Part 29 (1/2)

And she freezes. The scene remains still for nearly a minute. It is a frozen tableau, a static picture stretched across the screen: a woman-a girl-standing, crouched, on the sidewalk, surrounded by bricks from a damaged wall. Spray-paint spiders and words swarming up and out while she peers down and in, into the darkness.

Then she moves. Her left hand slides to the edge of the hole, quivering slightly. She grabs hold, braces herself, and lifts her leg over the litter of bricks, through the gap, and into the wall. She tests her weight on the other side-her foothold isn't visible, but it looks to be about six inches below street level-then she crouches down and slides all the way in. Her messenger bag catches on the right-hand edge of the gash, and she has to reach back to pull it through. Her hands are moving slowly now, and they are definitely quivering-maybe from all that exertion with the sledgehammer. Or maybe it's excitement. Maybe fear.

Once inside the hole, she pauses briefly, her back filling up the diamond-shaped gap. Then she starts to inch away, into the s.p.a.ce behind the wall. She is moving to the right but also down. Descending beneath the city streets.

Her left shoulder is the last thing we see. It is only about a foot above street level when it disappears from view.

Then she is gone. And there is no one on-screen for a very long time.

The sky turned red not long after we left the research facility, and it stayed red the entire way home.

Again the color changed with a roar. It was a great rending in the sky, and when I looked up, it felt like I was staring into a widening wound.

Again I got the impression of blood, and I was half expecting it to come raining down over the city. It would be a horrible thing, I thought, a horrific squall filled with gristle and teeth, and we'd have to run the last couple of blocks absolutely drenched in gore. But it didn't happen. It was the same as before: a twirling liquid red sky, suspended above our heads.

Floyd hadn't seen it the first time around, and he greeted it with stunned, wide-eyed terror.

”Oh, my G.o.d,” he muttered. ”Oh, my f.u.c.king G.o.d.”

Taylor and I tried to calm him down. We tried to convince him that everything was fine, that the red sky would pa.s.s and the world would return to normal, but nothing seemed to work. He remained transfixed by the color above his head, his face going pale, his shoulders drooping, as if pressed down by that ma.s.sive sky. And there were honest-to-G.o.d tears in his eyes.

I don't know if Charlie had seen the sky the first time around, but either way, he wasn't terrified. In fact, the sky didn't seem to affect him at all. He remained lost inside his own head. Battling demons and memory. Chasing his parents. Are they gone? Are they really dead? He walked like a zombie, his eyes barely flickering up toward the sky before once again fixing on his boots.

I, for my part, was surprised at how calm I remained. The sky was terrifying-objectively, it was a terrifying sight-but I couldn't find the energy to care. My reserves of horror had run bone dry. I was trying to comfort Floyd, but his confusion and fear seemed downright ridiculous to me. I'd seen all this before, and frankly, after one time, it felt old hat. Almost mundane.

I wanted to get back to the house. I wanted coffee. I wanted to wash my face and check the pantry for food.

After all, I thought with a bitter smile, it's not like it's the end of the world.

The four of us stayed together in the kitchen when we got home. Even terrified and confused, Floyd and Charlie wanted our company. I think they wanted the rea.s.surance of having us nearby. This seemed like a big change to me. I was getting used to people freaking out and running away whenever something bad happened.

When we entered, Taylor immediately headed to the camp stove and started making coffee. Floyd collapsed into a chair next to the sliding gla.s.s door, where he could stare, transfixed, up at the roiling red sky. His eyes grew wide, and I watched as he bolted down another couple of pills.

”I must have missed something,” Charlie said as he sat down at the kitchen table and popped open his notebook computer. ”There's got to be something here, something that'll tell us what really happened to my parents. I just need to pay attention. I just need to see what's staring me in the face-in the emails, in the files they sent.” His voice was loud, but I think he was just talking to himself, trying to convince himself that there was still hope. Taylor and Floyd didn't even glance up at the sound of his voice.

And then there was silence in the room.

I stood in the doorway for nearly a minute, watching my three friends. They were lost in their own little worlds, sharing the same s.p.a.ce but completely isolated, completely alone. It made me sad. The thing that had struck me most when I had first found this house, when Taylor had first dragged me through the door, was the sense of community here, the sense of family hidden away inside these generic suburban walls. It had been such a warm place, full of laughter, full of life. But that was gone now. It had disappeared, along with Amanda and Mac and Weasel (and Devon, too, I thought).

”I'm going to go check on Sabine,” I said.

There was no reply.

Upstairs, I found Sabine's door standing wide open, but she wasn't there. Out working on her project, I guessed. I peeked in through the door. Her room was still a mess, blanketed in well-used sheets of paper. I was tempted to sneak in and try to figure out what she was working on but decided against it. That would be a pretty big violation, I figured, considering her earlier reaction. Besides, whatever her project was, I guessed that it was just some manic whim of hers, a distraction, a way for her to channel her energy and pain.

I shut the door and headed back downstairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, I glanced up and saw a dark figure standing just outside the living-room window, outlined against the dark red afternoon. The figure didn't have a face.

I jumped at the sight and almost cried out, barely managing to stifle my voice as the figure backed away from the window, quickly raising its hands in the universal gesture of surrender. My fright pa.s.sed as soon as I recognized who it was.

It was the Poet, her face hidden behind her dark leather hood.

She continued backing away from the window, keeping her hands raised high. As I watched, she retreated across the lawn and out onto the sidewalk. She stopped there and stood, waiting. Waiting for me?

I was confused. Why would she come here, to the house? What could she possibly want? The last I'd seen, she'd been sitting huddled in the corner of Cob Gilles's apartment, completely terrified, unable to talk. Did she come here for Sabine? I wondered. Is this an apology? A meeting of the artistic minds?

I moved into the entryway and opened the door, trying to keep it quiet. The way the Poet had retreated to the sidewalk instead of coming straight to the front door, I figured she didn't want an audience. In fact, as soon as I stepped out onto the porch, she took a nervous step back, and I was afraid she was going to flee. Then she planted her feet and stood firm.

”You're the Poet,” I said awkwardly as I made my way down the front walk. ”I'm sorry about before. Sabine and I ... we didn't mean-”

As soon as I got about ten feet away, the Poet's hand darted up, frantically warding me back. I stopped, and she nodded. She wanted me at a distance; that much was clear. Her eyes were wide inside her mask's oval openings. Its mouth had been zippered shut.

”What?” I asked, holding out my hands, trying to show her that I was not a threat. ”What do you want me to do?”

She held up her hand-palm flat, facing me-and urged me to stay still. Then she reached into the pocket of her paint-spattered peacoat. Her hand came out with a video camera. My video camera.

”How?” I asked, perplexed. I tried to think back. What had I done with the camera? How had it managed to get from my backpack to the Poet's hand?

Without thinking, I started toward her. ”Where did you-?”

The Poet shook her head and took a quick step back, getting ready to flee. I stopped moving forward-in fact, I fell back a couple of steps-and after a tense moment, the masked woman started to calm back down. She's like a nervous little bird, I thought, ready to fly at the slightest hint of movement. Eventually, she nodded her head and once again resumed her pantomime. She bent at her knees and slowly lowered the camera to the sidewalk, never once taking her eyes off my face. As soon as it touched the cement, she let go. Then she turned and ran away, fleeing as fast as she could, leaving the camera sitting alone on the sidewalk.

I watched until she disappeared around a corner two blocks away. She was moving fast, running away from me as if I were a horrible threat, as if I were the Devil himself. And what could do that to a person? I wondered. What could scare someone into such complete and total retreat? Then I bent down and picked up the battered old Sony.

I'm sure it was just a coincidence, but as soon as my hand closed around the camera, the clouds started to move back in over the city, tumbling toward the center of the sky like dirty water flowing toward a drain. And once all the red was gone, the clouds opened up and it started to p.i.s.s down rain.

I cast a final look down the empty street, then trotted back to the front door.

Sabine had had the video camera. That was the last thing I could recall. She'd used it to record the soldier falling out of the hospital window. Then she'd had it in the tunnel, chasing Mac into the dark. And then ... I guess she'd never given it back.

Did she give it to the Poet? I wondered. Why? Why would she do that?

I ran upstairs as soon as I got back in the house. I retreated to my room and locked the door behind me. Then I sat down on my futon and turned on the camera's video screen.