Justin Cronin - The Twelve

Irritating, but Peter didn’t have time for an argument. “Just be quick about it.”

The guard ran his hands up and down Peter’s arms and legs, then produced a heavy ring of keys and led him back into the holding area, a long hall of heavy steel doors. The air was dense and smelled of men. They came to the cell marked with the number 62.

“Funny,” the guard remarked, “Greer doesn’t see anyone in close to three years, and now he’s had two visitors in just a month.”

“Who else was here?”

“I wasn’t on duty. You’d have to ask him.”

The guard located the correct key, inserted it into the tumbler, and swung the door open to a sound of groaning hinges. Greer, shoeless, clothed only in a pair of rough canvas trousers cinched at his waist, was seated on the edge of his bunk. His broad chest gleamed with perspiration; his hands were serenely folded in his lap. His hair, what remained of it, a silvering white, fanned to his massive shoulders, while a great tangle of beard—the beard of a prophet, a wanderer in the wilderness—straggled halfway up his cheeks. A deep stillness radiated off him; the impression he communicated was one of composure, as if he had reduced his mind and body to their essences. For an unsettling moment, he gave no indication that he was aware of the two figures standing in the doorway, causing Peter to wonder if the isolation had done something to his mind. But then he lifted his eyes, his face brightening.

“Peter. There you are.”

“Major Greer. It’s good to see you.”

Greer laughed ironically, his voice thick with disuse. “Nobody’s called me that in some time. It’s just Lucius now. Or Sixty-two, if you prefer. Most people seem to.” Greer addressed the guard. “Give us a few minutes, will you, Sanders?”

“I’m not supposed to leave anyone alone with a prisoner.”

Peter shot him a cold glare. “I think I can take care of myself, son.”

A moment’s hesitancy; then the guard relented. “Well, seeing as it’s you, sir, I guess ten minutes would be okay. After that my shift ends, though. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Peter frowned. “Do we know each other?”

“I saw your signature. Everybody knows who you are. You’re the guy from California. It’s, like, a legend.” All pretense of his authority was gone; suddenly he was just a starstruck kid, his face beaming with admiration. “What was it like? Coming all that way, I mean.”

Peter wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “It was a long walk.”

“I don’t know how you did it. I would have been scared shitless.”

“Take my word for it,” Peter assured him, “that was a big part of it.”

Sanders left them alone. Peter took the room’s only chair, straddling it backward across from Greer.

“Looks like you made quite an impression on our boy there. I told you it would be a hard story to keep quiet.”

“It’s still strange to hear it,” Peter said. “How are you doing?”

Greer shrugged. “Oh, I get by. And you? You look well, Peter. The uniform suits you.”

“Lish says hello. She just got bumped to captain.”

Greer nodded equably. “A remarkable girl, our Lish. Destined for big things, I’d say. So how goes the fight? Or do I have to ask?”

“Not so good. We’re oh-for-three. The whole Martínez thing was a catastrophe. Now it looks like Command is having second thoughts.”

“That’s always what they’ve been best at. Not to worry, the winds will turn. One thing you learn in here is patience.”

“It’s not the same without you. I can’t help thinking it would be different if you were there.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that. This has always been your show. I knew it the moment I met you. Caught upside down in a spinning net, wasn’t it?”

Peter laughed at the memory. “Michael puked all over us.”

“That’s right, I remember now. How is he? I imagine he’s not the same kid I knew back then. Always had an answer to everything.”

“I doubt he’s changed much. Either way, I’ll find out tomorrow. They’re posting me down to the refinery.”

Greer frowned. “Why there?”

“Some new initiative to secure the Oil Road.”

“DS will love that. I’d say you’ve got your hands full with that lot.” He gave his knees a slap to change the subject. “And Hollis, what do you hear of him?”

“Nothing good. He took Sara’s death hard. The story is he’s on the trade.”

Greer considered this news for a moment. “On the whole, I can’t say I blame him. That may seem strange to say, knowing Hollis, but more than one man has gone that way under those circumstances. I imagine he’ll come around sooner or later. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

“And what about you? You’re getting out soon. If you want, I can put a word in with Command. Maybe they’d let you reenlist.”

But Greer shook his head. “I’m afraid those days are over for me, Peter. Don’t forget, I’m a deserter. Once you cross that line, there’s no going back.”

“What will you do?”

Greer smiled mysteriously. “I imagine something will come along. It always does.”

For a while they talked of the others, bits of news, stories from the past. Being with Greer, Peter felt a warm contentment, but accompanying that, a sense of loss. The major had entered his life just when Peter needed him; it was Greer’s steadfast presence that had given him the will to move forward in the days when his resolve had wavered. It was a debt that Peter could never fully repay: the debt of borrowed courage. Peter sensed that Greer’s incarceration had changed him. He was still the same man, although something inside him ran deeper, a river of inner calm. He seemed to have drawn strength from his isolation.

As the end of the ten minutes approached, Peter told the major about the cave, and the strange man, Ignacio, and Alicia’s theory about what he was. Even as he spoke the words, he realized how far-fetched the idea sounded; and yet he felt its rightness. If anything, his feeling that the information was important had grown over the days.

“There may be something to that,” Greer agreed. “He said, ‘He left us’?”

“Those were his words.”

Greer fell silent, stroking his long beard. “The question, of course, is where did Martínez go. Did Alicia have any ideas about that?”

“Not that she told me.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think finding the Twelve is going to be more complicated than we planned on.”

He waited, watching Greer’s face. When the major made no reply, he said, “My offer still stands. We could really use you.”

“You overestimate me, Peter. I was always just along for the ride.”

“Not to me. Alicia would say the same thing. All of us would.”

“And I accept the compliment. But it doesn’t change a thing. What’s done is done.”

“It still doesn’t seem right that you’re in here.”

Greer shrugged carelessly. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Believe me, I’ve brooded plenty on the subject. The Expeditionary was my whole life, and I miss it. But I did what I thought was right in the moment. In the end, that’s all a man has to measure his life, and it’s plenty.” His eyes narrowed on Peter. “Which isn’t something I need to tell you, is it?”

The major had him dead to rights. “I suppose not.”

“You’re a good soldier, Peter. You always have been, and I wasn’t lying about that uniform. It does suit you. The question is, do you suit it?”

The question wasn’t accusing—if anything, the opposite. “Some days I wonder,” Peter confessed.

“Everybody does. The military is what it is. You can hardly take a trip to the latrine without filling out a form in triplicate. But in your case, I’d say the question runs deeper. The man I met hanging upside down in that spinner—he wasn’t following anybody’s orders but his own. I don’t think he would have even known how. Now here you are, five years later, informing me that Command wants to give up the hunt. Tell me, are they right?”