Justin Cronin - The Twelve

The minutes passed. Alicia had begun to doubt herself when Greer raised his hand. “Here we go.”

A figure had emerged from the pipe, wearing a dark jacket. Man or woman, Alicia couldn’t tell. A scarf covered the lower half of the person’s face; a wool cap was pulled down to the tops of the eyes. The figure paused, looking south with a hand to its brow.

“Looks like he’s waiting for someone,” Greer said.

“How do you know it’s a man?” Alicia asked.

“I don’t.” Greer handed the binoculars to Amy, who pushed a strand of hair aside and pressed the lenses to her eyes. It was amazing to see, Alicia thought; in every aspect, even the smallest gesture, Amy was both the girl she’d always been and someone entirely new. As Greer told the story, Amy had gone into the belly of the ship, the Chevron Mariner , as one thing and had come out another. Even Amy couldn’t provide an explanation. To Alicia, the oddest thing about it was the fact that it didn’t seem odd at all.

“I can’t tell either. But whoever’s supposed to meet him is running late.” Amy drew down the binoculars. Beneath her oversized wool coat, she still wore the shapeless tunic of the Order. Her legs were covered in thick woven leggings, her feet shod in laced boots of crinkled leather. “If we’re going to find Sergio, I don’t think we’re going to get a better chance.”

Alicia nodded. “Agreed. Major?”

“No objection here.”

The only cover to conceal their approach was a line of brush on the east side of the pipe and a stand of bare trees on the hillside above it. Amy and Alicia left Greer to stand lookout and moved at a crouch along the culvert in opposite directions. Amy would take the right, at ground level; Alicia would drop down from above. Once they were in position, Greer would whistle, diverting the man’s attention, and they would make their move.

Everything unfolded according to plan. Alicia scuttled on her belly to the top of the pipe. The crown of the man’s capped head was right below her. From this angle, she wouldn’t be able to see Amy, but Greer would. She waited for the signal, then:

Where did he go?

Rising to her knees, Alicia rotated in time to receive his full weight slamming into hers. Not his weight. Hers. In an airborne embrace they tumbled over the lip, the woman crashing down upon her as Alicia landed on her back in the snow.

“Who the hell are you?” The woman had pinned Alicia’s arms with her knees and was holding a knife to her throat, the blade just nicking her skin. Alicia had no doubt that she would use it.

“Steady there. I’m a friend.”

“Answer the question.”

“Amy? A little help here?”

Amy had moved in from behind. Her approach had been absolutely soundless. Before the woman could react, Amy grabbed her by the collar and flung her sideways; as the woman leapt to her feet and lunged forward with the knife, Amy slapped it away, darted behind her, and locked her in a half nelson, the other arm gripping her around the waist. Alicia’s only thought was: I’ll be goddamned .

“Stop it,” Amy said. “We want to talk, that’s all.”

The woman spoke through gritted teeth. “Go to hell.”

“Don’t you think I could break your neck if I wanted to?”

“Be my guest. Tell Guilder I said, Fuck you, too.”

Amy glanced at Alicia, who had collected the woman’s knife and was dusting snow from her pants. Greer was trotting toward them. “Does that name mean anything to you?” Amy asked.

Alicia shook her head.

“Who’s Guilder?” she asked the woman.

“What do you mean, who’s Guilder?”

“What’s your name?” Amy asked. “You might as well tell me.”

A moment’s hesitation, then: “Nina, okay? It’s Nina.”

“I’m going to let you go now, Nina,” Amy said. “Promise me you’ll listen to what we have to say. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Fuck off.”

Amy tightened her grip to make the point. “Do. You. Promise.”

Another burst of struggle; then the woman relented. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

Amy released her. The woman stumbled forward and spun around. A young face, not much older than twenty, but her eyes told a different tale—hard, almost ferocious.

“Who are you people?”

“That was a nice move,” Alicia said to Amy. She twirled the knife around her index finger and passed it to her. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Where do you think? By watching you.” She pointed her eyes at Greer. His long beard was clotted with snow, like the muzzle of a dog. “Lucius, could I ask you to stand lookout again? Let us know when the vehicle approaches.”

“That’s all? Just let you know?”

“It would be good if you could… delay them a little. Until we’re done talking.”

Greer jogged up the ridge. Amy addressed the woman again, making a small but meaningful gesture with the knife. “Take a seat.”

Nina glared with defiance. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’ll be more comfortable. This is going to take some time.” Amy slid the knife into her belt. I’m done with this, if you behave . “We’re not at all who you think we are. Now sit.”

Reluctantly, Nina lowered herself to the snow. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“I very much doubt that,” said Amy. “I believe you’ll tell me everything I need to know, once I explain what’s about to happen here.”

“I want to play with Dani!”

“Eva, sweetheart—”

The little girl’s face was flushed with anger. She snatched one of the leather cups off the floor and hurled it at Lila, missing narrowly.

“You go to bed!” Lila shouted. “You go to bed this instant!”

The girl was immovable. Her face was bright with loathing. “You can’t make me!”

“I’m your mother! You do as I say!”

“I want Dani!”

She had filled a hand with dry beans. Before Lila could react, the little girl reared back and launched them with astonishing, hate-fueled force into Lila’s face. More beans spattered on the floor behind her, a clattering rain. She leapt to her feet and began to tear through the apartment—yanking books from the shelves, batting things off tables, hurling pillows into the air.

“Stop it this instant!”

The girl picked up a large ceramic vase.

“Eva, no—”

The little girl heaved it over her head and brought it down like somebody slamming the trunk of a car. Not a crack but a detonation: the vase exploded into a million ricocheting shards.

“I hate you!”

Something was happening, something final. Lila knew this, just as she sensed, in a deeper layer of her brain, that all of this had happened before. But the thought went no further; the hard edge of something hit her head. The girl was throwing books.

“Go away!” she screamed. “I hate-you-I-hate-you-I-hate-you!”

But as Lila watched her mouth forming these terrible words, they seemed to be coming from somewhere else. They were coming from inside her head. She lurched forward and grabbed the little girl around the waist and hoisted her off her feet. The girl kicked and screamed, wriggling in Lila’s grip. All Lila wanted was—what? To calm the girl down? To get ahold of the situation? To silence the screaming that was tearing through her brain? For every ounce of force Lila applied, the girl replied in kind, shrieking at the top of her lungs, the scene ballooning to grotesque dimensions, a kind of madness, until Lila lost her footing, their combined centers of gravity tilted backward, and they went down hard, crashing into the dressing table.

“Eva!”

The little girl was scooting away from her. She came to a stop against the base of the sofa, glaring furiously. Why wasn’t she crying? Was she hurt? What had Lila done? Lila approached her on her hands and knees.