Callie awoke to her own screams, and she lurched up, gasping in the darkness. It was just a nightmare. There were no mutants. And Pierce . . .
Was not one of them. Yet.
She closed her eyes and clenched her hands in the sheets. “Alex,” she whispered, “if you really meant what you said . . . don’t let that happen to him. If there’s anything, anything . . .”
She sighed and the passion waned. “What am I doing? You don’t care.”
Maybe that was their intent—to see what it took to get humans to turn themselves into monsters. The thought made her so uncomfortable she didn’t pursue it. Besides, she was thirsty. Mexican food always did that to her. It had probably brought on the dream as well.
A thin band of blue light ran horizontally along the kitchen walls, providing faint illumination, and when she stepped onto the tiled floor, the main lights kicked on. She keyed in her request and was removing her glass from the dispenser when the screams started in Pierce’s room—no surprise, considering what the day had brought. Sliding onto a stool, she rested her bare feet on the rung and stared at the tiled counter.
How could he want to be a Trog? No matter how frustrated, how dejected, how defeated one might feel, there was no reason to stoop to that. It horrified, perplexed, and frightened her. How many times could they have put him through the curtain in three weeks? How far would he be from transformation? Did it happen slowly, or all at once? If they came tomorrow, could she stop him from going with them?
Mercifully, the tortured cries cut off. Were they worse tonight, or was it her imagination?
The storm had exhausted itself while she slept, and in the silence she heard a thump. Then Pierce’s door opened, and he entered the kitchen. He stopped when he saw her, blinking in the bright light as if trying to remember who she was. He wore only pajama bottoms, his lean, well-muscled torso crisscrossed with shiny white scars.
Callie set down her glass. “Are you all right?”
Her voice jarred him fully awake. Recognition lit his eyes, and the tension bled out of him. Exhaling deeply, he shoved a hand through his tousled hair. “Bad dream.”
He shuffled to the dispenser for his own glass of water, and Callie couldn’t keep her eyes off him. His back was covered with scars, too.
Pierce drank the water in one long gulp, got a refill, and drank some more. Halfway through he stopped, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and met her gaze. “What’s the matter?”
She studied her glass, that inexplicable lump once again pressing against her throat. “Nothing.”
He came around the counter and slid onto the stool beside her. She felt his eyes on her face.
“It’s nothing,” she said again.
Somewhere in the building, something whirred and clicked.
“It’s just—I don’t know.” She forced a laugh. “Just the strain of it all, I guess.” But she couldn’t meet his eyes. She kept seeing the Trog version of him from her dream.
He sighed. “I shouldn’t have told you that stuff. It wasn’t your prob—”
“I’m glad you did. Now I know what you’re going through.” She drew a steadying breath and made herself smile. “Maybe I can help.”
“No! Whatever happens, you stay on that road. If I walk off, just let me go.”
“I know I couldn’t stop you. I just mean—” Her voice betrayed her, choking into silence.
He stared at her, his good eye wide, his face pale around the bruises.
Sudden tears blurred her vision. Angrily she wiped them away, seized her glass, and moved around the bar. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything, I guess. You, Garth, nearly getting killed. I’m probably in dire need of sleep, and here I am wasting the night away.”
Desperate to stem the flow of her babbling, she gulped down the rest of her water, then set the glass on the counter. He watched her soberly. “See you tomorrow,” she said, and fled to her room.
Later, when the edge of her mortification had worn off, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, contemplating what they faced tomorrow. The Trogs would surely come. How could she just let him go to them?
“If we can get to Manderia,” she said to the room. “If we can just make it that far . . .”
When she awoke in the morning, the design by the door had returned. With a yawn, she ignored it and limped into the bathroom, wincing with every step. Her body ached, and her face—scratched, bruised, one cheek dark with scabbing—looked almost as bad as Pierce’s.
As she went about her business, she noticed the crystal stylus on the counter where she’d set it when she put her clothes in the laundry bin. She’d thought once it might be a key. Now as she picked it up, a wave of goose bumps washed over her.
Seconds later she was back in the bedroom, facing the mysterious design. Breath held, she aligned the rod with the dot amidst the circles. The circumferences were a perfect match, and a current leapt through thumb and finger where they held the pad. Gently she pushed. The rod’s end sank into the wall.
She opened the bedroom door and yelled for Pierce, who was in the kitchen conjuring wonderful breakfast smells. He came warily into her room. When half the rod’s length had vanished into the wall, the three circles blazed white.
“Do you have the vaguest idea what you’re doing?” he murmured.
“One of the five rules at the beginning of the manual said that ASBs would supply all our additional needs. Later, I remember reading about Auxiliary Supply Boxes. But since we never came across any boxes in our travels cross-country, I forgot about them. The manual said they were marked with an identifying sign, and you had to have a key to open them.” She pushed the rod all the way home. As the key’s grip pads touched the wall, a glowing rectangle appeared around it.
“Try turning it,” Pierce suggested.
She did, drawing the circles inward. Guessing at the final configuration, she adjusted them until each joined with the other two, the key port at dead center. Nothing happened. Then, just as she’d concluded she was wrong after all, the insignia flared, the front of the box vanished, and the key fell to the floor.
Eagerly they peered into the exposed niche.
“A comb?” Pierce squeaked as Callie pulled it out.
“Well, I did need one.” It was carved of ivory, a tracery of green vines running along the top and handle, the large tines perfect for her fine, thick hair.
“Talk about anticlimactic,” he said, heading back to the kitchen.
She turned the comb in her fingers, not nearly as disappointed as he. This was a little thing, perhaps, yet its very insignificance impressed her, like the small touches of a gracious host—the rose on the nightstand, the chocolate on the pillow.
Alex’s parting words sprang to memory. “We intend this for your benefit. Don’t let fear and stubbornness keep you from finding something better.” If she had accepted his orientation and stayed on the road, she might have reached a Safehaven that first night. Might have had this comb weeks ago. Might be home now.
As she worked the tines through her hair, she realized the box was still open. Was there more? Yes: a second key. When she removed it, the box disappeared.
The smell of bacon drew her to the kitchen, where Pierce sat at the counter eating eggs, pancakes, and sausage. She laid the extra key beside him. “This was in there, too.”
He picked it up. “It’s just like yours.”
“Yes.”
“Why would you need a second one?” He set it down and resumed eating.
“Maybe it’s for you.” Callie keyed in her breakfast order.
“There wasn’t a box in my room. Nor anywhere else I’ve seen.”
“The boxes seem to come and go. It might be there now.”
“If it is, I’m not playing. I don’t like their little games.”
“Maybe it’s not a game. Maybe they’re just trying to be helpful.”
He snorted and returned to his eggs.
A buzzer announced the arrival of Callie’s Belgian waffles and syrup. She settled at the counter opposite him, and they ate in silence, the tension deepening between them. Every bite brought them closer to leaving, closer to their rendezvous with the Trogs.
Finally Pierce’s stool stuttered across the tile as he got up and took his dishes to the receptacle. “You gonna be ready soon?” he asked.
“I’d like to comb out my hair.”
He hesitated, watching her. She continued to eat in slow, deliberate bites.
“It’s a long walk,” he said. “The earlier we get started, the better.” He went outside.
Too soon her plate was empty, and she retired to her room to work on her hair. Once during that time she heard him come in and go out again, but he didn’t call for her, didn’t say anything at all.
At length she finished, and there was nothing left but to get ready to leave. The wonder kitchen had provided a sack lunch—sandwiches, fruit, Snak-Paks, and pouched juice drinks all packed in a carrying bag and delivered to the service window at the touch of a finger. When Callie set the bag on the counter, she noticed the key she’d left for Pierce was gone. As she keyed in her request for a second lunch, he appeared in the hall leading from the breezeway, his face flushed.
“You won’t believe what I just discovered.” His voice was soft, almost reverent.
He led her to the people-sized door in the side of the building they had puzzled over yesterday. Though the door remained closed, the significance of the design gleaming in the wall beside it struck her like a blow. When Pierce inserted his key and aligned the circles, the door slid open, revealing a rectangle of shadow. Uneasily she stepped into the oily scent of machinery and was all but blinded as lights flared on overhead. Then, blinking in the brightness, she gasped. It was a garage. And it held ten small bubble-windshielded cars, each accommodating maybe four riders. On the side of the vehicle nearest them, the three-circle design invited her key, which opened the door. A pleasant voice bade her get in.
“We’ll make Manderia by nightfall,” she murmured.
“Yup.”
When she returned with the lunches, Pierce was already in the car. As she climbed in beside him, he slid his key into the dash slot, igniting an array of red lights. Following the voice’s instructions, they fastened their seat belts and closed the doors. Then the car vented itself with a hiss, the red lights vanished, and they jolted forward. As the garage’s rollback door lifted before them, they glided into the courtyard.
“There’s no steering wheel,” Pierce noted as they circled the buildings. “No brake pedal, either.”
“Maybe we don’t need them.”
“I suppose we could always pull out the key.” He peered under the dashboard, then straightened. “You know, I’ve seen cars like this before. I just assumed some benefactor had provided them.”
“Some Benefactor did provide them.”
“I mean a phony one. You’d think there’d be more of them—cars, that is.”
As they turned onto the main road Pierce suddenly twisted around to stare out the back window. And when Callie saw the four figures walking up the road, she almost panicked. Then reason asserted itself. Trogs could not walk on the roads. Besides, this bedraggled foursome had a familiar look about them.
She squinted into the sunlight, wishing for the thousandth time that she had not lost her glasses. “Is that Whit?”
“Yeah.” Pierce pulled the key from its slot. The car slowed and sank to a stop.
They popped open the doors and got out as the foursome—Row-ena, LaTeisha, John and Whit—approached, heads down. Muddy, bruised and blood streaked, they appeared exhausted. Makeshift bandages wrapped Whit’s thigh and LaTeisha’s arm.
Ten yards away John glanced up and stopped, his jaw dropping open. One by one the others followed suit.
John recovered first. “How’d you get out of Hardluck?” he cried, hurrying toward them. “We thought you were dead.”
Pierce and Callie exchanged a glance. “Hardluck?” Callie said.
“Garth told us you were afraid to cross the bridge,” LaTeisha said, staring at Callie. “Said that you’d had a breakdown and were blubbering at the side of the road.”
“He was just covering for his stupidity,” John countered. He cocked his head at Callie. “It was obvious you’d decided his plan was nuts. Or maybe you’d decided he was.” He grinned and she flushed. “Whit told me how Garth took your stuff and left you. At first I didn’t believe him. But then we noticed Thor had an extra rifle with notches on the stock.” He glanced at Pierce. “Just like yours. We figured he’d done the same to you, and that we’d be next if we crossed him, so we sneaked away while he was out scouting. Figured you’d be in Hardluck—that’s where we found Rowena.”
Rowena wasn’t telling her story. She hung back from the others, face turned down, luscious figure concealed by a baggy gray shirt. A blue bruise colored one cheekbone and her lower lip was swollen and cut.
“The place was crawling with Trogs, so we got out fast,” John went on, tossing windblown hair from his face. “We thought they’d gotten you, since you had no weapons.”
“We didn’t go through Hardluck,” said Pierce. “Just headed straight for the road.”
LaTeisha motioned toward the Safehaven. “And you stayed here last night?”
“First time for everything, huh?” Pierce said. “It’s pretty nice.”
“It’s done wonders for you, man,” said John.
LaTeisha gestured at Pierce’s black eye. “Did Garth do that, too?”
“Actually, Thor.”
“Where’d you get the car?” Whit asked, speaking for the first time. His deep voice was hoarse and weary. “Does it come with the Safe-haven?”
“Yup.”
LaTeisha laid a hand on Rowena’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside, okay? Looks like they have showers and beds and food.”
They walked through the gate toward the front door.
As LaTeisha’s voice faded John said, “Muties had her.”
The group stood in silence, absorbing the ramifications of his statement. Then John slapped Pierce’s arm and said, “Hey, why don’t you guys come back in? We can exchange war stories.”
“We can’t,” Callie said before Pierce could agree. “Our twenty-four hours are almost up, and we’re on our way to Manderia.”
John’s gray eyes narrowed. “You’re not gonna sign up at the temple, are you?”
“Maybe,” Pierce said.
The other man regarded him thoughtfully, beard braids swinging in the wind. Callie couldn’t tell if he was considering it as a viable option, or if he was simply disgusted. In the end he nodded brusquely. “Well, take it easy, man. And good luck.”
Callie watched him follow the women. And then Whit towered over her, his one eye fixed upon her, his dark face grim. “I’m sorry I let them get away with that,” he told her. “There’s no excuse for my cowardice, and I’m not very happy with myself. I came back to make things right—but I see you weathered it just fine.”
She shrugged, watching John enter the Safehaven, trying not to feel bitter.
Pierce said, “There were mutants outside Hardluck?”
Whit nodded. “Hundreds of ’em. With more coming in all the time. All I can say is I’m glad we got out of that canyon.”
Both men surveyed the windblown grasslands, neither willing to speak the thought they shared. Finally Whit said good-bye and turned away. Pierce stopped him, holding out his newly acquired stylus. “It’ll let you get one of these cars when you’re ready. There’s no steering wheel, so they must be programmed to take you only to Manderia, but it’s better than walking.”
As Whit took the key Pierce explained how to use it.
Callie watched the interchange with surprise and mounting disapproval. “I can’t believe you did that,” she said when they were on their way again. “Here you’ve barely gotten it, and already you’re giving it away?”
He shrugged. “We still have yours.”
“But that key was meant for you.” She scowled out the window at the river and the soaring cliffs. “You shouldn’t have done it.”
“Callie . . . he came back to help you.”
“I know.” She fingered the end of her braid. “It’s just hard to forget how he walked off without a word.”
“It’s hard to argue with Garth. You of all people oughta know that.” Though his tone was neutral, Callie’s face flamed with unpleasant memories. Again she wanted to explain, and again she couldn’t get the words to form. In the end, she turned her face to the window and watched the cliff wall whiz by.
Eventually the road curved away from the river and the scenery grew dull—endless grassy hummocks on one side and the gray escarpment on the other. Pierce settled back for a nap and Callie yawned, her mind wandering aimlessly over old ground: Meg’s mysterious message, the temple’s offer, the possibility she’d missed something at the cliff where the white road ended.
Her eyes snapped open—when had they closed?—and she sat up, staring at the key in the dashboard. “Pierce?”
No answer. “Pierce? Are you awake?”
His voice came muzzily. “What?”
“You know how these designs appear and disappear? The ones the keys open?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s one at the end of this road. I’ll bet the key unlocks it.”
She watched comprehension drive away his sleepiness, saw the light of hope zing across his face, then vanish as he squelched it. He shifted onto his side and closed his eyes. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Yesterday his apathy would’ve annoyed her. Today she understood. And she had seen that light come into his eyes, if only briefly. Suddenly the car was not going fast enough.
She awoke from a nap to find Manderia’s gray walls looming ahead and the Gate glimmering on the rim against a backdrop of white clouds. Its beauty—silver, gold, and ruby crystal plaited into rivers of light— struck her more forcefully than ever. The old yearning resurged, and she promised herself that this time she’d find a way up to it.
When the road dropped into a tree-filled gully, she glanced at Pierce. He was reading a manual. “Where’d you get that?” she asked in astonishment.
“From the box in my room.”
“The box in your room.” He’d said nothing about any box. “Have you been reading it the whole time I slept?”
“Yup.”
She hesitated. “Anything about the key?”
“Well, it does talk about the supply boxes, like you said. I hadn’t remembered those.”
“Is that all?”
“No.” He brushed the hair back from his eyes.
“Well?”
“You’re right about the key.”
“I am? Let me see!” She grabbed the book.
“It also says we need the Benefactor’s help.”
She insisted he show her the passages, and after she’d read them several times, she sat back bubbling with excitement. “Well, obviously we’ve already gotten his help.”
Pierce lifted a skeptical brow.
“At the Safehaven. He gave us the key.”
“Callie, you had a key to begin with.”
“But I didn’t know what to do with it. Now he’s shown us.”
Pierce remained unconvinced.
She grinned. “Go on, be skeptical. You’ve earned the right. But this is the answer.”
He went back to his reading.
Half an hour later the car rolled to a stop at the temple gate in Manderia. As the vehicle sank to the ground, the key popped from its slot and clunked on the floor. Pierce picked it up and laid it in her hand. “Guess we have to walk from here,” he said.
The scene at the base of the cliff had not changed. The Sitters still sat, and the climbers still climbed, though this new group had red ropes, instead of green, and was nearer the bottom. Callie wondered what had become of their predecessors. Had they given up? Or were they laid out under new white headstones in the temple graveyard on the hillside?
Wendell sat on a rock near the road’s end. He glanced up from his reading of a large book as Callie and Pierce approached. Callie ignored him, focused now on the design, which was as she remembered: three circles and a t etched into the stone. As they stopped in front of it, Pierce clearly struggling to remain indifferent, it occurred to her that this device was different from the one in her room. Here the circles were already pulled together, and it was not lit up.
She thought the key’s touch might activate it, but it didn’t. Nor could she push the rod into the central t, though she tried for several minutes.
“Well, that’s that, I guess,” Pierce said, stepping back from the wall.
She turned, gesturing with the key. “It’s not lit up. That’s the problem. We just have to wait until it is.”
He cocked a brow and glanced meaningfully at the sitters.
“This is different,” she said. “I think if we wait, if we’re patient . . .”
He sat on the white pavement and leaned his head back against the rock. After a while she sat as well, but facing the cliff so she could see the device. The shadows lengthened. The light faded. Eventually Wendell stopped reading and went back up the hill.
After a few minutes Pierce got up, too. “I’m going to the temple.”
She didn’t try to stop him.
Darkness gathered around her. One by one the Sitters arose, left their places, and disappeared in the rocks, returning shortly to take up their posts again. The stench of fresh urine drifted on the evening air. Insects chittered in the woods as, directly above her, the climbers bivouacked for the night. Their voices muttered softly for a while, then faded away. She dozed off, awakening with a start, terrified the light had come and she had missed it. Doubt and guilt plagued her. Had she missed her chance by not going with Garth? Was this not the answer after all? She had little trouble staying awake after that.
In the morning Pierce returned, clothed in one of the Faithfuls’ ubiquitous gray robes. A silver strand encircled his neck, similar to but plainer than the one Wendell wore. He looked haggard and clearly dismayed to see her. The sight of him made her want to cry.
“So,” she said. “You’ve signed up, then.”
He sat on the rock beside her, smelling of sandalwood. Though the flesh around his eye was still colored green and yellow and purple-black, the swelling had gone down, and he could open it a little now. He regarded her soberly. “I told you they were like this.”
She gazed at the sky, layered with sodden clouds, and stroked the key in her hands. “It might come. Any minute now, it might come.”
“You don’t believe that.”
She swallowed, tears burning her eyes. Her voice trembled. “Oh, Pierce! Is there really no way out of here?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t given Mander a chance yet.”
“You think he is the true Benefactor?”
“I don’t know that, either. Why don’t you come and have some breakfast, at least.” He stood and held out his hand.
At first she just looked at him. Then she put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. They’d gone a little way up the path when she turned back, staring at the sheer, implacable cliff with the glittering gate at its top. As much as she yearned for it, it seemed she’d never have it.
Pierce was right. They were cruel. And she hated them. Hated them.
Fury burst up in her, and she flung the key at the wall with a scream, the outburst echoing in the silence that followed. Then she turned to Pierce and burst into tears. This time she made no effort to stop them, and he drew her into his arms, holding her until the storm had passed.