Ashes (27 page)

Kincaid waved off Sarah's offer of more tea. “Thank you, no. I got to get back. Alex, walk with me a second, okay?”

Alex said nothing until they were outside and heading for the front walk. Then she looked up at Kincaid. “What was that all—”

“Hush.” Kincaid put up a warning hand, and then she saw their house guard straightening from his slouch. Kincaid hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I got her, Greg. You want, there's hot tea inside. Jess or Sarah'll give you a cup.”

“How about Tori?” Greg's breath chugged like a steam engine. He was younger than Alex, maybe fourteen, with a halo of muddy brown curls fringing a watch cap. His cheeks were red as beets from windburn. “She inside?”

“No, but she should be back soon. Sure she'd love to see you.” Kincaid clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Bet she could scrounge up a sandwich or two.”

“Yeah, that'd be good. If you think it's okay. If you don't think Chris'll be back. He looked mad enough to spit nails.”

“Oh, I think Chris is done for the day.”

“Okay.” Greg gestured toward his golden, whose bushy tail and fluffy ruff were chunky with ice and snow. “Daisy needs a little time to defrost, anyway.”

“Then go on in before you catch your death,” Kincaid said. They'd already taken Alex's horse, Honey, to a three-car garage down the block that had been converted into a stable. Kincaid's horse was tethered to a tree at the curb, and as he unclipped the lead, he glanced over his shoulder, saw Greg and Daisy disappear into the house, and said to Alex, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But that was so embarrassing.”

“That's what happens when you behave like an ass.”

“Thanks.”

“You'll get over it.”

“But what was that all about? One second Jess is chewing Chris out for not breaking rules and then she's yelling at me to follow them.”

He flicked another look over his shoulder. “Look, it's too much to explain right now, but I would watch what I say around the house.”

“What for?”

“Let's just say that there are … factions
.
People taking sides. Not everybody's happy with the way things are going, and you don't want the wrong people talking to the
other
wrong people.”

Factions? Wrong people? “What is this place? Are you a cult or, you know, one of those really religious …” She groped for the right word. “You said you're not Mormons or something, but like the Amish? Some kind of weird sect? Things seem so
decided
.” That wasn't exactly the word she was looking for either, and then, too late, she realized that if Kincaid was a believer, she'd probably just managed to insult him. She thought about apologizing, but figured it wouldn't do any good.

Kincaid studied her for a long few seconds. “Considering some of my best friends are Amish, I might take offense. They're not weird, or a cult. They're gentle, good people.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” But he didn't smile. “I don't pretend to understand everything. As a doc, though, I've seen what happens when people are under a lot of stress. Doesn't always bring out their best. When people are scared, they get angry. They'll do things they never thought they would. They'll bargain and compromise in order to survive; they'll chase after miracle cures and believe just about anything so long as it gives them hope. When hope fails, then watch out. Some people get brutal. They'll turn on each other; they'll become their own worst enemies.”

He could've been talking about her life. How many specialists had Aunt Hannah insisted on? What were the PEBBLES, those little rocks in her brain, but a last-ditch effort? When her parents had died, Alex refused to believe it until she saw their bodies. Her aunt hadn't wanted her to, which was understandable; between the impact and the fireball, her parents were reduced to a charred jumble of blackened limbs and too-white teeth. Her grief—such a small word for such a monstrous feeling—was almost too much to bear, and Alex had lashed out at everyone with a sort of desperate fury.

It was, she thought now, exactly what Jess had just said: anger was easier to bear than grief. Rage tricked her into thinking she might still change something. That acceptance was defeat.

“So when it's the end of the world,” Kincaid was saying, “people who didn't give a darn before suddenly become believers. If there was a core of believers to begin with, then they take control. This village has always been … well,
conservative
's a good word, and then some. The Council's only the tip of the iceberg.”

“Are you? A believer, I mean?”

“I believe in living, and I'm old enough to take the bad with the good. Maybe I'm only rationalizing things, but I like to think I'm doing some good here. And to be honest, living here beats the alternative.”

“What about Jess?”

“She would”—Kincaid chose his words with care—“
change
a few things. Like she said, the price for us being left alone is a bit steep. People are scared, though. No one wants to make waves, especially not now. You live long enough, comes a time when it's easier to just go along to get along. I agree with her in principle, but I'm not sure we can afford the alternative.”

Meaning … what? That these old people were tired out? That they were looking to people like Chris? Her? Maybe. If Rule was owned by the Council but a Yeager was always the final arbiter, then Jess would press
Chris
, hoping that Chris would command the respect that his grandfather did. But to change what? “Why can't Jess say something? Or get together a committee or … whatever?”

Kincaid looked like he'd sucked on a lemon. “No power. Majority rules, and the majority's with the Council and the Rev.”

Yeah, meaning majority
men. “Are you with Reverend Yeager?”

“I'm not against him on principle. I see the logic of it. If we're going to survive this, we need to maintain order. I disagree with the execution.”

And adults say
we're
evasive
. “So change it.”

“Not as simple as you think, kiddo. Besides, it's one thing to criticize. It's another to have a better idea. I don't know that I do. Even if I did, I'm not the man for that.”

“But Chris is?” She shook her head. “Lena was right. Why are you waiting around for us to clean up your mess? You guys are cowards.”

“Yeah,” said Kincaid. “That's fair.”

“One thing I gotta know,” said Kincaid. He threw the Appaloosa's reins over its head. “What happened between you and the Rev? After he threw me out, that is.”

She remembered Ernst's admonition:
Some secrets are best kept behind closed doors.
“Why?”

“Alex, I've seen a lot of Spared with the Rev, and this is the first time I ever saw a Spared nail it. You
knew
what was going on with him.”

“I just guessed.”

“Bull. How did you know? Only me and the Council and a couple others know about him and that …
touch
thing he's got going.”

“Um … well, I guess it was the only thing that made sense.”

“Don't give me that crap. Look, I'm not the enemy here. I just want to understand what's going on.”

“Weren't you the one who just told me to watch my mouth around the wrong people?”

“Yes, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm one of those
right
people.” Kincaid's eyes shifted toward the house. Alex followed his gaze and saw Jess staring from a window. When she saw them looking, the older woman inclined her head in a small nod, then twitched the curtains closed. Kincaid said, “You trust me?”

Despite what Ernst had said, she trusted Kincaid about as much as she trusted anyone in this place, maybe because his scent reminded her so much of her father. During their conversation, that smell had not changed; there was none of the bite she associated with a lie. And he seemed to be going out of his way to help her. So she said, “I guess.”

“Then trust me now. How did you know about his … well, I call it a super-sense. His is touch. And yours?”

She licked her lips. “I smelled him.”

Kincaid's eyebrows crawled for his hairline. “Smell? As in a scent?”

She nodded. “It was the same way I figured out that Harlan was there. Harlan has … had a certain scent I recognized.”

“You saying Yeager has a scent? You
smell
him?”

“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds like he's got BO, but … yeah. Everyone has a scent. Some are more”—she searched for the word—“
concentrated
than other people. A lot of the times I think what I smell is how they feel.” She explained about her sudden flashes of memory. “Like I associate the scent with a memory that gives me a certain feeling, and then I know what they're feeling. It doesn't always work, because there are some things I just can't put a name to. Like … you know, a squirrel smell is a squirrel smell.”

“Do I got one?”

“Yeah. You smell like leather and”—she thought about it—“baby powder.”

“Well, leather's good. If I weren't such a manly man, I might have trouble with baby powder, though.” He grinned. “What about the Rev?”

“Opaque. Like really dense fog, or, you know, how cloudy glass has that cold smell. I couldn't really get a read on him, and then when I guessed about his, you know,
touch
, I could tell he was surprised because it was like something suddenly opened up and then I smelled rain. I think that means it was raining when it happened for him.”

“That,” said Kincaid, “is true. It
was
raining here that day. The glass smell is interesting, too. What do you make of it?”

“I think he was staring out of a window.”

A smile flirted with Kincaid's mouth. “Yeah, that's true, too.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was sitting next to him when it happened.”

“Where?”

“Where we were living, along with all the other Awakened,” Kincaid said. “In the Alzheimer's wing of the hospice.”

Alex gaped. “You were a patient? You had
Alzheimer's
?”

“Yeah. Why do you think we're called the Awakened? I wasn't terminal, but I was close. Stage six. Believe me, no one was more surprised than me to wake up in diapers. Thank God, I was dry.”

“How can you
joke
about something like that?” All she could think of was Kincaid, crapping in his pants and drooling. “I don't think that's very funny.”

Kincaid hunched his shoulders in a shrug. “At my age? You learn not to take things so seriously. Anyway, I woke up in front of the picture window strapped to a wheelchair, and the tech—young fella, maybe thirty—he's dead as a doornail. Try working your way out of those straps without help. Those things are geriatric straitjackets. Take a Houdini to get out of one. Near about strangled myself.” He looked at her and laughed. “You know, you don't shut that mouth of yours, you're going to be catching flies.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Awakened? Just five, including me and the Rev.”

“So, do you … can you sense …?”

“Nope. I'm just me. Besides the Rev, there's only one other person has something similar. Hears stuff a long way off, kind of like a bat, I guess, but with nuance, which can come in handy. You're the only one can sense
them
, though. You're like the dogs that way, when they catch a whiff of the Changed.” He favored her with that one-eyed squint. “But you, they see you as a friend. More than that, they'll
protect
you. So you must have changed another way, too. Pheromones, probably.”

The word was familiar. Something from biology … “What are those?”

“Chemicals made by the body that produce certain odors that trigger certain responses. As far as I know, all animals make them. So do a lot of insects. That's how bees and ants communicate, for example.” Kincaid's lips turned in a regretful grin. “I always thought my wife smelled like lilies. After she died, I hung on to her clothes for the longest time. Walking into her closet was like getting wrapped up in a hug.”

She remembered how Tom had smelled, that complex spice that made her dizzy and hungry for his touch, and a hollow ache that she recognized as grief settled in her chest.

Kincaid saw the look on her face, and misinterpreted. “Thanks, kiddo. You never quite get over losing someone you love, but I'm okay.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Now, there's nothing we can do about the dogs deciding you're their new best friend, but we can spin the Harlan thing pretty easy. We'll just say you recognized him, okay? The Rev is right about keeping this super-smell thing under wraps. Don't even tell Chris.”

“Don't worry about that.” She wasn't tempted to tell Chris anything. That Kincaid assumed she might confide in him was a little alarming.
Maybe they're already seeing us as a couple. Maybe that's why Jess badgered him into being my escort when he wanted to bail.
“Would people really try to hurt me?”

“It's a possibility. They might think you got some agenda. This super-sense-of-smell thing you got going … it's a blessing and a curse. Good for us because you might catch kids the dogs don't—and they have missed a few.”

A vision of children being paraded past for her inspection floated into her mind. “I don't want to do that.”

Kincaid gave her a hard look. “You're a smart girl, so don't make me spell this out for you. We need to use every advantage we got—and that includes you. But that's also where it could be a problem, because then it's your word against theirs. You can't see or touch a smell.”

“You guys always believe Yeager.”

“Yeager's one of the Five Families. He's head of the Council now.”

Yeah,
now
… but she couldn't believe they'd let some demented guy decide policy. So who had called the shots before Yeager Awakened? “I wouldn't lie.”

“You know that, and I know that. Yeager and the Council would know, but why would regular folks trust you? If what you can do gets out, then somebody else just might decide they've got a super-sense, too. In other words, they
would
lie. Even with the Council and the Rev to say otherwise, things could get pretty nasty. See what I'm saying? We could have our little version of the Salem Witch Trials, and we got no time for that kind of crap.”

She had never considered this, but she could see the logic. In school, your reputation could rest on a rumor. “Okay.”

“Good. Now if you
do
sense something off, you tell me or the Rev, period. You got that?”

And not any of the other Council members … That was interesting. “What are you going to do if someone else pops up with a super-sense?”

“We'll deal with it then. I don't think it's as common as all that, anyway.” That one-eyed squint again. “You got any ideas why this might have happened to you?”

She felt a small flutter of alarm. “No.” When he said nothing, she added, “Really.”

“Mmm.” Kincaid's mouth screwed to a pucker. “You know, I'm not like Yeager, but I do believe that's the first lie you've told me, Alex, and here's why. All the survivors—us older people—our brains are different even from people who are in their forties, fifties. Sleep patterns are way different, for one; we don't dream as much as younger people.”

She thought about Tom and his broken sleep, as well as her monster and that nightmare. “Would it only be sleep then? Dreams?”

“A magic bullet? No, probably a combination of things that tip the balance. Older people's brains just aren't as spry as they used to be. Our brains don't make as many neurochemicals. Now, that's not uniform; there are some very sharp ninety-year-olds. I knew one, in fact, but the hell of it is, he died right away, too. Like he was

forty instead of ninety.”

“Meaning what?”

“Well, let's just think about it for a second. This …
Zap
, as you call it, was a whole bunch of high-intensity EMPs, right? Well, what are those but electrical discharges, and what is the brain but an organ that relies on what is, in essence, electricity to function? A brain is like a hive of bees; all the cells have to be firing in the right order, or you've got chaos: a bunch of bees going every which way and nothing getting done.”

She thought she saw where he was going. “So if you zap the brain with enough of a charge, you'd create chaos? Release a flood of neurochemicals? Why would that matter?”

“Alex, what do you think a seizure is? It's that chaos thing again: a bunch of brain cells firing in an uncoordinated manner. Plus, seizures can kill you. The brain can seize up and stop working, and the person will die. So what I'm thinking is that older people, whose brains already don't work as well as when they were younger, were protected. They got knocked for a loop when the Zap hit, but they didn't die. Those of us who were bad off—the Awakened—our brains were like little raisins. So, for us, the Zap kind of woke us up, primed our brains to make chemicals we'd been missing. I think it's probably more complicated than that, but you get the general idea.”

She did, but that still didn't answer why Tom had lived. Or her—unless she was right about the monster having done enough damage to save her. “But then what about kids?”

“Don't know. Kids' brains aren't set in stone. They're still growing and developing. I know for a fact that kids can survive brain injuries, like cold-water drownings, that would kill or cripple an adult. The older you get, the less able your brain is to absorb an injury and adapt. I guess there's just a natural cutoff where the injury gets to be too much for the brain to handle. In the context of the Zap, that means the majority of adults couldn't absorb the trauma and they flat-out died.”

“What about the Change?”

“Based on what we've seen, I think it's got to do with brain development and hormones.”

“Tom and I wondered the same thing.” She told Kincaid about meeting Larry and Deidre.

Kincaid bobbed his head in a nod. “That fits. Hormones would also explain why kids are still Changing as they get older.”

Her thoughts darted to Ellie. “You mean, every little kid is going to Change?”

“Maybe. So far, that looks to be true. On the other hand, it's only been a couple of months, and so maybe whatever changed in their brains will repair itself. The really young ones—babies and toddlers, kindergartners—they might have a chance. But maybe not.”

A whole generation of kids Changing? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. “But then why have some of
us
Changed and not others?”

“The Spared? I don't know what's going on with you all; why you and people like Chris and Peter and this Tom of yours didn't change. Your brains are probably different somehow, but I'll be damned if I know.”

She hesitated a moment. “You said that old people's sleep and dreams are different. I think something bad happened to Tom in Afghanistan—enough so he … he didn't sleep much and never for very long.”

Kincaid's eyebrows arched. “Post-traumatic stress? Hmm. I never thought of that. Could be, though.”

“Why?”

“Because the brains of people with PTSD show permanent changes, and the symptoms reinforce the damage, and then the damage means more symptoms. That's why PTSD is so hard to treat. People can learn to function, but it's an injury the brain just never recovers from.” Kincaid huffed out a silent laugh, like a dog. “If I wasn't just a country doctor and got a big enough sample of kids and had a fancy laboratory and could do all kinds of tests, maybe I'd figure it out, but that's not ever happening. One thing I do know, though: all of us Awakened, we got some kind of brain damage, by definition, and now I'm thinking that some of the older kids who should've changed didn't because their brains and hormones were somehow different.” He paused. “You see where I'm going with this, right?”

Her stomach tightened in a sudden twist of fear. “Not really.”

“Alex, I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I am a doctor and I can put two and two together. The Rev had bad brain damage, and he's got a super-sense. We got another Awakened with super-hearing. But you are the only kid I know who's both Spared
and
got a super-sense. So, Alex, I got to know,” Kincaid said, with his best one-eyed squint, “what
exactly
is living in that head of yours?”