Darkness Follows

  “Go! I’ll take the prisoners!”

  The Gun hesitated. “But—”

  Another Gun had overheard. He spoke urgently into a talky. “Vancour had an accomplice! Near the main entrance. Start searching; we’re heading back in.” He glanced up. “Sectors three through eight, back to your posts! Now!”

  Several Guns took off. Mac heard them shouting once they got inside. The man in front of Mac hadn’t moved. Mac grabbed the keys from his hand. “Get back in there or join the prisoners,” he hissed.

  The Gun almost stumbled over the kerb in his hurry to run after the others. Mac rushed to the front of the Shadowcar, wrenched open the door. He twisted the keys in the ignition and pulled away with a lurch, spinning the steering wheel.

  In the rear-view mirror, he could see a trio of Guns watching, frowning uncertainly. But they didn’t move and a moment later Mac was gone, speeding down the city streets. He let out a long, shaking breath, watching the stadium grow smaller behind them.

  A grilled opening connected the cab to the back of the truck. Mac heard Sephy talking urgently: “…so please try not to worry; with luck we’ll get away and it’ll all be fine…”

  “Sephy!” he called. He didn’t take his eyes from the road but reached up and stuck his fingers through the grille. A moment later he felt her grip his hand tightly.

  “I’m here,” she said.

  He looked at her in the rear-view mirror, taking in her eyes, the elegant line of her neck.

  “Number twenty,” he said. “Will you marry me?”

  She pressed her cheek against his fingers.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  EPILOGUE

  April, 1942

  “Mac wants to know if you’re ready,” said Hal.

  I turned from the bedroom window. I’d been gazing out at the view one last time. Sephy’s friends’ house was deep in the Smoky Mountains. These last two months I’d spent a lot of time sitting alone on this window seat, watching the leaves change from vulnerable green curls to full, lush foliage.

  It made a welcome change from what was happening on the telio.

  My brother stood in the doorway, waiting for my answer. He looked so mature and so young at the same time. I hesitated, then put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Almost,” I said.

  Hal tried to smile but his expression was conflicted. “I’ll go help Mac,” he mumbled. Suddenly I was standing alone and Hal was jogging down the stairs.

  Sephy was just coming out of the bedroom that she’d been sharing with Mac. She touched my arm.

  “Hey, he’ll forgive you,” she said. “He loves you a lot, you know. Just give him time.”

  I nodded. I hoped she was right. The first night I’d come here, I’d been unprepared for my brother’s anger. “Do you have any idea what it was like to come back and find that you’d just left?” he’d demanded.

  “I’m sorry,” I’d told him. “I was trying to get answers for us…about Dad.”

  Hal had stared at me in disbelief. We’d been sitting alone at the kitchen table, with rain beating against the windows. “What the hell good would answers have done me if you’d been killed? I’d only just gotten you back, Amity! It was like you didn’t even care!”

  “I’m sorry,” I’d repeated. There was a vase with flowers on the table; I’d pushed my hair back with both hands, gazing at it. “I guess…I guess I wasn’t thinking very clearly,” I said softly. “Getting answers seemed like the most important thing in the world at the time.”

  It was the only explanation I could give him. It was true, but it didn’t seem to help.

  Hal had looked away from me. “So did you find out why Dad did it?” he asked finally, his voice stilted.

  I slowly shook my head. “I don’t think there was any reason, really. Or at least no good one. He just…made a mistake.”

  That didn’t seem to help either. But I knew that what didn’t help most of all was me.

  The moment of the shooting felt like a dream now. Yet since then, I’d been remote. Distant. It was nothing I could control. I felt locked apart from myself, observing everything from far away, and no matter how much I told myself that my brother needed me, I couldn’t seem to find my way back to him. I couldn’t seem to find my way back to anyone.

  After I’d pulled the trigger, everything had shifted to slow motion.

  The report had kicked through me, stinging my palms. The gunshot hurt my ears. John Gunnison crumpled and fell to the platform floor: the man I’d seen in a hundred newsreels, a thousand newspaper stories. He’d always been in grainy black-and-white and now here he was in colour. His thick blonde hair was greying at the temples and the life was draining from him as I watched.

  I’d stood frozen and cold, gazing at a tiny bubble of blood at the corner of his mouth. His blue eyes slowly went blank.

  I’ve killed a man, I thought.

  The world dimmed at the edges then. A Gun tackled me and dragged me away. I may have struggled – I don’t remember. The next thing I really recall, I was in a Shadowcar, being driven somewhere. I sat huddled on the bench as the engine vibrated, and thought of the shard of glass.

  It was in my pocket. I took it out and gazed down at it in the gloom. What I had to do seemed so clear to me, but all I could see was Gunnison crumpling, falling. The glass glinted.

  The Shadowcar stopped. I clutched the glass and looked up sharply, fear pulsing through me.

  Footsteps. The back of the Shadowcar swung open.

  Collie.

  I gasped out a breath. “Was…was it you?”

  The Gun who’d grabbed me had shouted so loudly – You’ll pay for this, Discordant scum! No, I’ve got her! Help Cain! – that I could hardly make out his voice. He shoved me in the back of the van. I’d been in such a daze that I hadn’t even looked at him, not really.

  Collie’s eyes were bright. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, it was me.”

  He helped me from the van. I emerged into the sunshine. Somehow his arms were around me and he was holding me tightly.

  “Are you all right?” he said, his voice hoarse.

  He still smelled like Collie. I heard myself moan. I closed my eyes and pressed my face against his warm neck, willing none of this to have happened – for it to be eleven months ago, and for us to be dancing at The Ivy Room with Van Wheeler singing and the Western Seaboard still its own country.

  “Amity?”

  I pulled away and stared at him, taking in his crisp grey clothes. Collie had been the Gun. He wore a Gun’s uniform.

  My eyes were still dry. So was my throat, my chest, my very soul.

  I turned away and rubbed my arms. “I killed him,” I said finally.

  Collie started to touch my face. He hesitated and let his hand fall. “I know,” he whispered.

  I noticed where we were then: what looked like a little-used service road not far from Ranger Stadium. The dirt road was dusty, with weeds growing beside it. The curved shape of the stadium rose in the distance.

  I gazed fearfully at it. “Why are we still here?”

  Collie glanced at the stadium too; his jaw tensed. “I’ve got to hear this,” he said. “I could hear what was happening through the loudspeakers as I was driving away.”

  A woman’s voice was booming faintly, calling out names.

  I clutched my elbows, staring over at the stadium. “They’re arresting people,” I whispered. “How? Gunnison’s gone!”

  “Kay Pierce has taken over,” Collie said.

  He’d winced at Geroux, Persephone; now Jones, Macintyre was called and Collie dropped heavily into the still-open van. His shoulders slumped. He gripped his face with both hands, his knuckles white.

  In a daze, I sat beside him. Kay Pierce.

  The list went on in that slow, steady voice. Dozens of names. Dozens of them, all pounding at my brain. My leg throbbed and I thought how crowded the trains heading up to the camps would be and how tragically easy it was to kill a man but how hard it wa
s to make any difference.

  How hard it was to make any difference at all.

  Suddenly Collie stiffened. He briefly closed his eyes and then stood up.

  There was a notepad in his front breast pocket; he took it out and scribbled something in it. “This is where Hal is,” he said hurriedly, handing the page to me. “He’s here in Appalachia, with friends of Sephy’s. Go there until you can figure out what to do.”

  I glanced down at the scrap of paper. “What? But—”

  “Listen!” He took out his wallet and drew all the bills from it. He thrust them at me. “Take the Shadowcar! Ditch it once you’re out of the city. Buy a used car, soon. I’ll stall them as long as I can, but they’ll be showing your image on every telio set in the country in a few hours.”

  A chill touched me. “You’re going back there. To work for Kay Pierce.”

  Collie gripped my arms. “I’ve got to! I wasn’t called. I’m the only person the Resistance has got who’s still on the inside. They’re going to need all the help they can get now.”

  I felt empty. I slowly folded the scrap of paper and part of me wondered if that was why he was really going back. Guilt touched me at the thought, and then anger that I felt guilty, after all that had happened.

  Collie had my pistol tucked in his belt. He handed it to me with tense fingers.

  “Shoot me,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Shoot me! Just in the arm, or leg! If they suspect I let you go, I’m dead.”

  I shuddered at the feel of the weapon, remembering how it had kicked against my palms. Bile rose. “I can’t do that.”

  “Amity! You have to!”

  “No. I can’t.” I was shaking. I gave the pistol back to him.

  “All right, fine; I’ll do it myself.” Collie glanced down the road, breathing hard. He took a handkerchief from his pocket. “I’ll wrap this around it,” he muttered. “Then cut across to the main road…then I’ll lie down like I’ve collapsed from loss of blood…”

  “Collie…” There were still no tears, but heaviness weighed like lead around my heart.

  “Be careful,” I said finally. “Don’t…don’t really collapse from loss of blood.”

  He went still and looked at me. His eyes were very blue in the sunlight. “Would you care?”

  My throat clenched. “I never stopped caring. That was never the point.”

  Collie let out a long breath and stepped close. “I love you,” he said. “I’ll see you again. You and Hal both.” Before I could stop him – before I could decide if I wanted to stop him – he took my head in his hands and kissed me.

  His lips were warm, slightly rough. So familiar.

  He pulled away and gazed at me. His thumb stroked the corner of my mouth and from nowhere, I thought of the day that Dad had painted his plane with our names. I swallowed hard.

  “A man can change,” Collie whispered.

  He stepped away from me. I felt frozen. Distantly, the names were still being read. Collie steeled himself and took the pistol. He pointed it at his right bicep and he pulled the trigger.

  “Hey, Amity, I almost forgot,” said Mac.

  We’d just pulled away from the house in the beat-up Bennett that Mac drove now. Leslie and Beatrice stood with their arms around each other, waving at us from their front yard: a kind couple who I’d spent too little time talking to these past two months.

  I was in the back seat with Hal. “What?” I said.

  In the front, Sephy twisted to wave at her friends. Mac waved too, then glanced back at me. “That pal of yours is going to be there.”

  We were on our way to Bayon – just across the Hudson from New Manhattan, where someone could sneak us into the city.

  Since taking power Kay Pierce had been touring Appalachia, “consolidating the new alliance”. In fact, she’d been putting new officials in place. As expected, Appalachia was now its own country in name only. The entire continent was under Pierce’s rule.

  My taking a man’s life hadn’t helped. The Shadowcars still prowled. So-called Discordants were still taken away in broad daylight. No matter how often Mac reassured me that killing Gunnison had done some good – “Kay won’t be able to hold on to it, Amity. You’ve dealt that regime a death blow” – it was clear that Kay Pierce loved power and was learning the ropes fast.

  Sandford Cain was still alive, despite the fact that Pierce had taken advantage of my shooting to try to do away with him as well. The fiction was that I’d shot both men. Whether Cain realized the truth or not, I didn’t know, but his pale-eyed gaze still chilled me whenever I saw it.

  That morning Kay Pierce had announced on the telio – in that thin little voice of hers that I’d learned to hate – that the headquarters for her regime would now be based in New Manhattan, the largest city on the continent.

  It was the announcement we’d been waiting for. We’d be wherever she was, trying to bring her down. Like my brother, I’d agreed to work with the Resistance, though the thought of the fight ahead made me feel weary before I’d even started.

  Mac had managed to speak to Collie. He was all right, Mac said – he’d gotten back safely and hadn’t been suspected. With his help from inside Pierce’s regime, along with whatever aid the rest of the world could offer, Mac hoped we’d be able to defeat her.

  Now, in the auto, I stared at Mac, wondering if the “pal” of mine he meant could possibly be Collie. The rush of conflicting emotions felt more complicated than I knew how to deal with.

  “Who?” I said apprehensively.

  “Manfred.”

  I was silent for a long moment, clutching my new cane. “No,” I said. “Ingo went home.”

  Mac shook his head. “Nah, he didn’t make the ship. Just found out this morning when I finally managed to connect with Earl. He’s going to be in New Manhattan with us.”

  When I didn’t respond, Mac raised his eyebrows at me in the rear-view mirror. “Hey, that’s not a problem, is it? I thought he was a buddy of yours.”

  My chest felt like a clock that had been wound too far. I stared out the window at the passing trees, aware of Hal gazing at me.

  “He is,” I said. “It’s not a problem.”

  They said I’d find him up on the roof, and I did.

  I paused at the door that led out to it. Faintly I could hear a guitar playing. My muscles were clenched. I turned the doorknob and stepped out onto the flat, soaring world of the roof.

  A weathered picnic table sat up here. In the distance was a view of New Manhattan, its buildings spiking up at the sky. Ingo sat on top of the table, his dark head down as he played. His hair was longer now, starting to curl. He looked much healthier, his shoulders less narrow – thin instead of skinny.

  He was the last person I’d ever wanted to see again.

  I went slowly over, tense with anger. I was carrying my cane, though I didn’t really need it now, unless I’d been walking for a while.

  As I approached Ingo stopped playing and looked up. The scarred half of his face was just as horrible as before. His almost-black eyes were just as direct. He smiled and raised his good eyebrow.

  “You barge in on my table and you don’t even bring me champagne?” he said.

  My voice shook. “Don’t you dare joke. Why are you here?”

  Ingo laid the guitar aside. “Is that really the greeting I get, after two months?”

  I sank down onto the bench. I felt so empty suddenly. “You’re supposed to be home!” I cried. “You’re supposed to be with your family! You’re supposed to be…”

  I choked to a stop. I covered my face with my hands. “…to be happy…”

  The tears came from nowhere, wrenched from someplace deep inside of me. My shoulders heaved as I sobbed raggedly, crying like I hadn’t cried since I was a little girl. No. Not even then. I’d always prided myself on being so tough.

  I felt Ingo sit on the bench beside me. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly. He didn’t speak. I slumped
against his chest and cried and cried until there was nothing left.

  Dad.

  I sat where I was for a few moments, feeling Ingo’s steady heartbeat under my cheek. I felt limp, drained. Finally I drew away. I stared over at New Manhattan, sparkling in the twilight.

  “I thought it would help,” I whispered. “But nothing helps.”

  “Shooting Gunnison?” Ingo produced a handkerchief and dabbed gently at my face. He gave a small smile. “You’re determined to remain infamous, aren’t you, my friend?”

  I swallowed, remembering. “I…didn’t really plan it.”

  “I never thought you did. Are you all right?”

  I let out a breath and nodded. “Why are you here?” I said after a pause. “I thought…”

  Ingo drew away and leaned his forearms on his knees. “There was a rumour in Baltimore about the treaty. The docks were mobbed; people were bribing the ship’s steward to get on board. There was only one berth left, so Grady had to take it.” He shrugged. “It was more important that the photos get to the EA than I did.”

  “You could have taken them!”

  Ingo studied his hands. “Yes, maybe. But if you want the truth…I’d changed my mind before then anyway.”

  I felt taut. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t just go home to Calliposa and my safe little vineyard with all of this going on. I couldn’t just leave you to fight and do nothing myself.”

  “How did you know I was going to fight? I didn’t even know that myself.”

  Ingo gave me a dry look. “Because I know you. You’re as stupid about these things as I am. And look: here you are.”

  I smiled slightly. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled. “All right, I can’t really argue with that.”

  “Well, that makes a nice change.” Ingo nodded at my leg. “You’re walking much better,” he said.

  “Yes, I’ve been practising. I don’t need the cane too often now.”

  “Just carry it around to batter people into submission?”

  I snorted; it turned into a chuckle. “Don’t make me laugh. I don’t feel like it.” I sat gazing at him, with New Manhattan in the distance. After a moment I cleared my throat. “Were you able to get news to your family?”