End Time (46 page)

“Of course it does.” The face of a thousand wrinkles smiled at him. “You think a gift like that is free?” Her face began to recede in his mind, as though sucked down a long tunnel. Billy Shadow struggled to return to the chain-link compound, back to the tent. Open your eyes; clear your head. Now stop staring at the cool grass at your feet. Billy squinted across the interrogation table.

“There's something bad happening in the Dakotas, isn't there?” he managed to ask the officer. “Here it's rabies. But there … Up there it's something else, isn't it?”

The nameless major said nothing. Silently he took a smartphone from the pocket of his BDU pants and slid it across the table. “Call if you want.”

Billy stared at the major's cell phone on the folding table. His hands felt light as air, brittle as glass. He touched the phone but didn't pick it up. Sure, Officer X was acting all friendly, nice and obliging, but that meant squat. There was something disingenuous about the gesture. Almost like a dare. If he called Granny now and she failed to answer, Billy'd lose his mind. Leap from the table, go all wild Injun, and the Big
They
would slap him in a rubber room just for the fun of it.

The green-shaded electric lamp beat down on Billy's head. God, if only he could crawl off to rest, pull the carpet of grass over his head. Another bout of Walking Way was coming on like a blinding migraine. Merely touching the officer's smartphone had showed him so many things; the split second he touched the shiny electronic toy, he knew
what the major knew.
… Billy even knew the man's real name now.

Major Todd.

And the major stood a lot higher up the totem pole than he let on. The soldier had been briefed and rebriefed. Then the details; the knowledge in pure form entering Billy's brain like pages from a briefing book, a situation report allowing him to grasp the essence of reality, directly mind-to-mind:

There had been an outbreak of hemorrhagic smallpox on Indian lands. A new outbreak of the pox where the pox once ran free; once upon a time the real Indian killer, spread through traders' poisoned blankets, or dirty white men scratching their fleas. And the indigenous people were just as susceptible to the disease today as yesteryear.

The military had overrun every reservation in the Dakotas in force: to the north, Standing Rock, Cheyenne River, and to the south, Rosebud and Pine Ridge. Confiscated CB radios, computers, cell phones, any communication device they could get their hands on. And just to be on the safe side they shut down the cell towers and routers. Right now, this very moment, nobody was going in or out, every rez under quarantine. The cover story was “planned exercises.”

More troops were heading into the Dakotas by the hour, taking a couple hundred thousand doses of vaccine from the country's smallpox stockpile with them. And nobody was gonna know diddly until they contained the situation.

Worse still, the army had caught some hotheads trying to bust out and get to a phone, a gas station, anything. Now there were dead braves in the Black Hills again. They'd deal with the bodies later, call it a “vehicular incident.”

So that's why Grandma Sparrow wore a ghost shirt, and paint on her face. That's why she cowered in bed with the covers up to her chin.

Major Todd's business in Vandalia, Ohio, was merely a contingency operation: federal damage control to prevent stories like “Bureau of Indian Affairs Poisons Sioux Nation.” It seemed Skeeterbugs had been dipping proboscises all over the Dakotas, and it was crucial that no one—not a single soul—make a connection to
government
testing. This leak from Pi R Squared needed to be stanched before it went viral; sever any connection to a guilt-ridden, pointy-headed scientist in a lockdown complex with a funny name.

And absolutely no mention of enhanced mosquitoes.

Or hemorrhagic smallpox.

Forefront in the major's mind: the fear that some high school science nerd on summer vacation with nothing better to do would stick one of the fancy mosquitoes under a microscope and find the
Made in USA
label. Make the connection that enhanced bugs mating with common bugs had reawakened an infinite number of insect-borne plagues. The little hummers just wanted to breed. Could you really blame them?

Then the Army would have to snatch the inquisitive student off the street and quietly liquidate him along with his entire family. The major wasn't looking forward to that.

As for Big Bea, Postmistress Sis of Webster Chargrove, that made her Pi R Squared's problem; let the egghead geneticists deal with it. Hook Big Sis up to a protoplasm milking machine and outbreed her big ass out of existence.

But what about the other three?

If Division knew about their little magnetic attraction trick, they'd want 'em all dead for sure, no questions asked. Maybe three weeks of Dr. Mengele tests just to be on the safe side and three weeks debriefing his own men under duress—at the end of which nobody in his outfit would know his own name. Which brought him back to the same point—
what the hell was he going to do with this guy?
Look at him. What a mess, an inch away from drooling puddles on the interrogation table.

With great effort Billy Shadow lifted his wooden head and focused his eyes.

“So what
are
you going to do with us?” he asked Major Todd.

Billy shakily touched the evidence bag with the melted contents; then the extra earring from Lila's dresser. He'd always thought of these bits as a compass. But to navigate what? True north of the soul, perhaps.… Beatrice was right about Lila Chen never actually being in LA on a TV show. Even now, the evidence ear bag wanted to draw him on a journey.… The light from the metal lamp filled every corner of the interrogation tent. Oh God, the headache was back.

Billy could feel the Chen-girl fugue coming on. From a great distance, he heard Major Todd's voice. “We're looking for Lila Chen. Do you know where she is? I think you do. I think you get to go places. See people, and the things they do…”

Yes, Billy knew. Once again the Skin Walking thing pushed him down the rabbit hole to Lila Chen. She was very close. She was in Indiana. The gaunt man and the children had taken a twelve-hour drive in the white limo to Indiana, ending at Indianapolis Methodist Hospital admissions. Piper Holdings paid for her private room, where she received a glucose drip and broad-spectrum antibiotics. A cosmetic surgeon came to check the scar over her missing ear. The specialist remarked at her amazing powers of recuperation; the scar tissue on her head getting paler by the day.

Should he tell the major?
No, not Major Todd. Not trustworthy.

Billy could see her hospital room. She was recovering from her long ordeal in the van bit by bit, some bits better than others.…

*   *   *

Little Maria and the Kid had brought her a gift so she wouldn't be lonely, a friendly rabbit to keep watch over her. The gift shop rabbit at the end of Lila's bed was speaking to her. A plushy cottontail with big brindle ears and a precious nose saying,
They're coming, they're on their way.…

One face in particular loomed in her mind. The familiar face of Janet's dad, Mr. Singh, just like when she'd seen his apparition during a potty stop outside the Stuka van with Queen Bitch. Mr. Singh smiled wisely, as if he knew all about her troubles and wanted to help. Quietly whispering once more,
We're coming. Hang on.…

The dream ended and Lila woke.

The sweaty sheets on her bed were rumpled and twisted. What day was it? Didn't matter. Nothing keeping her to this bed but some tubes and a wrist ID. Carpe diem. Was the coast clear? Clear enough. Lila plucked the drip needles from her arms.

Nothing in the closet, not even a pair of slippers. She tiptoed out into the hall. Nurse's station or stairs? Make explanations or make a clean break? Clean break. She eased through the first stairway door available and right into a wall of beefcake. The huge orderly who caught her in his arms looked down; the nameplate on his scrubs read
PHIL.

“Can I help you, little lady?” A deep baritone.

“No thank you,
Phil
. I'm just on my way out.”

Phil looked down at her with grave doubt. The brute's arms were like an octopus; whichever way Lila turned they stopped her, shuffling her right back onto the ward.

“This isn't the way out,” he rumbled. “But I'm sure they can help you at the nurses' station.”

At the nurses' station a hatchet-faced woman in pale violet scrubs looked up from her monitor, asking her severely, “Aren't you supposed to be in bed, Miss Chen?”

Lila started to babble at a small gaggle of nurses and hospital attendants. She thought she was being sane, but they must have doped up her drip tube. What came out of Lila's mouth sounded like this:

“The Nazi guys high on Big D kidnapped me in Van Horn. Then scalped me in the motorcycle van. When my parents saw the ear they burned the house down with them inside. I think there are people looking for me. Who's in charge here?”

An elderly patient about a hundred years old limped along with his drip stand and nasal oxygen plugs. “Yes, I know what you mean,” he remarked sympathetically. “That happened to me last week.”

Everyone at the nurses' station laughed.

“I need to make a call. Can I borrow someone's cell?” But the moment had passed to call for help. Besides, whom would she call?

“Come along now,” the hatchet-faced nurse said. “Let Phil take you back to your room.” So much for Lila's great escape. For the present at least, she belonged to Mr. P.

*   *   *

A day later Mr. P. and the Piper children arrived in New York City on a two-hour red-eye on the Gulfstream from Indianapolis getting in around 4 a.m. During the flight, Kid put his nose into his laptop and made nasty things happen to a game show in LA.
Rewrites
he called it. Why mess with that stuff at all? Lila had no idea. When she asked him, Kid told her, “Just for the hell of it. Hanging with Piper I got to learn how to mess with people's heads. Telepathy and hypnotic suggestion on steroids. Mental Photoshop. Bet you by next week you'll be able to do it too.”

“That's not something I'd ever want to do,” Lila said.

“No? Too bad. It's fun.” Kid said. “Pretty soon, Mr. P. and I are gonna do a tail-count. Kicking rat-butt and taking names. Mustering the troops.”

Lila wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that, but it sounded big. Kid finally dozed off for the last hour of the flight, and Lila watched him sleep. He seemed to have troubled dreams, quietly muttering to himself. She couldn't make out the words, though it sounded like
boom pine
or
room time.
Nothing that made any sense to her.

When the jet finally pulled up to the arrival area, Lila tried to carry the sleeping little girl on her shoulder. But Maria was getting too big for that; she walked holding Lila's stuffed bunny. The Kid stumbled along bleary-eyed and groggy, climbed into a waiting limousine, and closed his eyes again. He seemed extremely worn out to Lila; apparently messing with people's heads “for the hell of it” took more out of him than he realized.

The limo stopped in front of a tall apartment building; Lila saw the number on the awning, 146 Central Park West. A bronze plaque under the canopied entrance read
THE SAN REMO.
As they approached, the doorman put down the newspaper he was reading and held open the heavy metal-and-glass door for them. “Good to see you, Mr. P. The movers finished this afternoon.”

The Piper smiled and slipped him a twenty, saying, “Thanks, Fucknutz.” The doorman merely heard, “Thanks, Farley.” As they passed inside, Lila glanced at the newspaper headline on
The National Enquirer
. “Mannequin Medicine Show Mystery”:
1000 Plaster Dummies with Real Identification. Nebraskan State Police Baffled. Bereaved Families Claim “Rapture Capture.”

They took the front elevator up six floors to a private entranceway. Kid noticed Lila looking at the curious wallpaper on the vestibule walls; cute bunnies nosing each other surrounded by leaves.

“Nineteenth-century William Morris,” Kid informed her. “The design is called Brother Rabbit.” Lila detected a note of pride in his voice; he liked knowing things other people didn't.

The door to the apartment opened, and the dimmer lights gently came on like twilight. Lila didn't see much but got the impression of a living room, a fireplace, towering houseplants, books in bookshelves, and paintings on the walls. They went down a long, dark hall. Mr. P. opened the doors to the children's rooms, one after the other. As in many swank Manhattan apartments designed for families with kids, adjoining bedrooms shared a bathroom. Open bathroom doors let you see right through from room to room. Kid crawled into bed without looking around.

In the girls' room, Lila saw a double-decker bunk bed. She led Maria to the lower bunk, took off her shoes, and pulled the covers over her. The child went back to sleep in seconds. That's when Lila noticed another bed in the room, larger than the bunk, up against some kind of mural. She didn't need an invitation.

Lila awoke a few hours later to soft voices. Morning light slanted through the window. She looked through the open connecting bathroom doors into Kid's room. The Kit-Cat clock hung on the wall and wagged its tail at her. Lila could see right to the foot of Kid's bed. His feet stuck out from under the covers and twitched a little. And she could hear Kid arguing with himself, softly talking in hushed voices, like in cartoons where a white-robed Angel and a red-robed Devil whispered back and forth.

Angel Kid:
He's a man with a very bad plan.

Devil Kid:
You know you want to. He'll make you big. Bigger than them all.