Frightened Boy, Scott Kelly [book suggestions .TXT] 📗

back and forth, sometimes letting the barrel of the gun drift lazily off its target, keeping a steady, silent intensity for several long moments.

Finally, Rush broke down under the eyes of a thousand collective Strangers that were conducted by the tip of Escher’s gun.

“It’s us,” Rush said. “Not my department, but we let them in. We were losing power, and they told the head of the FBI they could give us our control back using the media—newspaper, television, movies, and radio. They said they could make people more open to leadership.”

“Where did they come from?”

“Counter Intelligence Programming from the forties, always running. When we fell apart, when Congress refused to meet and any semblance of control was gone, they kept going. Co-In just kept operating. I think they want to retake power. Please don’t kill me.”

“How did you find us?” Escher asked, dropping down into a crouch so his eyes were level with Rush’s.

“Little Brother revealed a spy in our own ranks, and she offered us a deal. She said she could give us one of our biggest targets for free. Said they had another spy in the Strangers. That spy told us where you were.”

“A spy?” Escher asked. He looked down at his captive, then paced away from Rush, turning his back.

“Are you going to kill me?” Rush asked the back of Escher’s head.

Without turning, Escher replied, “Smile when you die, Rush. That moment lasts forever.”

Understanding his fate, Rush began to shout, “This is the world! I am real…this is real! This is not in your head. Wake up, Escher, wake up! Please wake up…”

Escher shook his head, and the pistol popped off like a brat’s balloons.

Rush’s body fell backwards, a steady stream of blood and brain matter spilling toward the edge of the grassy stage. The audience fell into an even stricter silence as the body of the chief field officer of the Department of Homeland Security lay at their collective feet.

Escher shook his head, looking frustrated. He holstered the gun behind his back and turned to address the congregation. “We were attacked by someone who knew where we were, who knew our plans,” he announced. His voice cracked unsteadily; his agitation was visible. “So we had to change our plans. It seems like we have a new enemy. This is to be expected. We will continue from here. We will strike the…” Escher seemed to trail off then he looked downwards, lost in thought, mumbling to himself.

This went on for a few seconds until Whisper appeared at his side, clutching his arm and tugging him back and away from the center of the grassy mound that made the stage. Sam stepped forward from the crowd with the brown cigar box, and I knew at once what was inside of it—a syringe filled with Escher’s blood, kept nearby until requested.

Whisper addressed the crowd. “Please excuse the Red King. He has exhausted himself defending our army against this new threat. We do not know how many agents are left within the DHS. It is possible every man who is left was there at the downtown base. It’s also possible we could be followed and attacked tonight. We’ve abandoned all Green and Orange Zone bases. Our final assault on Banlo Bay is looming, and I ask that you all find ways to prepare despite this setback.” She dropped her arms and returned to Escher’s side. No one spoke.

And with that, the meeting of the Secret Society of Strangers was over.

*

“Who is using who?” Erika asked me under her breath as the Strangers began quietly filing out of the gaping holes in the walls of the church.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Look, I get that Whisper and the others closest to him are supposed to believe they are nothing but divisions of Escher’s whole mind, but what if they don’t really think that? What if Escher just happens to be this incredibly charismatic figurehead and they feed into that delusion so he remains a competent leader?”

“I doubt it,” I said, remembering the pain in Whisper’s face as she sat alone on the garage floor only a night before. “I think Whisper is legitimate, and probably the others as well. They mentioned another one—Lux. And Grundel is dead. If he was a part of Escher’s mind, what happens, then? Did Escher lose a part of himself?”

“I don’t know,” Erika admitted. “What if the spy is someone close to Escher? What if Sam or Whisper or someone is really just using him?”

“I doubt it,” I said. “Why would he even think there is a spy?”

“Well, how did Rush find their base?”

“Don’t know.”

“Well, someone had to tell him.”

In the back of my mind, there was one terrible answer. There was, in fact, a single person who stood out in my mind as a spy. There was one individual who had mysteriously entered into the story with no real motivation, who’d manipulated events for motivations beyond me.

How the spy might have planned it, or if the person was really a spy at all—that was beyond me. What I did know was how it was going to look to everyone else.

What if Erika Bronton was that spy?

*

I spent the rest of the evening avoiding all human contact, particularly Erika. I was worried about her. Hell, I was worried about myself. If Erika was some sort of spy from Little Brother, I wondered if I would side with her anyway. Could I let Escher kill her, like he killed Rush? Could I stop him, anyway?

When nightfall came, Erika finally rooted me out of my solitude and pulled me toward a series of crumbled brick buildings that’d put up a strong front in the green war Mother Earth waged here.

As we neared the huts, she relaxed her grip on my upper arm and instead took my hand. “I was talking to Sam,” she explained.

“What’d Sam have to say?”

“Lots,” she said noncommittally. “He thinks I’m the spy. Do you think I’m the spy?”

“I don’t know, Erika.”

“Don’t say that, Clark. I’m not the spy.” She looked hurt.

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that.” I leaned in close to her. “Even if you are the spy, that’s okay. I’m on your side. I’m not going to sell you out to Escher. You know that, right?”

“I’m not the spy!” she whispered harshly.

“Okay, fine, but are you being totally honest with me? Isn’t there something you want to mention? Didn’t you hide that footage somewhere, what got us into this whole mess?”

“Look, you're right in some ways. I saw you in the crowd and I needed a place to stay. You looked safe enough. It’s just that I had seen you at the memorial, too, and it seemed so coincidental that I’d run into you again,” she said.

“Wait, what?” I asked.

“I was never in the orphanage,” Erika said. “My mom raised me until I was sixteen, and that’s when she died.”

I was a little stunned, but somehow it wasn’t much of a surprise. “I don’t really care about that.”

Except now I had to wonder if she had been waiting there for me for weeks, some instrument of Little Brother’s plan.

“Would you really stand up to Escher for me?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course, but there’s something I need to—”

Erika wrapped her small, warm body around mine in what I thought was a hug. I was intoxicated by the feel of her slender legs against mine. All other thoughts melted. “Clark, we get to sleep under the stars tonight. Isn’t it beautiful out here?”

I looked up and around at the giant misshapen trees, growing proudly and wildly anywhere they could find purchase; at the tiny patches of night sky through their cover; and at the stars that shone through them. It was beautiful, and I told her so.

“You would know. You made it,” Erika said.

“Stop that,” I said. Then, realizing I had said it, I voiced it again. “Stop treating me like I’m your God.”

“That’s the game, stupid,” Erika said. She stopped and turned to face me, and her hands hooked into the top of my pants.

My heart shot up to my throat. “Do we have to play games?”

“Yes, Clark, we have to play games.” She looked directly into me. I forgot about our argument as she held my gaze and moved breathlessly close. All conceptual reservations vanished as the immediate took forefront.

This was it. I was supposed to kiss her. I leaned my head in, closed my eyes on one last vision of her face filling my field of view, and my lips touched something soft and warm. It was her lips. My lips were touching Erika’s lips! I pressed them together experimentally, gently pinching her bottom lip between mine. I felt her lips move in response. She was kissing me back.

She was kissing me back.

And then the enormous strangeness of it dawned on me. The trees seemed to shoot up ten times as high around me, stark sentries staring down.

All eyes on me, I heard a voice in my head say. Don’t screw this up. I stopped kissing Erika and pulled back. The panic rose.

She leapt up into my arms, almost knocking me backwards, and kissed me again, wet tongue crossing my lips and joining mine. Her small, warm hands rubbed up and down my chest over my shirt as her tender little mouth kissed and panted hot breaths of air into my neck, my ear, my shoulder. My hands nervously roamed her back like a child in an antique shop, afraid to touch anything for fear I might break it.

My glasses were pressed against my face, smeared with my nervous sweat. Erika turned up to my face and leaned in to kiss me sweetly on the lips.

A shrill meow slit through the silence like a siren. I swiveled around sharply and saw a small white cat staring intently at us from only a dozen feet away, motionlessly watching our private display. Suddenly, the crowded feeling was back.

Through the murky darkness, I thought I could make out Whisper’s shape.


16. Blowball

I tried to relax, but the sensation of being watched kept me from getting any real rest.

Erika slept soundly, snoring softly.

I untangled myself from her, searched my surroundings. Magical meadow. Hard time believing I was really there. Trees towered tall as bank buildings.

I caught a flash of color amongst the thickest portion of the trees in front of me. Fear rose in my stomach as I realized it as Escher himself, dressed like a rock star in charcoal gray jeans, a purple shirt, and the very same crimson jacket he wore the first day I met him. Any hope he somehow forgot about me was dashed.

I thought he might be coming for Erika, and I had to do something about that. I stepped out away from our little hovel and met Escher as he moved swiftly through a thick concentration of trees. “Hello, Escher,” I said, as though we