F. Paul Wilson - Ground Zero

Are you the stuff that’s gonna make me better?

“Okay. I got some.”

“You must remove it all.”

He looked at the vein. It ran pretty far in.

“All? How am I gonna get to it?”

“By doing what is necessary.”

“You can do it, Darryl,” Hank said.

I don’t need a cheerleader, Darryl thought. I need someone to do this for me.

But since no one was going to volunteer . . .

He dumped the compound into the bin and returned to his task. He stretched as far as he could, removed more, but the rest was beyond his reach.

He turned to Hank and Drexler. “I’ll need a hoe or something to get the rest out.”

“No-no!” Drexler said, waving his hands. “You might damage the inner membranes. That mustn’t happen.”

“Okay, then, how do I get to the rest?”

“Just crawl in and get it,” Hank said. “Let’s get this done with.”

Darryl stared at the opening and didn’t like that idea one bit. Something about this thing made him afraid. But he didn’t see any way around it.

“Inside,” Drexler said. “You must enter to retrieve the rest. And don’t forget: You will be cured not only of AIDS, but of every illness hidden in your body. If you have a cancer, it will be gone; if you have hardened arteries, they will be cleared.”

Well, that didn’t sound so bad.

“All right. I’m going, I’m going.”

He put one arm in, followed by the other. Then, taking a deep breath, he ducked and slipped his head and shoulders inside.

Warm in here . . . much warmer than he’d figured. Light from the room filtered through. The sides of the cavity were softer than around the plug, and much, much softer than the Orsa’s hide.

But forget about that—just grab as much of this junk as you can and get out.

Even better: Start grabbing the compound and pushing it behind him—the tight space made it hard but it was doable. That way he could scoop it up once he slid back out.

He cleared out the new area of the vein within reach. The dust seemed lumpier here.

Almost to the end. Just a little more and he’d be finished. As he inched farther in, he thought he felt the sides tremble. He froze, waiting to feel it again, wondering if he’d really felt it.

All remained still. Maybe he’d caused it himself. Maybe he’d just felt his own vibrations. More than ever now he wanted to get out of here ASAP.

The urgency pushed him forward again, stretching his fingers toward the final deposit. He grabbed a handful and felt some larger lumps. He pulled it closer and opened his hand. In the dim light the lumps had definite shapes. They looked familiar. Almost like—

Teeth! These were human teeth!

Just then the sides trembled again, but this time they tightened against him.

No!

He began a frantic struggle backward, pushing as hard as he could against the slick, rubbery surface, but his hands slipped and the space grew even smaller.

He screamed.

The walls began to weep a clear, sour fluid that pressed against his face. He sealed his lips against it but it ran in through his nostrils. It soaked through his clothes and into his skin. And then the trembling in the walls organized into ripples running from his head, along his body, and down his legs. He felt the compound he’d pushed back beside his legs begin to slide away, following the ripples.

The walls tightened further, molding to him, sealing against him until he couldn’t move a finger. He tried to scream again but the walls were so tight he couldn’t draw a breath. He loosed a strangled groan that allowed the fluid to rush into his mouth. It ran down his throat, seeping through his tissues from within and without.

As his vision and consciousness dimmed he saw the hazy figures of Hank and Drexler through the encasing semitransparent walls. One figure struggling to move his way and the other holding him back.

Drexler! He knew all along! He set me up!

13

“An awful lot to absorb,” Jack said as he exited the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel and took the ramp to the southbound BQE.

He’d degaraged his own car for this trip, and the big black Crown Victoria moved easily into the flow. Traffic on the dreaded Brooklyn-Queens Expressway wasn’t bad at the moment, but come 4 P.M. it would start to thicken into motorized sludge.

In a way he wished it were later. He knew a couple of good Russian restaurants out where they were headed. He could treat Weezy to some primo borscht. Wouldn’t mind a little himself.

But she looked too dazed to eat. He felt sorry for her. What he’d learned in an incremental process over the past two years had been dumped on her in a matter of an hour. She slumped in the passenger seat with the Compendium -laden backpack clutched against her chest like the handbag of an Omaha matron crossing Times Square.

“Yeah, a lot,” she said after a bit. “I’ve been accused of having wild theories, but they’re flat-out nothing compared to the reality you three just laid on me. Even though this doesn’t contradict anything I’ve assumed or conjectured, it’s going to take a while to sink in. I knew the truth behind the Secret History was big, but I never dreamed it was this big.”

“Big as it gets.”

“Who’s this ‘Adversary’ Mister Veilleur was talking about?”

“He’s the Otherness’s point man.”

“Does he have a name?”

“He does.” Rasalom . “But we don’t speak it.”

“Why not?”

“Because he hears, and then he comes looking for whoever’s taking his name in vain. So why don’t we just call him ‘R’?”

“Is he as scary as you’re making him sound?”

“Ohhhhh, yeah,” Jack said as memories flooded back. “I’ve seen him walk on water and float in the air, and he can paralyze you with a look.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Weezy looked at him. “No, I can see by your face you’re not. He did it to you, didn’t he.”

He nodded. “Twice.”

“So he had you in his power and he released you. That doesn’t make sense, unless he doesn’t know you’re the Heir.”

“Oh, he knows. The first time, he let me go because he said killing me then would spare me the pain that lay ahead in my life, and he didn’t want to do that.”

“Pain? Did he mean your father? I heard about that. What a terrible thing to happen to such a nice man.”

“That was just the tip of the iceberg.”

“It gets worse?”

“Much. Someday I’ll tell you about it. The creep feeds on human death, pain, fear, misery, degradation. He had a feast with me.”

“I wonder if he was here for nine/eleven?” she said. “He would have had a smorgasbord of fear, panic, grief, and misery. You could literally feel the panic in the air.”

“Tell me about it. I live about four miles uptown from the Trade Center and—” A startling idea flashed to life. “Do you think he could have been behind the attacks?”

“You mean, could R be bin Aswad? I’ve never seen him. Does he resemble the man in the photos?”

“Hard to say, what with the graininess and the beard. But Sheikh did say he wanted maximum death and terror, which would be right in line with R’s tastes.”

“But that’s what every terrorist wants. That’s why they’re called terrorists. And although I can’t tell you exactly why, my gut tells me there was more than just a gourmet feast for R behind those attacks. But I still don’t understand why, when R had you at his mercy, he didn’t eliminate you.”

“I doubt he’d admit it, but I think he’s afraid to harm me.”

“Why? You have some hidden powers you haven’t told me about?”

He barked a laugh. “I wish!”

Traffic was light. They’d zoomed along the Gowanus and were now segueing onto the Belt Parkway. The monstrous, looming towers of the Verrazano Bridge ruled the landscape ahead.