Lourdes shook her head and said, “If they were dead, then why do we still feel pulled to the west?”
And Lourdes was right—the pull was still there and still strong. Tory, who always rode shotgun, was the official navigator, and when she looked at the map, certain roads and cities seemed to jump off the page at her. Interstate 80, Big Springs, Nebraska, Torrington, Wyoming. They had to go to these places, in hopes of finding traces of the other two who were still missing from their little band. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had to go on. The whole is greater than the sum of the parts, Tory kept telling herself. When we’re all together, we’ll be stronger—and it will all make sense. She clung to that belief as if it were a lifeline.
Michael had little to say on the matter. Since they had left Omaha, he had become completely withdrawn. He sat silently in the driver’s seat in an icy daze. His demeanor had become as hard and bitter as the torrents of ice that brutalized the van.
The moment they got to the van, Tory had begun leafing through the things she had scavenged from the observatory. First she puzzled over the cards: the Six of Swords and the Charioteer; the Tower and the Hermit; Death, and the Five of Wands. And the torn world. Then she began to look through the books. Astronomy mostly—textbooks that Bayless had written himself. Page after page yielded nothing relevant to Tory, and now as they sat in the ice storm, she seemed no closer to a solution.
“Something that he said keeps going over and over in my mind,” Tory told the others. “He said that his whole life was just preparing him for this . . . for us.”
“Then why don’t you look at his whole life?”
It was Michael who spoke, and everyone was startled to hear him speak after being silent for so long. “He was a biologist before he was an astronomer,” said Michael. “And you’ve been looking at the wrong books.”
Michael then held up the book he had been looking at.
It was a book on parasites.
“Bayless wrote this years before he became an astronomer,” said Michael. “It says here in the introduction that when he was a kid his pet dog was just about eaten from the inside out by worms. Since then he was fascinated by parasites—creatures that live off of other creatures.”
Then Michael began to read from Bayless’s book: “There are whole universes of life hiding in the dark places where no one dares to explore. They thrive in the hidden expanses we take for granted . . . between the very cells of our body . . . between the walls we call our world.”
Tory gasped. “He said that?”
Michael nodded, and Tory shivered. It was like hearing a man echoing her thoughts from beyond the grave.
Michael passed around the book, and they leafed through it. It was a bizarre collection of diagrams, photos, and case studies, and Bayless seemed to have had a morbid fascination with it all. There was a picture of a tapeworm the size of a garden hose found in the gut of an elephant. There was a barnacle the size of a trash barrel on the back of a whale. There were leeches from the Amazon the size of running shoes.
“This was his specialty before he took up astronomy,” said Michael. “The study of parasitic organisms.”
A gust of wind rocked the van and a sheet of ice assaulted the windshield like a cascade of ball bearings. Winston asked the question that no one else dared to voice.
“What’s it got to do with us?”
Michael couldn’t look at him in the face. He turned to look out of the window, but all the windows were fogged with the steam of their breath.
Between the walls of the world, thought Tory. Right now it seemed no world existed beyond the small capsule of the van.
“Something happened to me while you were all still in the observatory,” said Michael. “I didn’t want to talk about it . . . but I think I’d better . . .”
Everyone leaned closer as Michael began his story.
“I DID GET LOST for a while, just like I said,” began Michael. “But then I ended up outside of a lecture hall. There was this girl unchaining her bike. I went up to her, just to talk, you know . . . but before I knew it we were kissing.
“After a while she pulls me into this doorway. The door opens, and we go in—and I know we shouldn’t, but by now I don’t care, ’cause I’m feeling like nothing else in the world matters.
“But then I think about what happened with that girl, back when I lived in Baltimore—the only time things ever went too far. Thinking about it makes me scared, so I push myself away from this girl. I run clear across the room, and I think it’s over . . . but then I look back at her from across the room and that’s when I see the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s surrounded by fire—an unnatural blue-green fire—and it’s all over her, but she’s not burning . . . and the fire—it has a dozen arms and legs—but worst of all it has eyes. It’s alive! But all I can do is sit there and watch, too horrified to even scream, as this thing wraps itself around her like a cocoon . . . and she doesn’t even know. It’s like she’s hypnotized.
“Finally the girl goes limp, and the monster turns to me. I try to run, but my feet slip and when I look back, it’s moving toward me through the air—and then in a second it’s on me and I swear I can feel this monster oozing back inside me, right through the pores of my skin . . . and for the first time I realize that the feeling inside that always drives me crazy . . . isn’t me—it’s this thing that’s been living here inside me, like a leech, stealing away all my strength.
“When I look up, I see the girl walking toward me. It looks like there’s nothing wrong with her—but the room is on fire all around her, real fire, orange and hot, just like what happened with that girl in Baltimore—only that time I never saw the creature, because I didn’t rip myself away from it . . . and that time I didn’t get the girl out of the fire in time.
“So now, with the fire all around, I pick her up, carry her out before the fire gets us, and as soon as we’re outside, she turns to me and smiles, not even noticing anything strange is going on.
“And that’s when I realize that she’s dead.
“Yeah, she’s alive, but she’s also dead! That thing . . . it ate her soul and left her body alive!
“She smiles at me and says ‘Hi,’ like everything’s blue skies and sunshine, and I think, She doesn’t even know! Something has just devoured her soul, and she doesn’t even know!
“I couldn’t stand it, so I ran from her as fast as I could . . . but only got to the next street before I started puking my guts out. That’s when you found me.”
ONLY AN ANGRY CHORUS of sleet responded to Michael’s terrible tale. No one had anything they could say. No words of consolation. No advice. Everyone’s eyes began to sting with cold tears.
Michael bit his tongue to stop his teeth from chattering and wiped the tears from his eyes. “So now I know why we’re dying. Those horrible beasts in the observatory didn’t just come out of nowhere. They were there all along. They’re here now. All four of them.”
Someone let out a wail of agony—it must have been Lourdes—and then tears of anger, terror, but most of all helplessness, burst out around the van. It was simply too much to take alone, and in an instant all eight of their hands were reaching for the others, longing to make connection once more—even Winston. They clasped hands, the circle of four was closed, and their breath and their heartbeats began to match—panicked and fast. The truth was indeed terrible, but easier to grasp and accept when the circle was closed.
“We’re possessed . . . ,” said Winston.
“Not possessed, infected,” said Tory.
“Infested,” offered Michael. “The way people get lice . . . the way dogs get worms. Each of us is infested by some . . . thing. They must have found their way inside us years ago, when all the bad stuff started . . . and ever since then, they’ve been growing.”
They looked at each other’s faces, for the first time seeing the ravages of the infestation for what they really were. The creature that hid within Lourdes crushed
life out of others and turned it into fat. The one clinging to Tory could turn flesh rancid from disease. The one in Winston paralyzed anything it touched and was stealing Winston’s life away years at a time. And everyone knew what Michael’s did.
“Why us?” said Winston, shaking his head, still not wanting to believe.
“Because we’re star-shards,” answered Tory. “It’s like that elephant and the giant tapeworm; these monsters can only live and grow inside of us.” Tory tried to feel the creature within her, but all she could feel was the pain in her face and her joints. “We might have the world’s biggest souls . . . but they’ve become infested by the blackest parasites that ever existed.”
“Could be that everyone’s got them,” suggested Lourdes. “. . . It’s just that ours have grown a few million times bigger than normal.”
Winston shivered. “Cosmic Killer Leeches,” he said. “I wish my father were alive—he could have pulled a cure right out of his pharmacy.”
“Yeah,” said Michael. “Shampoo twice a day, and drink lots of sulfuric acid.” They all laughed at that, and found it strange that they could laugh at all. Perhaps they weren’t as hopeless and helpless as they thought.
“We gotta figure out a way to destroy them,” said Tory, “before they destroy us.”
“Or worse,” said Lourdes.
Tory looked at Lourdes, wondering what could possibly be worse than having an invisible parasite rout your soul . . . and then she looked at the central card that Bayless had dealt to them, and shivered. The torn world . . .
How powerful were these creatures? How many people in this world could they destroy if they had the chance—and what if the kids lost complete control and gave themselves over to the will of these dark beasts, choosing to feed them by visiting their horrors upon others? To paralyze them. To disease them. To crush them. To devour their souls.
If any one of them chose that path rather than bear the suffering, the devastation left behind would be unimaginable. It would be like tearing the world in half.
They looked at each other, four souls, thinking a single thought.
“My God!” said Tory. “We have to find the other two!”
10. THE FALL OF BLACKBURN STREET
* * *
DILLON DREAMED HE WAS RIDING ON THE BACK OF A PANTHER—a great, dark beast bounding into a wild unknown. The power he felt in the dream made the rest of humanity seem small and unimportant, and as he rode he saw the weak, guilt-ridden boy he was before trampled beneath the beast’s pounding feet. Dillon awoke from the dream exhilarated, out of breath, and knowing that it was not entirely a dream. He wondered why he had resisted for so long.
His wrecking-hunger had evolved. Now it felt like a creature, burning with primal fury, yet acutely intelligent . . . and Dillon had learned that riding this beast was far better than letting it ride him.
He imagined Deanna there beside him, riding her own creature—a powerful pale horse—a terror-mare. Together he and Deanna would charge their beasts into the wind, and no one would stop them as they sped down paths of greater and greater destruction.
Where are you taking me? Dillon would silently ask it, and although it never answered, Dillon knew that it had a glorious purpose that he would soon understand.
Deanna, on the other hand, was no longer so entranced by her situation.
She had watched Dillon change from a teary-eyed boy, crushed by the weight of his own terrible actions, to a young man who was getting far too sure of himself.
Yet in spite of that, Deanna knew that he still needed her. Who else but Deanna could look deep into his eyes and find something inside that, even now, was still good and worthy of love? And if her capacity for love were greater than her capacity for fear, perhaps it would save her in spite of the destruction. Perhaps it would save them both.
Dillon gratefully accepted her love, and, in turn, she accepted his wisdom.
“Forget about the ‘Other’ ones,” he had told her. “They’ll only bring us trouble.” If Deanna didn’t accept this, she would have to face the alternative, and so Deanna pushed The Others out of her mind as they raced headlong into the great northwest.
“We’re the strong ones,” Dillon had said. “Those Others are nothing compared to us.” And it was true. She and Dillon were stronger than all The Others combined.
Then why did she feel so weak?
Dillon had said he was like her good luck charm, but she wasn’t exactly wearing him around her neck; it was more like she had climbed into his pocket and hidden there.
Was her soul so frail that all she could do was follow him, borrowing his will for her own? She had been a hostage of her fears, and Dillon had freed her . . . . Did that make her his hostage now? She didn’t know—but she did know that she would follow him to the ends of the earth . . . which was exactly where she suspected they were headed as they crossed from Wyoming into Idaho.
THE STREETS OF IDAHO Falls were gilded with a million orange leaves. The tall oaks of Blackburn Street had begun to shed summer, day by day, but still kept a dense cloak of yellowing foliage.
Dillon and Deanna arrived late in the afternoon, his arms around her waist, and her hand wedged in his back pocket, holding each other the way people in love often do. They stood there, in the middle of the quaint residential street, staring at the old homes on either side. Dillon looked at the homes one by one, then turned his head, as if sniffing the air.
“What are you doing?” asked Deanna.
“Getting to know the neighborhood,” he answered. “Looking for a place to eat.”
Deanna didn’t like the sound of that. “Promise me you won’t do anything bad here.”
Dillon turned to her blinking, as if he didn’t know what she meant. “I promise that I won’t do anything that isn’t absolutely necessary,” he said.
A young boy breezed past them on his bike, stopping at the second house on the right. A small license plate on the back of the bike said “Joey.” Dillon slipped his hand from Deanna’s waist, and he approached the boy, with Deanna following in his wake.
The boy hopped off his bike and strolled toward his front door.
“Hey, Joey,” shouted Dillon. “Your brother around?”
Joey turned to look at Dillon, studied him for a moment, then said. “Naah, Jason’s still at practice. He’ll be home soon, though . . . . You friends of his?”
“Yeah,” said Dillon. “I was on the team with him last year.”
The boy looked at Dillon doubtfully.
“Jason tells me you’re almost as fast as him now,” said Dillon. “Hell, you even walk like him!”
Joey beamed at that, but tried to hide it. Any hesitation the boy had was now gone. “You can wait inside if you like.”
Deanna turned to Dillon as they neared the porch. “How’d you know he had a brother?” she whispered.
“It was obvious,” Dillon whispered back. “He walks like he’s copying someone, but not someone who’s grown up . . . . He wears hand-me-downs, even though he can afford those brand-new running shoes . . . . He rode up to the house like he’s competing in a race . . . . It’s all part of a pattern that says he’s some jock’s kid brother.”
Deanna stared at Dillon in amazement, and he just smiled. “C’mon,” he said, almost blushing behind his boyish freckles. “You know me pretty well—this stuff shouldn’t impress you anymore.”
Joey led them into the house. Dillon noted how the boy used keys instead of knocking, how he glanced up the stairs, and how quietly he closed the front door. Dillon took a sniff of the air, and said, “How’s your grandfather doing?”
Joey shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Better, now that he’s back from the hospital.”
Dillon turned to Deanna and winked. Deanna just shook her head. What a show-off!
“Jason’ll be back soon, you can wait for him here.” Joey left them alone in the kitchen and went back out to fiddle with the chain on his bike. Once Joey was gone, Dillon got down to work. He began
to search through drawers and cabinets—he didn’t take anything, he just let his eyes pore over everything he saw, observing . . . cataloguing . . . filing the information away.
Deanna had seen him do this the day before, at the farmhouse they had stopped at. Dillon had secretly rifled through the drawers, closets—even under sofa cushions. Deanna had asked what he was searching for. “Clues,” he said softly.
Now his hands were moving quickly through the kitchen, his mind working with such force that Deanna could swear that she could feel it pulsating like a high-tension wire. He was fascinating to watch.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” said Deanna. “I want to know what you know—I want to see what you see.”
“Okay,” said Dillon. “Five people live here. Parents, two sons, and a grandfather. Mother smokes, father quit. Kids do okay in school.” He pointed to a picture on the refrigerator. “This is the older brother and his girlfriend, right? But something’s not right there—look at his smile; he’s not smiling for the picture—he’s smiling at the person taking the picture.”
“So who took the picture?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Dillon. “The angle, the background, the way the girl’s gloating to have snagged the track star? Her sister took the picture, and good ol’ Jason would rather be dating her!”
Deanna just shook her head, marveling.
“Let’s check out the parents,” said Dillon. He glanced around, until setting his sights on a high knickknack shelf. Then he pulled down a small bronze Statue of Liberty pencil sharpener and held it out for Deanna to examine.
“The parents honeymooned in New York—but look—there’s no dust on it, even though there’s dust on the rest of the shelf . . . that means someone’s taken Miss Liberty down recently, and has been thinking about it. Smells like dishwashing soap. The mother took it down—either she’s nostalgic, or she’s worried about the marriage for some reason. Let’s see what the doorknobs have to say.”
“Doorknobs?”
Dillon opened the back door and touched the outside and inside doorknobs, then smelled his hands.