Nemesis: Book Six (25 page)

I
t took
Bryan a long time to recover.

That's what he was beginning to think of this as: recovery. Except he wasn't sure it was like a physical injury recovery; he was beginning to see it like an alcoholic's recovery. You never recover, you're simply in recovery. Trying to keep from relapsing.

Nine months had passed since he watched an alien species walk to a massive grave. He found his parents and he found Julie. It didn't take long, really—not nearly as long as it took him, Wren, and Michael to get out to that house. The military man, though Bryan didn't remember his name and didn't care to either, got them out of that area pretty quick.

Bryan hadn’t paid close attention to the news during the last nine months. He understood that the world's recovery was underway, too, but that recovery would be much more like a physical wound. Time would heal it all.

Bryan and his family didn't move back into their house; there wasn't much left to move back into. They left Grayson, moving to Montana where they had family. Julie went with her extended family to Michigan. Much of the country wasn't livable, so you took what you could get. Julie called Bryan and for a long time Bryan didn't answer. Then he did but didn't talk much.

Wren called twice, early on, but Bryan never took it. He never called back either.

Bryan didn't go to college in the fall, but was planning to try the next year. Online, of course.

He thought of Thera a lot, and for a long time still believed he would end his life out there in that hole he and Michael dug. He thought about how he watched her do something he wouldn't. She was the bravest person he ever met and he loved her. Missed her. Wished that he could trade places with her.

What therapy helped him understand was that he couldn't; suicide would negate what she had been trying to do. She knew the risks, knew she might die, but she wanted everyone else to have a chance at life.

He thought about Michael, too, but didn't know what happened to him. After that day on the white fields where Morena walked her deadly species to their demise, no one saw Michael again. Bryan had no way to contact him and truly didn't want to. He didn't understand the creature he turned into—watched it happen, but didn't want anything to do with it. Bryan didn't trust what Michael became; no matter how much of his friend was inside that tall, elegant body, too much of Morena was as well.

Bryan was just happy that Michael hadn't showed back up—and hoped he would stay gone.

At nineteen years old, Bryan only knew that life was hard, but that he had to live it.

* * *

W
ren stood up
, his hand shaking slightly.

You can do this,
Linda said. He could tell she was proud, or would have been, if she'd been there.

He walked across the middle of the room, and took the speaker's hand. They shook, hugged, and then the speaker smiled and placed something in his hand.

"All yours," the speaker said.

Wren took a few steps back so that he could see everyone in the room. A lot of happiness in the eyes before him, a lot of pride.

"I don't really know what to say; I tried to think of some words on the drive over here tonight. My sponsor tells me that the chip system isn't for me, but for the new guys, or for those that don't have as much time as I do. So, I kind of feel responsible to give you something right now, but," he paused. Tears came to his eyes but he didn't reach up to wipe them away. "I'm sure all of you know the part I played in what happened a year ago, or at least that I played a part. I know there are a lot of things said about my son and what happened to him, what I believe and what the government says actually happened. I don't care about all that."

He swallowed and looked down at the chip in his hand.

"My son is gone and he's not coming back, ever. I lost my wife and ruined my life for a decade. I got sober because ... and it may be a very selfish thing, but I got sober for myself. I lost out on a life with my son, ten years of being an awful human being, and I'm not going to lose out on whatever else life might give me. That's my higher power: life and the beauty it can bring."

Now he reached up and wiped briefly at his eyes.

"Thanks for letting me share."

* * *

H
e stood
out in the open. He didn't care about being seen.

He thought it a bit ironic that he was here again, standing in this same field where he showed up and studied the grass patterns a year ago.

Will didn't see any grass, doubted he would for a long time. The ash that remained once the strands retreated would take a long, long time to be pushed aside by mother nature.

Will held his gun in his hand, though he doubted it would be much use to him if things went badly. Which they might. He heard the two versions of what happened after he left, the government's and Wren's. Knox was paraded out by the government, giving their side—Knox wasn't like Will. He would never quit and he would parrot a party line if need be, as long as it wouldn't damage the country.

In this case, the government's line would probably help the country, if everyone believed the military defeated Morena. So Will wouldn't blame him too much for lying.

However, Will saw Morena, understood at least a part of her, and he didn't see her either quitting or losing, not without the entire world ending at the same time. So he thought Wren's story might have been the accurate one. That his son took on Morena's charge, was somehow
changed
into an alien life form.

So Will did what he could to understand which one was the truth, and that's what brought him to this blackened field in the dead of night. No one lived in Grayson; it would be decades before they did again. Just him standing on this field. Waiting.

Because everything he learned said that Michael would show up here tonight, and Will wanted to make sure that this was done. That whatever happened on this field wouldn't restart the events of a year ago.

He wore no watch because the time didn't matter. He would stand here all night, gun in hand, and if nothing showed, then the government wasn't lying.

In case the gun didn't work—which it probably wouldn't—he had an explosive in the back pocket of his pants. Not a large one, but maybe ... if he could surprise the thing ...

When it finally happened, he had no idea it was coming.

"I thought you might show up."

Will jumped forward, at the same time his reflexes turning him around and leveling the gun at whatever spoke.

His mouth opened slightly as he saw what the voice came from. He couldn't even think about firing the weapon; his mind focused only on the beauty. The colors. Three of them, moving around as if they were playing some kind of game that only they knew.

Will said nothing.

"I thought you figured it out, when this would happen."

"What," he paused, swallowing, gaining control of himself. "What is happening?"

"I'm leaving, Will."

He didn't lower his weapon but a great relief washed over him. He felt the explosive still pressing against him.

"Where to?" he said basically because he didn't know what else to say.

"I'm not sure."

It,
he
, seemed so calm, as if each moment was unfolding exactly as he knew it would; he seemed entirely too much like Marks.

Will knew Morena, knew the anger and drive that filled her like fish do an ocean. This creature didn't seem to have those same things in him. This creature (
Michael? Is that still his name?
) appeared to be at peace.

"There it is," he said, his eyes going to the sky. Will followed, looking up into the star spotted blackness. He saw nothing, only the usual view of space that humans had from this rock.

"Hold on," Michael said.

Will quickly glanced back to him, but the creature's eyes were still on the sky, and Will went back to it as well. He heard the noise first, like the rush of air in a hurricane. Wind, strong wind, pouring onto the field from some unknown source. His eyes widened as he started turning to Michael, but then he felt the noise that his ears already heard.

Wind hit his side, feeling like someone had flung a heavy, wooden door at him. Will hit the ground, his eyes closing momentarily at the shock; reflexes took over, though, and he rolled to his stomach and opened his eyes again, finding the creature who was doing this. With one hand, Will pulled his weapon in front of his face, aiming it at the alien—with the other, he reached back to his pocket, ready to press down on the small device.

Only, what he saw made his muscles relax even as the wind surged over him, rustling harsh against his clothes. The alien was flickering, pieces of the different colors going in and out of existence. Will could see through him, literally see the black earth behind Michael. More and more of the alien flickered as the wind blew, and slowly he was
fading
. Simply ... leaving.

Will, gun pointing forward, watched the alien smirk.

"Live long and prosper," Michael said before fading away completely.

I
always thought
of Morena as a warrior. Someone who would do whatever it took to live up to her duty. I saw the end of this book when I started it; I knew what Michael’s purpose was from the moment I started writing him. I knew that Morena would lose because I wasn’t ready to destroy the world yet. (I’ll get close enough in the next Singularity series).

What I didn’t know was how in the hell I could convince Morena to stop her quest. For five books, I drove myself up a wall trying to figure out what words could possibly convince Morena to give up fighting for her people. Even at the end, in the last few chapters, a lot of thought went in to finding the
right
words, the one’s that each character would say.

A lot of what I write are things I’ve experienced in life. When I was in college, someone I refer respectfully to as The Pizza Sage told me something that stuck with me for the past ten years. He was quitting his job as a Papa John’s manager (though never as The Pizza Sage—one cannot simply
quit
that role) and I asked him what made him decide to leave. He said, everyone I care about says this place is ruining my life.

I don’t know how or why, but I saved that piece (I think because it was so damn
real
) for Morena. Only that could get her to stop—that everyone she loved said she must.

I’ve written a lot of endings, but this one has been my favorite. Wren finding, selfishly, peace—or at least a sort of peace. Bryan finding life, if not much else. I’m not sure if they both got what they deserved, but I was happy for Wren and sad for Bryan. I try, most of the time, to agree with Wren’s outlook.

And Michael. I loved Michael because he was what I always wanted to be, but never could live up to. My own family life changed me in ways that they didn’t Michael; the kindness within him, the calmness, I wish I possessed such traits.

This is the longest book I’ve ever written and I loved every moment. I hope you did too.

Red Rain is next. Hopefully I’ll see you there.

-David Beers, 5/17/2016, Dallas.

T
he Devil’s Dream

The Singularity