A Rage for Revenge watc-3 Read online

  Delandro leaned over and took the dog tags away from the naked bunnydog thing. "No no, Mr. President. Not good."

  Mr. President looked annoyed, but chittered an acknowledgment and returned its attention to the rest of my things. "James, come with me. " Delandro led me away from the dome, leaving Mr. President and the others. As we passed the Jeep I noticed there was a lot of blood all over the ground, but no bodies.

  Not McCain. Not the little girl: Worms don't leave bodies. Delandro let me look, but he kept me moving. He had his hand firmly on my elbow.

  We circled around to the back of the station. Incongruously, there was a picnic table nestled under a grove of tall eucalyptus trees.

  Delandro nudged my arm. "Sit down," he said. I sat.

  Delandro sat down opposite me. "All right, James. Where do you keep the food, the weapons, the gasoline, the medical supplies at this camp?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know."

  "James . . . I thought we had an agreement."

  "Honest," I said. "I don't know. I was exploring it myself when you arrived."

  Delandro put on a thoughtful expression. Was he trying to decide whether to believe me or not?

  I added, "My job is to check out abandoned sites like this one. This is a crematorium. There's nothing here. Not even fuel."

  Delandro considered the information. "You have a map?"

  I nodded.

  "It shows the other sites in this state?"

  I hesitated.

  Delandro's expression tightened. I nodded.

  "Thank you."

  I said, "According to the map . . ." I stopped and swallowed and cleared my throat. I was having difficulty speaking. "According to my map, there are supposed to be local stations of one sort or another, all up and down the coast. Some of them are supposed to be distribution facilities, but not this one."

  "Where's the nearest?"

  "I don't know. The records are incomplete. There might be a couple near Atascadero. I know there are three around San Luis Obispo, and one in Buellton-but I don't know what condition any of them might be in. They were only supposed to be temporary, just until the plagues were contained."

  "Hm," said Delandro. "Would any of these be heavily guarded? The one in Buellton, for instance?"

  "I don't know. Buellton's a ruin--mostly abandoned. The station might be mothballed, or robot-maintained." I didn't like doing this. My throat hurt with every word.

  "Would there be anything of value left?"

  "Maybe. I don't know. It's hard to say. They're moving everything they can into the bay area, behind the wall. They might have cleaned the station out, or they might have overlooked it."

  "Hm. Very interesting," Delandro said. He scratched his neck again, that same gesture with the back of his nails. He got up and walked away from me, leaving me sitting there alone.

  I looked around.

  Nobody was paying any attention to me at all. Delandro's people were systematically exploring and looting the camp. There was no sense of urgency in their movements. They were as calm as if this were a trip to the local supermarket.

  Every so often someone would step out of the office dome and holler, "Look what I found!" Usually it was some domestic item. Apparently there were living quarters in the back of the building. Once it was one of the men holding up someone's pink negligee-there was a lot of sniggering and good natured bantering at that. "Take it out and get it filled." Another time, it was a food processor that one of the women had discovered.

  They had forgotten all about me.

  My throat still hurt. I swallowed and looked around.

  The three worms were snuffling around like dogs inspecting a strange yard. Orrie was the smallest and had the clearest markings. Its stripes were ripples of pink, purple, orange, and red. The other two had similar patterns, but nowhere near as distinct or as variegated.

  I was about twenty meters from the trees; nobody was watching me. Suppose I got up and casually started strolling . . .

  No. This was a test. Delandro wasn't stupid.

  Somewhere, somebody was watching me to see what I would do-to see if I could be trusted.

  I looked around again. More carefully this time.

  There was a lookout on top of the roof. But he wasn't looking in my direction. If there was somebody watching me, I couldn't see him.

  I had to think about this.

  The renegades began to stack their booty on the picnic table, or on the ground beside it. I guess I qualified as booty too. Nobody asked me to help.

  The pregnant woman strolled over then and tossed her machine gun on the table between us. She sat down sideways, pulled a package of cigarettes out of her shirt pocket and lit one between her cupped hands. Her hair was a dull sandy color; it looked stringy; and there were tiny age lines around her eyes; but she looked hard. I didn't want to fight her. She noticed me studying her and offered me a smoke. "Want one?"

  I slid a cigarette out of the pack. I leaned toward her so she could light it with the same match. I could have grabbed the gun...

  I leaned back and puffed on the cigarette. I blew smoke at her. She looked back at me. She grinned and said, "You're not so stupid, are you?"

  "Not terminally, anyway." I shrugged, I waved a hand to indicate the people moving around us. "Just because I don't see him doesn't mean somebody doesn't have a gun pointed at my head somewhere."

  She smiled and blew smoke to one side. She studied me. One of her front teeth was missing. She said, "There's nobody watching you. You overestimate your own importance if you think that. You can get up and walk away if that's what you're thinking of doing. In fact, I know that's what you're thinking of doing. So if you want to, do it."

  "I wouldn't get ten meters, would I?"

  She shrugged, puffed on her cigarette, and said, "I don't know. You might. You might even make it to your Jeep. But Orrie hasn't eaten yet. Not today. And he's sitting in your Jeep, waiting for you. Or anybody. He's been given permission to eat anyone who gets near it. So if you're going to rabbit, you'll have to do it on foot."

  "And for sure I wouldn't get far that way. I hear worms are better trackers than dogs. Is that true?"

  "I know how you can find out." She laughed. "My name's Jessie. "

  "How long have you been with Delandro?"

  "Almost a year now. Jason is the best. He's a genius, you know."

  "No, I don't know."

  "He is-you'll see. But he's also something more than that, something special. He's an Alpha. Do you know what that means? It means power. Jason is a Source. I know you don't understand that. It's all right. Just let the experience of him flow into you." Her eyes were very bright. "You'll find out."

  "You think very highly of him, don't you." It was as noncommittal a statement as I could think of.

  She turned to face me. She took a drag on her smoke. She said, "Listen, when Jason found me, I was one of the walking wounded. You know about the herds, don't you?"

  I nodded. "I've seen the one in San Francisco."

  "Yeah. But that one's artificial. They gather all the walking wounded into one place, because they think that's the easiest way to handle them-two thousand at a time. I was in,one of the real herds," she said candidly, "down in Los Angeles. There were only thirty or fifty of us-that's the best size. We were a loose pack, just wandering around like a dazed bunch of zombies. I don't remember much about it. I remember being hungry and I remember feeding on whatever there was to feed upon. And then, there was Jason-and he wouldn't let me be a zombie any more. He brought me back to life. I'm alive now. I'm part of the future." She patted her belly proudly. "I have a job to do."

  "Congratulations," I said dryly. I took a last puff on my cigarette and flicked it sideways across the compound. A shiny black millipede darted across the dirt, grabbed the butt, and ate it, glowing ember and all. One of the worms slid over, grabbed the millipede and popped it into its mouth.

  Jessie stubbed her cigarette out on the bare table top. "Let me t
ell you something-" She was suddenly deadly serious. "We represent a new order, a new way of operating in the universe. We live in a totally different domain of human experience than you. We want to bring you up to that level-and we will too, eventually. But right now, you still think you have an allegiance to the robber barons, and you'll kill for that supposed allegiance. Therefore, you represent a danger to us. We need to neutralize that danger. We don't want to kill you. But we will, if it's necessary."

  "Yes, of course," I said flippantly. "It's part of your survival programming, right?"

  She looked surprised. "As a matter of fact, yes." And then she added intensely, "But the difference between us and you is that we're in control of our programming. That's Jason's gift. Real freedom. We're not trapped inside the false allegiances and inaccurate connections that you think are your life. You want to live, Jim? We'll teach you to live-and more than that: we'll give you a freedom that you've never experienced before! But the joke is this: everything that's going to happen to you-especially everything we do to destroy your inaccurate allegiances and false connections-is going to look like a threat to your survival. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

  I looked at her. "You're not just a chatty little mad lady, are you? You're the political indoctrination officer. Right?"

  She didn't blink. "I asked you a question," she said. "Do you understand?"

  "Oh, yes. I do understand." I could feel my hostility rising again. "Maybe more than you think."

  "Bullshit," she said. "You don't understand anything. You're still part of the unawakened."

  "Unawakened?"

  "You're a zombie too," she said. "You're walking around in your own kind of trance. You think you're alive? You don't know what living is. Yet."

  I looked away from her. I looked at the sky, the trees, the distant buildings. Anything but her. She waited patiently. Finally, I met her gaze again. "May I have a drink of water?"

  She handed me her canteen. The water was warm. "Are you all right?" she asked.

  "No," I said. "Did you expect me to be?"

  "Are you scared?"

  I took another drink. I looked at the ground. I shook my head. I wasn't answering her question, though she must have thought I was. No, I was thinking: Oh, Mamma McCarthy, what has your baby boy gotten himself into this time?

  Without looking at her, I shoved the canteen back in her direction. She took it from my hand and said, "Don't worry. You'll get over it." And then she got up and walked away.

  A daisy chain isn't a riddle,

  just some folks who are happy to fiddle,

  by twos and by threes,

  on their backs or their knees,

  and it's fun getting caught in the middle!

  7

  Loolie

  "Paranoids tend to persecute free men."

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  They had three motorcycles, two canvas-topped army trucks, and a van. And, now, my Jeep.

  "Do you want to ride in the van with us?" Jessie asked. "Or in the truck with Orrie?"

  I thought about the choice. At least I knew what kind of a danger Orrie represented. "I think I'll ride in the van, thank you." I climbed into the back of the van. The little girl was sitting there, quietly working on a coloring book. She looked up as I climbed in. "Hi," she said. "Are you coming with us?"

  "He's our guest, Loolie," said Jessie, climbing in after me. "Sit there," she pointed.

  "Oh," said Loolie. "Would you like a sandwich? Would you like something to drink?"

  "Uh, no thanks." Suddenly, I was feeling very very bad. I'd been stupid. Loolie was the decoy.

  "I made the sandwiches myself," she said.

  I gave her a weak smile. "No, thanks."

  It wasn't her fault, I told myself. She's too young to realize. How old was she anyway? I couldn't tell. Never mind. That didn't matter. McCain was dead. She must have known. How could she have not known what she was doing? I forced myself to unclench my fists. I wanted to grab her and shake her as hard as I could. Till her eyes bulged and her tongue gagged and her bones broke

  Goddammit! I flung myself back against my seat and stared forward, arms folded angrily across my chest. I was going crazy. No. I was already crazy. I was going crazier.

  One of the men climbed into the front of the van to drive. The very thin girl with the dark brooding eyes climbed in beside him. She had my gun on her lap. I wondered if she still wanted to kill me. I realized why she looked so familiar.

  I had to know. I swallowed my anger. I leaned over to Loolie and whispered, "Is her name Marcie?"

  I pointed at the girl. "Uh-huh. "

  "I thought so."

  "Do you know her?"

  "I did once."

  Marcie had been in Denver three years ago. She'd lost her dog. Rangle. An unkempt-looking, shaggy, white dog-he'd whined and tried to escape; he screamed when the worm came down on him. She never knew. I never told her. Instead, I slept with her. Did she remember? Was that the source of her anger toward me?

  Loolie was flattered by my attention. She asked, "Would you like to see my zoo?"

  "You have a zoo?"

  "Uh-huh! We got a porkly-pine, and a vampire, and a baby got p-„

  "Loolie!" Jessie interrupted sternly. She was just climbing back to join us. "You know the rules about talking to guests."

  "Yes, Jessie. I'm sorry." Loolie turned toward me and solemnly put a finger across her lips.

  The driver started the van then and the convoy formed up. I turned to look out the window; maybe I could memorize where we were going.

  Two of the cyclists took the lead; obviously, they were scouts. The truck with the two bigger worms followed, then the van, then the truck with Orrie and Delandro followed after. Frankenstein's monster followed with my Jeep, loaded with the loot from the camp, and Mr. President riding in the back. The naked-bunnydog thing was peering curiously into the wrong end of my binoculars. The third cyclist brought up the rear.

  I looked at Jessie. "Can [ ask you some questions?"

  Jessie was rummaging around in the cooler. She pulled out a fresh apple. "You can ask." She crunched into it. "I don't promise to answer."

  "How did you-or Jason-tame three worms?"

  "We didn't. There's no such thing as a tame worm."

  "Uh, but . . ." I glanced back at the truck following us. "You've got three of them."

  "Orrie did it. He enrolled the other two."

  "Oh?"

  She nodded proudly. "Orrie's very special. He's a young god."

  "Well, how did Jason tame him?"

  Jessie looked at me coldly. "You don't tame a god, James."

  "Sorry."

  "That's all right. That's your inexperience talking. I suppose it looks like he's been tamed, if you don't know any better. I could just as easily use your dog tags as evidence that you've been tamed."

  I didn't answer. I didn't want to encourage her to explain. She went on anyway. "In order to tame something, Jim, you have to disrespect it-you have to see it as a thing or an animal; and that will diminish you even more than it, because it's one more denial of the god in all of us. But if you can learn how to look deeper, how to see the soul inside, then you can form a partnership with any soul on the planet-any piece of Godregardless of what kind of body it's living in. You don't tame a partner, Jim, you train a partnership."

  "I'm sorry. I don't see the difference."

  "You will," she said. "After you finish your training."

  "My training?"

  "Mm-hm." She said over a mouthful.

  "Um . . . what if I don't want to be trained?"

  "You've already made that choice," she said. "Or rather, your machine did."

  "I'm sorry, I don't understand that either."

  She reached over and tapped my forehead with one finger. "That's your machine. In there. You've been programming it since the day you were born. You didn't know you were programming, but you were. You've been making connections, decisions, judgments, analyses,
and evaluations-and all without any regard for accuracy beyond the boundaries of your own skull. The only criterion you've ever used for the appropriateness of any connection was whether it hurt you or not. Up till now, all that programming has been unconscious-and unconscious programming is always about survival. You've already demonstrated it. But if you could be awakened, Jim, you could see how all that survival-based programming keeps you trapped."

  "And you're going to awaken me?"

  "No. You're going to awaken yourself. Or you won't." She chewed her apple thoughtfully. "Jason gave you the only choice you're capable of right now. Do you want to live or do you want to die? You said you want to live. That was your choice."

  "And what if I'd said I'd rather die? What then? Would Jason have killed me?"

  "James," she said patiently, "listen to yourself. If you were truly awake, survival would not be an issue for you. You flunked the test."

  I thought about that. I said, "I'm sorry. I find that hard to believe."

  Jessie shrugged noncommittally. In fact, she seemed emotionally detached from the whole conversation. "What you believe is irrelevant. "

  "Not to me," I said. She didn't reply. "Okay. So, what happens next?"

  "You'll be our guest. We'll give you the opportunity to contribute whatever you can. And after that, we'll give you the opportunity to be awakened. And after that, you'll have the opportunity to join the Tribe. Or not."

  "And what happens if I fail somewhere along the way?"

  "You fail."

  "That's it?"

  "Uh-huh. "

  I was confused. "There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

  "Nope. "

  "Nope?"

  Jessie stroked Loolie's long brown hair. She kissed the child affectionately. Then she looked up at me. "You see, you think failure means something. It doesn't. Failure isn't death. If you fail, we'll give you another chance to succeed. We'll give you as many chances as necessary. We want you to win."