A Catch in Time Page 22

  The telephone rang, startling all of them. Sister Donna jumped up to answer it. “Don’t worry,” she said to Laura. “The Lord is watching over us.” After a few words on the phone, she handed it to Laura, then left the room, this time leaving the door to the hallway open.

  Laura held the phone so Kate could listen as well. The female voice said Josiah was out of surgery and that the doctor would like to speak to her as soon as she could come. Laura asked what had been done but the woman would add nothing, repeating only that Laura needed to speak with the doctor. Frustrated, Laura thanked her and ended the call. “Let’s go,” she said to Kate.

  They grabbed their coats from the chairs and Kate called down the hallway where Donna had disappeared.

  “Sister Donna! We gotta go.”

  “Hold on,” called Donna.

  She walked down the narrow hallway toward them, tugging a small form behind her. As she stepped into the kitchen, she brought the boy next to her. “This is Samuel,” she said.

  Laura and Kate stared silently at the Neanderthal child.

  CHAPTER 30

  THEY WERE UNEASY ABOUT LEAVING LUCAS, BUT SISTER Donna convinced them it would be too risky to take him.

  “He’ll be okay,” Kate insisted for the third time, before they were even out of the driveway. “Look, even if he does blow our story, Donna needs us too much to turn us in.”

  Laura grimaced. “She’s crazy. We can’t trust her.”

  “She may be crazy but I don’t think she’s loony. She’s just trying to save her kid.”

  “What was your take on him?”

  “Don’t know. I could barely see eyes under that caveboy forehead of his. How about you?”

  Laura shook her head. She did have an opinion, a strong one, but not one Kate would want to hear. Samuel was a true-to-form throwback, a real Neanderthal. The mutations now plaguing the world weren’t random, after all. They were evolutionary reversals, limited only by the genetic memory of all the DNA combinations that had already existed before the blackout. We direct evolution; we create every new life-form. If We can’t get through, no new forms can be created. Everything that’s born now is either malformed according to pre-existing patterns, or de-evolved. Nothing can be new.

  Is this the proof I need for someone to believe me? She nearly blurted her thoughts but, knowing the argument that would follow, bit them back. I need more than little Samuel. We’ve seen odd creatures, none recognizable. Only an expert could tell.

  “Our exit’s next,” Kate said, interrupting her thoughts. “You better slow down.”

  In the thick of Reno traffic, Laura was thankful for the Brotherhood logos Sister Donna had applied to the Suburban. The ubiquitous logos were a sign of unity that, given what they now knew, were necessary for their survival. At the same time, they made her feel alienated, severing any sense of connection she might have felt toward the humanity peopling the town.

  “This is creepy,” Kate said as Laura pulled into the hospital parking lot. “Are you feeling what I’m feeling?”

  Laura killed the engine. “It’s really bad,” she said.

  They looked down at the logo necklaces they wore.

  Dr. Carlson’s words were terse, but his eyes were kind. In a small waiting room, he gestured them to be seated. He was about forty, Laura estimated, old enough to have been practicing medicine before the blackout.

  Josiah’s leg had been amputated just above the knee. Dr. Carlson outlined his reasons for the more radical procedure by citing the complications that might have resulted with a lesser option. Laura barely heard, lost in memories of Josiah: striding down the slope behind the house, springing effortlessly up the stairs, entering a room with the grace of a cat.

  Sadly, she imagined Josiah waking in the hospital bed, not yet knowing that part of him was gone. Her vision blurred and tears spilled as she refocused on the doctor’s voice.

  “—for a week at least,” he was saying. “By then we should know that the antibiotics have done their work. Barring complications, he could be released then, but once the leg has healed, we must try to find a prosthesis and discuss his future care.”

  He placed his hands on Laura’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, remembering that Josiah had been admitted into the hospital as her husband. “Thank you,”

  she murmured. “For everything. Can we see him now?” “He’s heavily sedated, in ICU. He must remain isolated for at least a day, to reduce the risk of infection. I’m sorry.”

  Laura looked at Kate, whose face was drawn, freckles sharp against her pale white skin.

  “There is something you can do,” the doctor suggested. “You can pray. The Lord hears our prayers. Jesus walks, sisters.”

  They sat numbly in the Suburban.

  “The fucking Lord walks, but now Josiah can’t,” Kate said in defeat and anger.

  “When I was little, I asked God for a Barbie,” said Laura listlessly.

  “Did you get one?”

  “My mother thought Barbies were ridiculous.”

  “She was a feminist?”

  “I don’t know. She popped us kids out and went back to her horses, like the rest was up to us. Mom was crazy about her horses. She babied them and let us run wild. We kids had a lot of freedom and took care of each other.” She laughed halfheartedly. “We came up with some wild meals. I remember one week we ate nothing but hot dogs on crackers, and oranges smeared with jam.

  Then my older brother, Tony, decided to cook a chicken. He was about eight. I was six, and Conrad, two or three. Tony stuck a frozen chicken in a pot of water and let it boil for hours. When it started falling apart, he set the pot on the table. We picked pieces off and dipped them in ranch dressing, peanut butter, mustard, ketchup, and chutney. I think we had every jar we could find out on the table.”

  “Sounds messy.”

  “All our meals were. Every time Mom would come into the kitchen, she’d say, ‘We don’t have kids, we have an infestation.’ Dad would just clean it up and she’d go back to her horses. When Conrad was little, and somebody would ask, ‘What are you kids up to?’ Conrad would say, ‘We’re not kids. We’re a ‘festation!’”

  She’d given up hope of ever seeing Conrad again and, now, the sadness of that loss mingled with her sadness for Josiah. She reached blindly for Kate’s hand and they sat quietly, comforting each other with small pressures of their clasped hands.

  Laura felt drained of the urgency that had prodded her since their journey began, unable to formulate a plan for the coming days. She couldn’t move past the moment when Josiah would learn of his condition.

  Dusk fell and the parking lot lights came on. They talked quietly about not returning to Donna’s house, too exhausted to pretend, or be suspicious. But there was nowhere else to go.

  And Lucas was there.

  “Do you think everything Donna said about the Brotherhood is true?” Laura asked. “Sacrificing babies on altars?”

  “Only Shaitan are being born. What’s the difference where they kill them?” Although Kate didn’t believe Laura’s theory of soulless Shaitan, she did acknowledge that all new births were mutations, mental as well as physical. Her face wrinkled in disgust. “The shitty thing about it is that the women are getting pregnant on purpose. Chrissakes. Breeding for killing! That’s sick.”

  Dreading seeing Donna again, Kate smacked a fist on the seat as Laura drove out of the parking lot. “How are we going to get through the next few weeks? Shit, maybe it’s lucky we did run into Donna. At least she’s against the sacrifices.” She suddenly grinned at Laura. “You wanna tell me again what a good thing it is we didn’t go to Sacramento?”

  “I swear to God, I’ll never leave home again,” said Laura. “If we make it back.”

  A week later, they were more involved in the Brotherhood than they’d ever have thought possible. Donna insisted they attend services, and that they meet Reverend Perry. Anyone not attending services could be construed as being Shaitan
.

  “He knows you’re here,” she’d said stubbornly. “If we don’t do everything by the book, then there’s gonna be questions. I don’t want him thinking I might be hiding Shaitan. I’ve worked too hard. I’ve got my boy to think of—and you’ve got yours.”

  Donna was fiercely protective of her child and pathetically eager for signs of their approval and acceptance of him. They took great care to treat him well and interact normally with him despite his oddities.

  It was more than Samuel’s appearance that was startling. He only gestured and made noises, mostly grunts and growls. Usually placid and compliant, when thwarted he would emit piercing wails that were muted only by his soundproofed room. Although the subdivision where she lived was deserted, Donna had installed the soundproofing as a precaution.

  Their nonchalant attitude toward Samuel soothed Donna enough for her to believe that everything was as she wished. Otherwise, Laura knew, Donna would never have left Samuel with her when she went off with Kate. Not to mention having left Lucas behind, as well. Donna considered Lucas a hostage, just as Laura and Kate had suspected, to ensure their compliance with her plans.

  If she only knew what we really think of Lucas, Laura thought as she watched the boys on the monkey bars. It was her first time alone with Samuel, her first chance to scrutinize him openly, without Donna’s constraining presence.

  They had not disabused Donna of her notion that Lucas was Kate’s child. It would never have occurred to them to claim Lucas as their own, but it was obvious now that he would have been taken from them otherwise. And that would have been his opportunity to betray them, a betrayal that would end badly for them. Very badly.

  Another edge given them by Donna’s assumption of Lucas’s value was that if immediate escape became necessary, they could abandon Lucas rather than risk their lives for him. He’s Donna’s hole card, Laura thought, and we’re not playing the same game. She couldn’t help but pity Donna. Poor woman, just trying to survive.

  The boys had abandoned the monkey bars and were crouched near the fence. Laura guessed they’d found an anthill or a bug. Boys and bugs, that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

  She looked at Samuel’s crouched, compact body. Even dressed as he was, in plaid shirt and loose overalls, his broad shoulders, thick chest, and long arms couldn’t be concealed. His massive head was emphasized by the haircut Donna had given him, painstakingly shaped to approximate that of any other small boy. It revealed his sloping forehead, heavy brow, and chinless face. Even a hat could do no more than perch ridiculously atop his big head.

  She and Kate had soon learned why Donna needed their help to smuggle Samuel past the border; not only were his wailing tantrums unpredictable, but his metabolism was sufficiently different to make sedatives dangerous for him. Donna had told them she’d once, hoping to quiet him, given him a small dose of cough syrup with codeine, and had almost killed him. She’d even tried binding and gagging him, but the gag couldn’t be made secure enough to prevent his furious roars. So she needed someone to act as a decoy for any noises Samuel might make when they passed checkpoints. Not even Reverend Perry could get past checkpoints without stopping and showing identification.

  As soon as Donna and Kate had left in the morning, Laura had sent Lucas out to the swings but kept Samuel with her in the kitchen. Nervously, she’d knelt down before him to look into his eyes. Samuel stared back at her, without reaction, his dark pupils sharp and unwavering, like a cat watching for the next movement of something that held its interest. Laura searched his eyes, barely breathing, seeking the swirling blackout even as she braced for its terrifying appearance.

  It wasn’t there. She got up from her crouch, and Samuel’s massive brow tilted back as she rose. Smiling, she said, “Cookie, Samuel?” He grunted loudly, patted his hand on his mouth, and turned to the cabinet where Donna kept his treats.

  As she watched the boys now, still fascinated by whatever they had found, she tried to assess what she’d learned in little Samuel’s eyes, his innocent, animal-like gaze. Was Donna right about Samuel? Donna claimed to have recognized a change in her eight-month-old daughter, Kelly, and this, Donna believed, gave her a real standard of comparison to judge Samuel as not Shaitan.

  If Samuel was not Shaitan, the Way was not completely shattered; souls were getting through. If Samuel was Shaitan, his eyes, unlike others, didn’t betray him.

  A movement caught her attention: Samuel, reaching to the ground, one hand after the other, plucking up things that he stuffed into his mouth. Lucas intently watched him.

  “Samuel.” Laura sprang from her chair and sprinted across the yard. When she reached Samuel, she dropped to her knees and grabbed his arm to stop him from feeding himself what he’d found.

  Beetles. Laura saw the tiny black legs waving between Samuel’s fingers on its shelled body. With a roar of rage, Samuel swept her to one side with his other arm, the large beetle still firmly between his fingers. Laura scrambled forward and grabbed his wrist before he could put the beetle into his gaping mouth. He turned, snarling, and tried to twist his arm from her hand. Prepared this time for little Samuel’s startling strength, she stood up to gain leverage.

  As Laura pulled Samuel to his feet, she knew she needed to keep him off-balance. She moved quickly toward the house, shaking his arm to release the struggling beetle from his grip. He grunted loudly and she braced herself for the keening wail that was sure to erupt any moment. Just before they entered the side door, the beetle dropped from his fingers. She yanked Samuel into the house, and almost shut the door on Lucas, who had followed them.

  Laura held Samuel by one arm, her heart thudding. Hoping to avert Samuel’s inevitable tantrum, she looked down into his contorted face and loudly called his name, then, in desperation, screamed, “Cookie!” The next instant burned itself into her memory.

  Samuel opened his eyes to focus on Laura, and she saw swirling black, vile intent amassing within the child, his pupils dilated atop a boiling sea of pitch-black lava. Laura was nearly paralyzed by the malevolence. The next instant, the dark whirling ceased so completely, Laura stood transfixed, holding her breath, as she confronted the now-placid, heavily browed face of an innocent, four-year-old Neander-child.

  “Better give it to him,” Lucas said. The amusement in his voice was disorienting.

  “Huh?”

  “The cookie. Better give it to him. He seems to be pretty hungry.”

  That afternoon, as Kate drove them to the hospital, Laura told her what happened.

  “He’s definitely Shaitan,” she concluded.

  “Of course he’s Shaitan.”

  “Donna seems so sure he isn’t.”

  “So what? You think cave-babies are immune to the virus?”

  “You actually think people are Shaitan because of a virus?”

  “It’s as good an explanation as any.”

  “No,” Laura said absently. “If it was a virus, it would have mutated long ago.”

  “Maybe it is mutating, but we don’t notice anything past the Shaitan.”

  “No,” she repeated. “Things are mutating backward.” That notion had been gnawing at her all week, causing her to utter it without thinking.

  “Because of the cave-kid? Just because he’s a throwback doesn’t mean everything is. That would mean Shaitan are throwbacks, too, and I know they’re not in the history books.”

  Laura had come to a familiar impasse with Kate. Yet, strangely, she didn’t feel the usual dread at entering an argument with her. It wasn’t my opinion I needed Kate to accept, she realized. It was me. Had she really, all this time, believed their friendship to be so fragile it couldn’t withstand disagreement? My God, I even gave Josiah up to her without a fight.

  Kate glanced at her. “Are you gonna tell me that Shaitan are in the history books and I missed class that day?”

  Laura laughed, resolved to pursue self-realization later. It was enough, for now, to know she didn’t need to fear speaking her mind. “No, Sha
itan are new. But they’re not new life. They’re from some different source.”

  Kate groaned. “Not that again.”

  Laura shrugged. “Until I can figure out if there’s a way we can get the Path back, it doesn’t matter what anyone believes.” There. She’d said it.

  “The Path.” Kate snorted. “You talk about it like it’s some kinda backwoods trail, with real dirt and twigs and rocks and shit on it.”

  “More like an energy path, but complicated, because it involves conversion of energy into matter. Not just matter.” Laura nodded. “But soulmatter. Organic life. More a quantum trail.”

  “You’re not mad at me,” said Kate, surprised.

  “Why should I be mad at you?”

  “Come on! Every time this shit’s come up before, you’d get pissed off at me. Like I’m stupid and you’ve got all the answers.”

  “I never thought you were stupid,” Laura said quietly. “I get upset when you act like I’m delusional. You’ve decided it’s something religious, so I’m suspect. You’ve made me scared to talk about it because I don’t want you to think as little of me as you do religious fanatics.” She blinked back sudden tears. “I really need you to be my friend.”

  Kate abruptly pulled to the wide shoulder of the highway. Not looking at Laura, she drew a deep breath, as though steeling herself against something, then said, “I used to be one of those religious nuts.” She closed her eyes. “I know what it’s like to believe in something so much it takes over your whole life. You walk around knowing that you’re witnessing miracles, so you try to get others to see them, too. You feel like every breath you take is divine, and when you’re with other people who feel the same way, it’s a kind of heaven.

  “You’re never alone, because you feel God is in you, supporting every move you make. And you don’t fear death because you know some day you’ll be with God.”