off again. The engine turned over, the rotors starting their hydraulic whine.
Gus opened up his weapon, picking at the long tail of the helicopter at first, then stitching up the side toward the passenger compartment. That was enough to drive the vampire carrying the boy away from the chopper. Nora was more than halfway to them now. Gus fanned out wide to her left, picking at the cockpit glass. The glass did not shatter, the rounds punching clean through until a spray of red went out over the opposite end.
The pilot’s body slumped forward. The rotors continued to speed up but the chopper did not move.
One vampire left the man he was guarding and ran at Nora. She saw the dark, decorative ink on its neck and immediately placed the vamp as one of the prison bodyguards—one of Barnes’s bodyguards. The thought of Barnes erased all fear, and Nora came at the vampire with her sword high and her voice at full yell. The big vampire went low at the last moment, surprising her, but she sidestepped him like a matador, bringing down her sword on his back. He skidded across the blacktop on his front side, burning off flesh, then hopped back up to his feet. Pale skin hung from his thighs, chest, and one cheek. That didn’t slow him down. The silver wound to his back did.
Gus’s gun rattled and the big vampire twitched. The shots stunned him but did not put him down. Nora did not give the powerful strigoi time to mount another attack. She treated his neck tattoos like targets and took off his head.
She turned back toward the helicopter, squinting into its rotor wash. The other tattooed vampire was away from the humans, circling Gus. It understood and respected the power of silver—but not the power of a machine gun. Gus walked up on the hissing strigoi, right up inside its stinging radius, and fired a cluster of head shots. The vamp went down backward and Gus advanced and shot up its neck, releasing the creature.
The man was down on one knee, bracing himself on the open door of the helicopter. The boy watched both vampires go down. He turned and ran toward the roadside, in the direction the helicopter light was shining. Nora saw something in his hands, which he held in front of him as he ran.
Nora yelled, “Gus, get him!” because Gus was closest. Gus took off after the kid. The skinny kid was fast enough but unsteady. He jumped over the guardrail and landed all right, but in the shadowy ground beyond he misjudged a step or two and got tangled up in his own feet.
Nora was standing near Barnes beneath the whirling rotor umbrella of the helicopter. He was still airsick and on his knee. Yet when he looked up and recognized Nora’s face, he paled even more.
Nora raised her sw
ord and was ready to strike when she heard four sharp cracks, dulled beneath the sound of the helicopter. It was a small rifle, the boy firing at them in a panic. Nora wasn’t hit but the bullets exploded awfully near. She moved away from Barnes and entered the underbrush. She saw Gus lunge for the boy and tackle him before he could fire again. He picked the kid up by his shirt, turning him toward the light, Gus making sure he wasn’t dealing with a vampire. Gus pulled the empty rifle out of his hand and threw it into the trees. The kid bucked, so Gus gave him a good shake, just violent enough to let him know what could happen to him if he tried to fight. Still, the kid squinted in the light, trying to pull away, genuinely afraid of Gus.
“Easy, kid. Jesus.”
He dragged the squirming boy back over the guardrail.
Nora said, “You okay, Gus?”
Gus wrestled with the kid. “He’s a lousy shot, so yeah.”
Nora looked back at the chopper. Barnes had vanished. She squinted past the helicopter light, searching for him, but to no avail. Nora cursed softly.
Gus took another look at the kid’s face there and noticed something about him, his eyes, the structure of his face. He looked familiar. Too familiar.
Gus looked at Nora. “Oh, come on,” said Gus.
The kid kicked at Gus with the heel of his sneaker. Gus kicked him back, only harder.
“Christ—just like your father,” Gus said.
That slowed the kid down. He looked at Gus, though still trying to pull away. “What do you know?” he said.
When Nora looked at Zack, she both recognized him at once and not at all: the boy’s eyes were nothing like she had remembered. His features had matured as any boy’s would have over a two-year period—but his eyes lacked the light they had once had. If the curiosity was still there, it was darker now, it was deeper. It was as though his personality had retreated into his mind, wanting to read but not to be read. Or maybe he was just in shock. He was only thirteen, after all.
He is hollow. He is not there.
“Zachary,” she said, not knowing what to do.
The boy looked at her for some moments before recognition crept into his eyes. “Nora,” he said, pronouncing the word slowly, as though having nearly forgotten it.
Despite the fact that there were fewer drones available to monitor the various potential automobile routes in northern New York State, the Master’s path grew ever more certain. The Master had viewed Dr. Martinez’s ambush through the eyes of Dr. Barnes’s security detail, until their violent release. Currently, the Master saw the helicopter in the highway, rotors still spinning, viewed through Kelly Goodweather’s eyes.
The Master watched as Kelly directed her driver down a steep embankment to an auxiliary road, driving fast, following the Explorer’s path. Kelly’s bond with Zachary was much more intense than her bond with her ex-mate Dr. Ephraim Goodweather. Her longing was much more pronounced—and, in this moment, productive.
And now the Master had an even better read on the infidels’ progress. They had taken the bait the Master knew would prove irresistible. The Master watched through Zachary’s eyes, sitting in the backseat of the automobile driven by Augustin Elizalde. The Master was all but with them there in the vehicle as they headed to rendezvous with Dr. Goodweather, who had possession of the Lumen and knowledge of the location of the Black Site.
“I am following them,” said Barnes, his voice crackling on a radio. “I will keep you informed. You have me on the GPS.”
And indeed, a dot was visible on the GPS. An imperfect, pale, mechanical imitation of the Master’s bond, but one he could share with the traitor Barnes.
“I have the gun with me,” said Barnes. “I am ready for your command.”
The Master smiled. So obsequious.
They were close, perhaps mere miles away from their destination. Their northern trajectory put them on a path toward Lake Ontario or the Saint Lawrence River. And if a water crossing was in order, no matter. The Master had Creem to ferry him across, if needed, as the gang leader was still nominally human but wholly under his command.
The Master directed the helicopters north at full speed.
Creem’s mouth hurt. His gums burned where his dented silver teeth were attached. At first he thought this was more lingering effects resulting from the elbow he had taken from Mr. Quinlan. But now his fingers were growing sore, enough so that he plucked the bling off his knuckles, giving his digits a rest, the silver jewelry piling up in the cup holder.
He didn’t feel right. He felt woozy and warm. At first he feared some sort of bacterial infection like the one that had claimed Gus’s man. But the more he looked into his rearview mirror at the Master’s dark, worm-writhing face, the more Creem grew anxious, wondering if the Master had infected him. For an instant, he felt something move through his forearm and into his biceps. Something more than a tingle. Something en route to his heart.
Eph’s Jeep reached Fishers Landing first. The northernmost road ran along the edge of the Saint Lawrence. Mr. Quinlan couldn’t pick up on any vampires in the immediate area. They saw a CAMP RIVERSIDE sign pointing toward an area where the road left the water’s edge. They turned down the dirt road, riding out to a large spit of land jutting into the river. There were cabins and a restaurant with an adjacent sweets shop, and a sandy beach boxed in by a dock long and wide enough to be just barely visible over the water.
Eph pulled up sharply in the lot at the end of the road, leaving his headlamps on, and pointed at the water. He wanted to get out on that dock. They needed a boat.
As soon as he shut his door, a powerful light filled his vision, effectively blinding him. By thrusting up his arm, he could just make out multiple sources, one from near the restaurant, the other near a towel shack. He panicked a moment but then realized that these were artificial light sources—something vampires had no need or use for.
A voice called out, “Stop right there! Don’t move!”
A real voice, not a vampire voice projected into his head.
“Okay, okay!” said Eph, trying to shield his eyes. “I’m a human!”
“We see that now,” said the female voice.
A male voice from the other side said, “This one’s armed!”
Eph looked over at Fet on the other side of the Jeep. Fet said, “Are you armed?”
“You better believe it!” called the male voice.
“Can we both put them down and talk?” said Fet.
“No,” said the female voice. “We’re glad you aren’t stingers, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t raiders. Or Stonehearts in disguise.”
“We aren’t either,” said Eph, holding off the lights with his open hands. “We’re here on a … a sort of mission. But there isn’t much time.”
“There’s one more in the backseat!” yelled the male voice. “Show yourself!”
Oh, shit, thought Eph. Where to begin? “Look,” he said. “We came here all the way from New York City.”
“I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you return.”
“You … you sound like fighters. Against the vampires. We’re fighters too. Part of a resistance.”
“We’re full up here, friend.”
Eph said, “We need to get out to one of the islands.”
“Feel free. Just do it from some other point along the Saint Lawrence. We don’t want any trouble, but we’re ready enough for it.”
“If I could have just ten minutes to explain—”
“You got ten seconds to leave. I can see your eyes, and your friend’s. They’re right enough in the light. But if your other friend isn’t getting out of the car, we’re going to start shooting.”
“First of all, we have something fragile and explosive in the car, so for your sake, don’t shoot. Second, you’re not going to like what you see in our other friend here.”
Fet chimed in. “He reads vamp. His pupils will glass up in the light. Because he’s part stinger.”
The male voice said, “No such thing.”
“One such thing,” said Eph. “He’s on our side, and I can explain—or try to—if you’ll give me a chance.”
Eph sensed the light source moving. Advancing on him. He stiffened, expecting an attack.
The male voice from the other light said, “Careful, Ann!”
The woman behind the light stopped about ten yards away from Eph, near enough that he could feel heat coming off the lamp. He made out rubber boots and an elbow behind the beam.
“William!” the female voice called.
William, the bearer of the other light, came running toward Fet. “What is it?”
“Take a good look at his face,” she said.
For a moment, Eph had both beams directly on him.
“What?” said William. “He ain’t no vamp.”
“No, dummy. From the news reports. The wanted man. Are you Goodweather?”
“Yes. Ephraim is my name.”
“Goodweather, the fugitive doctor. Who killed Eldritch Palmer.”
“Actually,” Eph said, “I was falsely accused. I didn’t kill the old bastard. I did try, though.”
“They wanted you real bad, didn’t they? Those motherfuckers.”
Eph nodded. “They still do.”
William said, “I don’t know, Ann.”
Ann said, “You’ve got ten minutes, asshole. But your so-called friend stays in the car, and if he tries to get out, you’re all fish food.”
Fet stood before the back of the Jeep, showing them the device and the timer he had attached by flashlight.
“Shee-it. A goddamn nuclear bomb,” said Ann, revealed to be a woman in her fifties with a long, fraying braid of gray hair, dressed in waders under a fisherman’s slicker.
“You thought it would be bigger,” said Fet.
“I don’t know what I thought.” She looked again at Eph and Fet. William—a man in his forties, wearing a wool sweater shaggy with pulls and droopy blue jeans—remained off to the side, both hands on his rifle. The lamps lay at his feet, one of them still turned on. The indirect light cast Mr. Quinlan, now standing outside the vehicle, in an intimidating cloak of shadows. “Except that your situation here is too bizarre to be untrue.”