Into the Fire (29 page)

Even before I gave it a proper look, I knew it wasn't long or deep enough, that I'd have to do it again.

“
Oh no,
” I kept moaning, “
no, no, no—
”

I stuck the knife in again, probing at the cut I'd already made, digging deeper, slicing further, feeling my flesh tearing apart. It was probably the worst pain I've ever known—partly, I guess, 'cuz it was self-inflicted. I raised my head and let out this long silent scream to the night, the agony pulsing through me in waves, yet finally managed to pull myself together enough to remember the plastic container and placed it under the wound to catch as much of my blood as I could.

I stayed in that same contorted posture for a good fifteen minutes, letting the blood slowly drain down, surprised at how little there was.

Finally, when I was sure there was no more, I pressed the two edges of the wound together and stuck a large organi-plaster on it, instantly reigniting the pain and causing me to cry out once more.

I felt faint, nauseous, as if a growler had chomped on my side, but I still managed to wrap the bandage around me, cover the plasters and after picking up the knife and container, returned to my sleeping bag.

Not that I slept much, not with that pain, particularly when I tried turning over. Mind you, with what I was planning, I knew all too well that I had a whole lot worse to come.

It took a couple of uncomfortable days for the cut to start to heal, for the organi-plasters to really get to work. If I made the wrong move and the others saw me wince in pain, I just told them my ass was still giving me the occasional twinge, which was a conversation I knew no one was gonna be that eager to pursue.

I didn't see the point of making some grand announcement about what I was planning, not then anyway—there wasn't a lot they could contribute, and if I was really honest about it, I was also worried that they'd be so negative about the idea, I'd lose all faith in it.

One person I did need to talk to was Gigi. She'd made herself pretty clear on the subject, but I still wanted to ask her if there was any chance of a little inside assistance. And, of course, though it hardly needs saying, I also needed Jimmy's help—I mean, didn't I always?

I went down to his “workshop” to find him giving a rather bored-looking Gordie and Hanna a lecture on the development of punishment satellites, pointing out various components and explaining what they once would've done. The moment they saw me, they seized the opportunity to escape.

“Where ya going?” Jimmy called after them.

“We're in the middle of a game,” Gordie called back.

“What about—?” he started to say, but they were already gone. “Huh,” he grunted. “I could beat them both blindfolded.”

I smiled agreement, then hesitated for a moment, wondering how to go about this, fearing I was in for a difficult time. In fact, I got so damned irritated with the situation, I just lost all patience and dived in, telling him exactly why I was there and what I needed.

Jimmy stared at me as if he couldn't believe what I was saying. “
Why?
” he said at last.

It was a fair question, and if there was any chance of him helping me, I needed to answer it as best I could. I took a deep breath, propped myself against an accommodating branch and told him exactly what I had in mind. With each new revelation his mouth gaped ever wider until soon he was staring at me as if I was metamorphosing from human to alien.

“Jesus!” he gasped when I finished.

“What?”

“You're not serious?”

“Why not?”

“It's suicide!”

“Jimmy,” I protested, “you're the one said I had to
think
my way in there.”

“Yeah, but . . . think on.”

The odd thing was, despite the fact that I could see he was genuinely shocked by my plan, I also sensed something else: that maybe, just maybe, somewhere amongst all that mumbled and jumbled disclosure, I'd earned a little of his respect.

“There's an awful lot of assumptions there, Big Guy,” he said.

“I can't just leave her there.”

“What if you're wrong?” he asked.

“What about?”

He made this face, like he was spoiled for choice. “Everything!”

“Jimmy, listen, don't do this,” I begged. “I'm scared enough as it is, I know it's not the greatest plan in the world, but it's all I got.
Now”—and I was ready to go down on my knees if I had to—“can you do it?”

He gave me the old market trader's shrug, and then, to my enormous relief, followed it up with the familiar long intake of breath, as if it was absolutely impossible, quite out of the question, but maybe I'd picked the one person in the world who might be able to handle it.

“I could give it a shot,” he said, plainly already running through the idea in his head. “And maybe, you know, if you did get in there, I could try jamming things up a little from the outside.”

“Just get me what I need,” I told him. “I can do the rest.”

He made this face like he wasn't so sure about that. “You're not gonna tell the others?”

“Nope.”

“They'll wanna be involved.”

“Nothing they can do.”

He grunted, like that was my first big mistake. “Oh, I'm sure we can think of something.”

Okay, so as plans go, this one was frothing at the mouth, and Jimmy was absolutely right, there were so many places it could go awry. Maybe I had the whole thing ass-about-face? I mean, I've already told you, thinking is not my strength; I'd been forced into it 'cuz no one else'd come up with anything—not even Jimmy. Mr. Meltoni used to say, “Know your place and things won't get complicated.” The very last words he wanted to hear from any of his boys was, “Boss, I been thinking”—he'd fire them on the spot. In fact, if he'd caught me doing what I was about to, I'd've been on my way out the door, too.

Eventually, I did tell the others—what I had in mind was so damn dangerous I didn't think it was right to just slip away without saying a word. Or to put it another way, who knew if I'd ever see them again? We had a long discussion, as I anticipated, a lotta stuff was said I could've well done without, but in the end, no matter how great their doubts, they insisted on participating. Which was just as
well, 'cuz Jimmy had come up with a few ideas, “A little bit of frosting on the cake,” as he insisted on calling it.

He reckoned triggering the growlers was down to movement rather than pressure. That day I threw rocks over the fence it had just been single impacts—it had taken Hanna's footsteps to actually mobilize them. What we needed was to give an impression of movement, to have several people throwing rocks one after the other. Jimmy was convinced that would bring them out, and having growlers on the loose would not only be a distraction, but severely restrict the movement of the Specials. Which sounded kind of frightening but feasible. Meanwhile, he was gonna see what else he could do to cause a little extra chaos.

It sounded great, but as far as I was concerned, kinda nibbling at the edges, trying to distract Infinity from what was really going on, which was me getting in there. The thing was, though,
was
I gonna get in there? And if I did, what state would I be in? I needed to talk to Gigi—and soon.

I went to the usual places—or what was left of them—spraying message after message. This time I kept it really simple:

It was enough, she'd know it was me, and sure enough, I woke the next morning to find her fast asleep in Arturo's old sleeping bag again.

Actually, it was quite disturbing that she could enter the shelter at night, bed down and make herself comfortable, and not one of us ever heard her. I always thought my old ears were still pretty well tuned to that kind of thing, but I guess I was wrong. It was a good job she didn't wish us any harm.

I'd kinda got used to the reactions when I told someone what I was planning on doing, but no one was more dismissive or more openly hostile to the idea than Gigi and it really threw me. She acted like it was personal, that my recklessness was infringing on her in some way. If it hadn't been for the others sticking up for me, I don't
think she'd even have discussed the subject. Delilah and Jimmy got a little short with her, telling her she could at least try to help, and when Gordie and Hanna formed an alliance in my defense, well, she was pretty much forced to change her mind. In the end she said she'd speak to someone, find out what they thought and get back to me as soon as possible.

That afternoon, despite having to drag him away from tinkering with the satellite, Jimmy and me went out to search for all the things he'd need. We went down to the industrial area, finding a lot of places broken into and occupied, mainly by the zombie-sick. I guess they'd gone there to search for something that might ease their condition and just never had the strength to leave. There were hundreds of them, all wailing and pawing at you as usual. Thank God we were able to just push them aside, that their weakness meant their attempts to trash the place hadn't amounted to much and everything Jimmy needed was still there.

We bagged everything up, he gave me a heavy box to carry, and we were out of that place in less than fifteen minutes, waving to those who came to the door to moan and howl after us. I mean, it was a terrible thing, and I did feel sorry for them, but again it went through my head that if it was that contagious—and bearing in mind the amount of contact we'd had with the sick—why hadn't any of us caught it?

Despite how much he knew it meant to me, how lucky we were to find everything on his list, on the way back to the churchyard it became obvious that Jimmy's thoughts weren't on the plan but elsewhere.

“You know, they say smell is the most nostalgic of the senses,” he said as we paused for a few moments to take a rest.

“What?” I asked, my thoughts as far away from his as his were mine.

“I smelled something on that satellite the first day we brought it back.”

“Jimmy!” I groaned, thinking we had more than enough to worry about.

“It might be relevant.”

“Let's just deal with one thing at a time, huh?” I told him, not unreasonably.

“It's cool. You got my full attention,” he reassured me, then got that look about him that meant I had anything but.

“How long's it going to take you?” I asked, trying to concentrate his mind.

“If I had the right tools, I could take it apart in a few hours.”

“Not the satellite!
This!
” I said, gesturing at the bags and box we were carrying.

“Oh . . . Dunno,” he replied. “I need to do a bit more research.”

“Jimmy!” I cried, frustrated by how casual he was being. “You said it yourself: it's gotta be one hundred and ten percent accurate. There's no margin for error.”

“Yeah,
I said it myself
,” he repeated impatiently, “'cuz
I know
.”

I picked up the heavy box again, reminding myself it was fragile and that I shouldn't throw it at anyone, however aggravating they might be, then stomped on. I mean, I didn't like losing my temper with the little guy, especially not with the pressure we were under, but I hoped it might help him focus a little. But I should've known better.

We were almost back to the churchyard and he'd barely said a word the whole way when suddenly he turned to me as if rousing himself from a coma.

“Maybe it's got something to do with the fuel?” he said.

Despite all my doubts, the fact that he kept reminding me he “wasn't any kind of a chemist and never had been,” Jimmy still came up with the goods—at least as far as I could tell without putting them to the test. As much as it pains me to say it yet again, the way he adapts and makes do, how resourceful he is—the guy's invaluable, a genius by anyone's description—certainly his own.

On the other hand, Gigi didn't bring anything like such good news. She hadn't been able to get a message to Lena and wasn't optimistic about any kind of inside help. In fact, she was so lukewarm
about the whole thing, to be honest, I wasn't even sure she'd tried. It slightly threw me—somewhere inside I felt an old rusty antenna give a slight twitch. It wasn't just that she was being dismissive, I had the feeling there was something else. Not that it made any difference; as soon as the time was right, I was going, come what may.

The only problem was—and, shit, that was an irony—I had to wait for Infinity to make the first move. A couple of days passed with torturous slowness; the others not saying much and me kinda grateful for it. I was forced to take off the organi-plasters 'cuz my wounds were healing too quickly: like everyone else, they had to bide their time.

With everything else that was going on, I hadn't been paying too much attention to the kids. I was aware that Gordie and Hanna were spending more time together—not that they seemed to enjoy it that much; they barely said a word to each other—and that more and more of the things they did involved the other. What I wasn't prepared for was Gordie asking me for advice.

I'd got into the habit of sitting out in the churchyard after dark and keeping an eye on things, gauging the City's mood and waiting for my moment, and one night he came out to join me. He took a while to speak, and when he did, it was all about me and my plan. To listen to him, you'd think Infinity were in for the hiding of their lives, that I'd reduce that place to rubble, along with anyone who happened to be inside.

“It ain't gonna be easy,” I told him, noting someone running down the far side of the street and wondering if it meant anything.

“You'll pulverize 'em,” he sneered.

I guess it was his idea of a pep talk, but it was making me feel even more uncomfortable, as if my madness was contagious.

For a while he went silent and I thought he'd said all he wanted to, but he hadn't even started. “D'you like Hanna?” he asked.

“'course I do,” I replied, now knowing where we were going with this. “She's special.”

He sat there for a moment, slowly nodding his head. “What about Gigi?”

“Yep, she's special, too. But in a different way.”

Again he nodded. “Which one d'you like most?”

“Gordie!” I protested, “I like them both.”

“Huh,” he said, like I was being a big fat disappointment to him.

“Which one
d'you
like most?” I asked, 'cuz that was really the point.

“I dunno . . . Hanna's nicer, but maybe Gigi's more fun.”

I chuckled and he instantly scowled. “Why you laughing?”

“No old guy would have a problem with that dilemma.”

“So what's the answer?” he asked hopefully.

“Whoa! I can't decide for you—no one can.”

“Ohhh,” he groaned in frustration.

“Anyways, you don't have to decide now,” I told him, getting up. “But whatever you do, you treat them both with respect—d'you hear?”

He nodded, and as we walked back to the shelter I managed to put my arm around his shoulders without it getting shrugged off. Hey, maybe this being-a-father business wasn't gonna be as hard as I thought.