The City of Mirrors
Page 197
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—
The clock had run down. Michael glanced at Alicia. “Ready?”
She nodded.
“You might want to cover your ears.”
He shoved down the plunger.
“What the hell, Circuit?”
He drew up the bar and tried again. Nothing. He pulled the positive wire, touched it lightly to the contact, and pressed the plunger a third time. A spark leapt.
He had current; the problem was at the other end.
“Stay here.”
He unscrewed the second wire, grabbed the plunger box and lantern, and tore down the stairs.
—
The strength of the virals’ grip increased with a hot jab. The pain was eye-watering; bits of confettied light danced in her vision.
“Bring him in, please.”
Peter.
Two virals dragged him from the direction of the tunnels. His body hung floppily, facedown, the tips of his boots skimming the floor.
“It’s the only way, Amy. I wish there were another, but there simply isn’t.”
Amy could barely think. The slightest movement ignited shrieks of agony. It felt as if the bones of her upper arms were about to shatter under the pressure of the virals’ hands, to crumble into dust.
“Ah, here we are.”
The virals halted, still holding Peter by the shoulders. Blood was dripping from his hair, flowing down the creases of his face. Fanning stepped toward him, sword extended. Amy’s breath stopped in her throat. He positioned the flat of the blade beneath Peter’s chin and, with cruel slowness, tilted his face upward.
“You care about this man, do you not?”
Peter found Amy with his eyes but seemed unable to focus. His mouth was moving soundlessly, with what might have been a sigh or groan.
“Answer the question.”
“Yes,” she said.
“So much that you would do anything to save him, in fact.”
Her vision swam. To be undone so easily; that was the cruelest thing.
“Say it, Amy. Let me hear the words.”
Her answer came out with a choking sound: “Yes, I’d do anything to save him.” Her head rolled forward in defeat; she had nothing left. “Please, just let him go.”
One flick of the wrist and his throat would open like paper. Peter’s eyes were closed, preparing for death. That or he had slipped back into a merciful unconsciousness.
“Let me show you something,” Fanning said. “It’s a little talent I’ve discovered. Jonas would get a real kick out of this.”
He did something strange: he began to undress. First the suit coat, which he folded in half and lay neatly on the floor with the sword, then his shirt, unbuttoning it to reveal a fan of downy white chest hair and a smooth, leanly muscled trunk.
“I have to say, it’s good to finally get out of these clothes.” He had knelt to untie his shoes. “To put aside these trappings.”
Shoes, socks, pants. The air around him had begun to change. It fluttered like waves of heat above a desert road. He rocked his head toward the ceiling; a sheen of oily sweat appeared on his skin. He licked his lips with a slow tongue and began to roll his shoulders and neck, his eyes half-lidded, lost in sensation.
“God, that’s good,” he said.
With a bony pop, Fanning arced his back and moaned with pleasure. His hair was ejecting in clumps; fat, throbbing veins pulsed beneath the skin of his face and chest, tatting a bluish web. He rocked his jaw, showing his fangs. His fingers, from which long, yellowish nails now protruded, flexed restlessly.
“Isn’t it…wonderful?”
—
Michael hit the tunnel, Alicia shouting his name behind him. Rats were suddenly everywhere, an undulating wave of them, flowing toward the bulkhead.
The screw had torn loose; the pack lay in the water. The fuses were soaked and useless.
“Fuck!”
His eyes fell on a small electrical panel, at eye level, just to the right of the bulkhead. The ground was boiling with rats. They were swarming around his ankles, brushing against his legs with their soft, nauseating weight. With the tip of a screwdriver, he popped the door and waved the lantern over the interior.
“Get back!”
Alicia was standing a few yards behind him. Thirty feet away, a viral was crouched on the floor of the tunnel; a second clung to the ceiling, its inverted head rocking side to side. The long, bald tail of a rat was whipping from its mouth.
“Go on, beat it!” The virals merely looked at her. “Get out of here!”
The inside of the panel was a tangled mess of wires connected to a breaker board. Give me an hour, Michael thought, and I can do something with this, no problem.
“These guys look hungry, Circuit. Tell me you’ve figured this out.”
God, how he hated that name. He was pulling wires free, attempting to separate them into some kind of coherence, to trace them back to their source.
“More coming!”
He glanced over his shoulder. The walls of the tunnel had begun to glow green. There was a skittering sound, like dry leaves rolling on pavement. “I thought these guys were your friends!”
Alicia fired at the viral on the ceiling. Her aim was unsteady; sparks flew up. The viral skittered backward, dropped, and came up on all fours. “I don’t think it’s me they’re interested in!”
He sliced off a length of cable, stripped the ends, and screwed them to the plunger. Holding the wire, he gave a final look into the panel. He would have to take a wild guess. This one? No, that.
The clock had run down. Michael glanced at Alicia. “Ready?”
She nodded.
“You might want to cover your ears.”
He shoved down the plunger.
“What the hell, Circuit?”
He drew up the bar and tried again. Nothing. He pulled the positive wire, touched it lightly to the contact, and pressed the plunger a third time. A spark leapt.
He had current; the problem was at the other end.
“Stay here.”
He unscrewed the second wire, grabbed the plunger box and lantern, and tore down the stairs.
—
The strength of the virals’ grip increased with a hot jab. The pain was eye-watering; bits of confettied light danced in her vision.
“Bring him in, please.”
Peter.
Two virals dragged him from the direction of the tunnels. His body hung floppily, facedown, the tips of his boots skimming the floor.
“It’s the only way, Amy. I wish there were another, but there simply isn’t.”
Amy could barely think. The slightest movement ignited shrieks of agony. It felt as if the bones of her upper arms were about to shatter under the pressure of the virals’ hands, to crumble into dust.
“Ah, here we are.”
The virals halted, still holding Peter by the shoulders. Blood was dripping from his hair, flowing down the creases of his face. Fanning stepped toward him, sword extended. Amy’s breath stopped in her throat. He positioned the flat of the blade beneath Peter’s chin and, with cruel slowness, tilted his face upward.
“You care about this man, do you not?”
Peter found Amy with his eyes but seemed unable to focus. His mouth was moving soundlessly, with what might have been a sigh or groan.
“Answer the question.”
“Yes,” she said.
“So much that you would do anything to save him, in fact.”
Her vision swam. To be undone so easily; that was the cruelest thing.
“Say it, Amy. Let me hear the words.”
Her answer came out with a choking sound: “Yes, I’d do anything to save him.” Her head rolled forward in defeat; she had nothing left. “Please, just let him go.”
One flick of the wrist and his throat would open like paper. Peter’s eyes were closed, preparing for death. That or he had slipped back into a merciful unconsciousness.
“Let me show you something,” Fanning said. “It’s a little talent I’ve discovered. Jonas would get a real kick out of this.”
He did something strange: he began to undress. First the suit coat, which he folded in half and lay neatly on the floor with the sword, then his shirt, unbuttoning it to reveal a fan of downy white chest hair and a smooth, leanly muscled trunk.
“I have to say, it’s good to finally get out of these clothes.” He had knelt to untie his shoes. “To put aside these trappings.”
Shoes, socks, pants. The air around him had begun to change. It fluttered like waves of heat above a desert road. He rocked his head toward the ceiling; a sheen of oily sweat appeared on his skin. He licked his lips with a slow tongue and began to roll his shoulders and neck, his eyes half-lidded, lost in sensation.
“God, that’s good,” he said.
With a bony pop, Fanning arced his back and moaned with pleasure. His hair was ejecting in clumps; fat, throbbing veins pulsed beneath the skin of his face and chest, tatting a bluish web. He rocked his jaw, showing his fangs. His fingers, from which long, yellowish nails now protruded, flexed restlessly.
“Isn’t it…wonderful?”
—
Michael hit the tunnel, Alicia shouting his name behind him. Rats were suddenly everywhere, an undulating wave of them, flowing toward the bulkhead.
The screw had torn loose; the pack lay in the water. The fuses were soaked and useless.
“Fuck!”
His eyes fell on a small electrical panel, at eye level, just to the right of the bulkhead. The ground was boiling with rats. They were swarming around his ankles, brushing against his legs with their soft, nauseating weight. With the tip of a screwdriver, he popped the door and waved the lantern over the interior.
“Get back!”
Alicia was standing a few yards behind him. Thirty feet away, a viral was crouched on the floor of the tunnel; a second clung to the ceiling, its inverted head rocking side to side. The long, bald tail of a rat was whipping from its mouth.
“Go on, beat it!” The virals merely looked at her. “Get out of here!”
The inside of the panel was a tangled mess of wires connected to a breaker board. Give me an hour, Michael thought, and I can do something with this, no problem.
“These guys look hungry, Circuit. Tell me you’ve figured this out.”
God, how he hated that name. He was pulling wires free, attempting to separate them into some kind of coherence, to trace them back to their source.
“More coming!”
He glanced over his shoulder. The walls of the tunnel had begun to glow green. There was a skittering sound, like dry leaves rolling on pavement. “I thought these guys were your friends!”
Alicia fired at the viral on the ceiling. Her aim was unsteady; sparks flew up. The viral skittered backward, dropped, and came up on all fours. “I don’t think it’s me they’re interested in!”
He sliced off a length of cable, stripped the ends, and screwed them to the plunger. Holding the wire, he gave a final look into the panel. He would have to take a wild guess. This one? No, that.
