Suicide Kings

Epilogues

Kisangani, Congo

People’s Paradise of Africa

Zombies were patrolling the outer edges of Kisangani.

Moto-that was Fire Boy’s name-sat beside her in the passenger seat of the jeep. “Don’t let them scare you,” Michelle told him.

Sitting next to the road-in a very nonzombie state-were a couple of men Michelle recognized, Leopard Men who had been transformed when Alicia Nshombo had died. Michelle preferred them in their nonfeline state. She slowed the jeep and yelled, “Joey, I’ve got someone here who needs to meet Adesina. And maybe even you.”

“What the fuck do I care about that, Bubbles?” gurgled one of the zombies.

Moto’s mouth dropped open, and a blast of fire engulfed the zombie.

“God-fucking-damn-it,” came Joey’s voice through the mouth of the burning corpse. “That little fucker just barbecued up my favorite.”

“Oh, please.” Michelle bubbled and blew the flaming zombie into a sloppy mess of bones and rags and blackened meat. “I’m coming in.” She ground the jeep into first and drove into the compound.

The place was looking far better than Michelle had expected. Between Joey’s zombies, the captives, and the staff, they’d cleared away the remains of Alicia Nshombo and her followers. The blood was gone and there was the scent of fresh paint in the air.

Michelle parked the jeep and got out. Joey came out of one of the small houses. A phalanx of zombies immediately surrounded her. “What the fuck do you want?” she asked.

“World peace, an end to hunger, and a frothy cappuccino,” Michelle replied. “Doesn’t look like I’m getting any of it.”

“Who’s the little fucker with the bad breath?”

Moto had scurried out of the jeep to stay close to Michelle. He grabbed her hand and gave Joey a frightened look. “This is Moto,” Michelle said. “Moto, this is Joey.”

“Hello,” he said. There was a little burp of fire, but no more. Michelle gave his hand a squeeze.

Joey shot Michelle a nasty look-something Michelle was used to. Then Joey looked at Moto. She gave him a small smile. He gripped Michelle’s hand tighter, but he smiled back at Joey.

“Where’s Adesina?” Michelle asked.

“Michelle!” Adesina came running up the main path. Well, she skittered. Her pretty face looked strange attached to her insect body. She launched herself into the air and flew awkwardly at Michelle. She’s not used to her wings yet, Michelle thought. She opened her arms, caught Adesina, and embraced her gently.

Adesina touched Michelle’s face with her front legs. A wave of warmth and happiness filled Michelle. This is Moto, Michelle thought. Adesina pulled away and Michelle let her go. A wave of sadness came over Michelle.

Adesina flitted in front of Moto. There was a moment when Michelle was afraid he might accidentally open his mouth and set her on fire. Instead he held out his arm and Adesina landed. He brought her close to his face and she put her legs on his face as she had with Michelle. His anxious expression was replaced with a beatific smile.

“When the fuck are you leavin’?” Joey asked.

Michelle watched Adesina and Moto. It was good. She’d done the right thing bringing him here.

“I’m not sure.” Michelle smiled at Joey. A cheerful Michelle annoyed Joey to no end. “I thought I’d call Juliet and see if she’d like to come join us in this lovely vacation spot.”

Joey’s zombies gave an angry growl. “Why the fuck would you do that?” Joey asked.

“Because the three of us need to sort some stuff out.” Michelle looked back at Adesina and Moto. They seemed to be getting along just fine. “And I’m going to stay here for a while to help out.”

“No fucking way,” Joey said. Her voice was harsh. And she poked Michelle in the back. “Not after what you did to that little fucker-the Mummy.”

“Especially after what happened with her.”

“You fucking killed her,” Joey spat out. “You were supposed to be some kind of hero, and you killed a kid. What the fuck does that make you?”

“Human.” Michelle felt a terrible sadness. “Just like you. Just like everybody else.”

“I’m never going to forgive you,” Joey said.

“That’s okay.” Michelle touched Joey’s cheek, wiping away a tear. “I’m not going to, either.”

“Fucker.”

“Indeed.”

Blythe van Renssaeler

Memorial Clinic Jokertown

Manhattan, New York

As Finn came trotting into the waiting room, the rubber booties that covered his hooves squeaked with every step. “You have a fine healthy baby boy, seven pounds three ounces.”

Noel handed the joker doctor a cigar. He couldn’t quite trust himself to speak just yet.

“More the traditional type, are you? No helping her breathe and count contractions. No video of the blessed event.”

“God no,” said Noel.

Finn laughed at his horrified tone. “Can’t say I blame you. Usually the wife is cussing out the husband, and I have had more than a few of them faint. Men just don’t handle blood as well as women.”

Never was a problem for me. But pray God I’m done with all that now and forever.

“What are you naming him?” Finn asked

“Jasper, after my father. May I see…” Noel’s voice trailed away.

“Niobe’s back in her room and your son is with her. Come on.” Finn led him out of the waiting room and down the hall.

Niobe was in a white lace nightgown she’d brought from home, and a nurse with antennae for eyebrows and faceted eyes like a bumblebee was brushing Niobe’s hair over her shoulders. Noel could see where the hair at her temples was still sweat-dampened. A bundle in a soft blue blanket was in her arms.

She raised her eyes to his, and he’d never seen such an expression of sheer joy, triumph, and love before. “Say hello to your son,” she said.

He crossed the room in three long strides and kissed her. Then he looked down at the wrinkled, red face of his child. At least the urchin had a lush head of chestnut-colored hair and eyes that were almost aquamarine, because otherwise he was astoundingly ugly.

Niobe pushed the bundle into his arms. For an instant it felt awkward, and then the little warm body found its position in the crook of his arm. The tiny budlike mouth worked in a sucking movement, and a surprisingly adult sigh emerged from between his lips. There was a smell from the baby that was indescribable, but it evoked memories of freshly baked bread, and baking cookies, and wood smoke on a cold evening. It was everything good and safe and loving.

Noel’s arms tightened around the baby, and a feeling of such protective love washed through his body like an electric current. He knew he would lay down his life for this child.

He looked at Niobe who smiled at him, but there was a serious look in her green eyes.

“I love you,” Noel said.

She didn’t give the usual response. Instead she asked, “Are you home now?”

“Yes.” And he added, “Now, and forever.”

“Good.”

United Nations

Manhattan, New York

Lohengrin’s office never changed. The phones were always ringing. The little chiming noise that meant new e-mail had come through was still on its way to nervous collapse. Klaus himself was a little more worn, a little more tired. But he also had the small cut-in laugh lines that came from winning a few. So that was all right.

Lohengrin leaned back in his chair. His smile was softer than Bugsy had expected. His voice was gentle. “You look good, my friend.”

“You make a boy blush,” Bugsy said. “You’re looking pretty spiffy yourself. The eye patch works for you. Very Dread Pirate Odin.”

Klaus didn’t even look pained. That fact alone told Bugsy just how rough he seemed. He thought he’d been hiding it better. “I’m sorry. For what happened,” Lohengrin said.

“Don’t be,” Bugsy said. “We all knew the risks.”

There was a pause. It was the invitation to spill it all out. Bugsy thought about telling him what it had been like, going back to Ellen’s apartment to get his things and seeing everything still there. The accumulated artifacts of maybe a hundred ended lives. All the last chances were gone now. All the voices silenced. The dead were dead again.

He let the silence speak for itself.

Lohengrin nodded. “What are you going to do now?”

Bugsy raised his eyebrows in feigned confusion. “Well,” he said. “I was thinking lunch. And there’s an entomology conference going on at NYU. I was thinking I’d maybe go hang out at the bars and seem interesting. It’s Lyme disease mostly, but I can hope for a cute grad student who’s into wasps.”

Lohengrin did look just a little pained that time. So that was good. “You don’t always have to make a joke of it, Jonathan.”

“Oh, but I do,” Bugsy said with a grin. “Oh, yes, I do.”

“I meant, will you remain with the Committee?” Lohengrin said.

“Will I keep putting myself in a position to get killed or watch my friends suffer and die while the whole fucking prospect slowly sinks into the permanent cesspool of bureaucracy?”

“Yes,” Lohengrin said.

“I don’t know,” Bugsy said. Then a moment later, “I will if you will. Or we could strike out on our own. Roam the earth meting out justice, overthrowing bad guys according to our own personal values, making time with the cute girls.”

The phone rang. Lohengrin let it. “You make it sound tempting,” he said with a grin.

“Yeah, until you remember that was the Radical’s job description, too. Didn’t work out too well.”

“It could have been worse,” Lohengrin said.

“Words to live by.”

The Jerusha Carter Childhood

Development Institute

Jokertown, Manhattan, New York

“Any pain when I do this?” Dr. Finn asked. He pulled Wally’s arm straight ahead, then gently raised it.

“Nope. Not at all, Doc.” The dull ache throbbed through Wally’s shoulder. “Uh, maybe a little.”

Finn released Wally’s arm. “That bullet did a great deal of damage when it shattered inside your shoulder. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shocked that you didn’t suffer permanent loss of function in this arm.” He marked something on Wally’s chart. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose your leg, too,” he added absently.

“Which one?”

Finn peered at him over his eyeglasses. “After getting attacked by a crocodile? Both of them.” His tone was stern, but his eyes gleamed. “You can button your shirt now.”

Wally hopped down, gingerly, from the exam table. The bullet wound in his leg had become badly infected during the long trek across the Congo; Finn had said something about river parasites, too. They had it under control now, but after six months of antibiotic treatments, his leg still wasn’t back to full strength.

His other leg, the one the croc had chomped, still had teeth marks in it. Finn speculated it probably always would, though he readily admitted he knew very little about healing processes in iron.

Wally’s side still ached, too, from where they’d opened him up to fix his broken ribs. They’d removed a big chunk of iron to do that. Most of his skin had grown back, thick and heavy as ever, but he still had tender spots.

Finn jotted something on a prescription pad. He tore off the sheet and handed it to Wally. “One last set of treatments. After this you’ll be in the clear.”

“Thanks.” Wally tucked the prescription into the breast pocket of his overalls. “Let’s go check on the kids,” he said.

Finn led him down the corridor and through a sheet of construction plastic draped over the doorway where his clinic abutted the new school. The hallways here stank of fresh paint. Finn’s hooves left little dimples in the linoleum; the carpet layers weren’t finished. And judging by the rolls of carpeting stacked everywhere-all in bright, kid-friendly colors-they wouldn’t be for a while.

The Jerusha Carter Childhood Development Institute-or the “Carter School,” as people had already begun to call it-was built around a large interior courtyard. A baobab tree grew in the center of the space, shading the playground where Ghost played alongside the dozens of children Jerusha had rescued from Nyunzu. A few of the children had already been adopted; most would need years of counseling.

Wally and Finn strolled along one of the cloisters lining the courtyard. Ghost saw them. (Her name was Yerodin, but Wally still thought of her as Ghost; he probably always would.) She waved, grinning widely.

“Wallywally!” she called. “Come play!” That’s what she called him. Wallywally.

Wally waved back. He recognized her playmates: Cesar, the little boy who had translated for him and Jerusha back at the Nyunzu lab, and the joker girl covered with extra fingers. It made him feel good, somehow, that Ghost had made friends with somebody who had known Lucien.

The trio started up a little chant. “Wallywally play! Wallywally play!”

Wally wiped his eyes and grinned. “I’ll be there in a sec, you guys.”

Finn nodded toward the children. “How is she?”

Wally sighed. “She still has the nightmares. Bad nights, once in a while. Sometimes I wake up and find her standing over me.” He shrugged. “But you know what, Doc? Sometimes I think she’s stronger than I am. Honest.”

Finn gave him a funny look. He turned his attention back to the children on the playground. “Don’t sell yourself short, Wally.” They stood, watching the kids, in amicable silence for a minute or two. “Well,” said Finn, looking at his watch, “I need to do my rounds.”

“See ya, Doc.”

Finn trotted back to his clinic.

Wally tromped across the sandbox, to where Ghost and Cesar were digging a hole with a yellow plastic pail. He sat cross-legged in the sand. Ghost climbed on his lap.

“So. What do you want for lunch today, kiddo?”

“PBM,” she said. That was their special shorthand: peanut butter and mango.

Wally glanced up at the baobab. Sunlight shone through the boughs. He imagined Gardener listening to this, imagined her laughing, imagined her tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. He gathered up Ghost, and smiled.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

White Sands National Monument

White Sands, New Mexico

“What the fuck,” said Jay Ackroyd, biting into an apple, “is that?”

That was a baby triceratops, its colors mottled but otherwise indecipherable in the moonlight that silvered the great white dunes, which stood behind Sprout Meadows in a red Flexible Flyer mired to its hubs in soft sand.

“Kota the Baby Triceratops,” Mark Meadows said, bundled up against a biting winter wind. “It was, like, a popular toy last year, I guess.”

It turned its grinning head with the three little plush horns and the frill toward the sound of his voice and rolled its eyes fetchingly. Jay Ackroyd recoiled from the robot toy as if afraid it would go for his throat. He was as deliberately unremarkable as possible, wearing a bulky brown coat, a muffler, and a wool hat crammed down over his ears. “And you’re dragging it along why?” he asked.

Mark shrugged. “Sprout loves it.”

“Even though he gave it to her,” added Sun Hei-lian.

Ackroyd shivered ostentatiously. “Jesus,” he said. “I thought New Mexico was supposed to be desert. It’s colder than a bail bondsman’s heart out here.”

“You should see the Gobi this time of year,” Sun Hei-lian said.

“Nah, I’ll pass.” The detective dug his free hand into the pocket of his slacks.

“It was good of you to come and say good-bye, Jay,” Mark Meadows said.

Ackroyd shrugged. “Might as well. Can’t dance. You folks sure you want to do this? This is a one-way ticket you’re buying, here.”

“Well, let’s see,” Hei-lian said. “Mark’s wanted for all of the Radical’s crimes. The country I served all my life has a price on my head. We’ve got no family beyond each other. There’s just so much to hold us here.”

Jay looked at Mark. “Did you tell her she’s gonna be spending the rest of her life on a whole planet full of people who make the Borgias look like the Huxtables?”

“I was a Chinese spy, Mr. Ackroyd,” Hei-lian said. “Intrigue I can handle.”

“I remember Takis as well as you do, Jay,” Mark said. “But don’t forget, I was already on the run from the law long before the Radical took over. I can be an actual research scientist again. I can do science.” He felt himself fill with warmth. “And they can cure Sprout.”

“But, Daddy,” she said, “nothing’s wrong with me.”

He stroked her cheek. “Of course not, honey. And they can help you

… learn to do a lot of fun new things.”

“You sure of that?” Jay asked.

Mark shrugged. “If not, I’ll do the work myself. Maybe that’s what I should have been doing all along, rather than chasing a dream that turned into nightmare for the whole world to share.”

Hei-lian’s mittened hand squeezed his. “You did many good things,” she said. “You helped a lot of people.”

“But it doesn’t make the other stuff right.”

“No. But remembering the good helps us to keep going. The world’s beginning anew for all three of us. Don’t throw that gift away, lover; it isn’t offered to very many people.”

“No kidding,” Jay said. “So, no more Cap’n Trips?”

Mark shook his head firmly. “Those days are gone forever. I’m hanging the purple top hat up for good. I learned my lesson way too well. Nobody should have that kind of power, man. I sure couldn’t handle it.”

Ackroyd looked at Hei-lian. “Just one thing puzzles me, Colonel. All respect to my old bud Mark, here, he’s a skinny old geek. You’re a glamorous lady spy. What’s the attraction, anyway?”

She took hold of Mark’s arm and nestled against him. “He’s both a kind man and a good one. Since he’s the first of those I’ve ever met, I decided it’d be foolish to let go of him. Also, thank you for the compliment, Mr. Ackroyd, but I’m no youngster, either. And unequivocally retired from the spy trade.”

Jay shrugged. Taking a final bite of the apple, he hurled it far off over a nearby dune.

“You shouldn’t litter, Mr. Popinjay,” Sprout said severely.

“It’s biodegradable, kid.” Jay Ackroyd looked up at the clear star-crusted sky. “So it ends here where it all began. White Sands, New Mexico.” He held up a forefinger. “I could just pop you there. Save a lot of travel time. Cut to the chase.”

“Thanks, no,” Mark said. “I figure the trip’ll give Sprout a while to get acclimated. All of us, really.”

“Look, Daddy, look!” Sprout said, jumping up and down and pointing at the sky. “A falling star! Make a wish!”

Mark glanced up as the light grew suddenly to the glowing, spiky pink and ochre conch shape of a Takisian living starship descending from above. “I made my wishes, sweetie,” he said, “and they’re all coming true.”

Bunia

The Congo

There is a grove near Bunia, on the grounds of the old estate and around the ruins of the house there: a garden of many strange plants and trees, many of them not native to Africa but all of them blooming impossibly here in apparent ease. There are orange trees, apple trees, mango trees; there are flowers of every description; there are cacti and Joshua trees and palms. Marvelous flowering vines wrap around many of them, blankets of gentle green punctuated with blossoms of vibrant red and electric blue and oranges so bright the color hurts the eye.

In the midst of that grove, at its very center where the house foundations can still be seen, there are two giant, intertwined baobabs, each with a trunk one hundred fifty feet or more around-savannah trees out of place here in the jungle, yet both healthy and thriving, so massive and huge that they could have been growing there for centuries.

The locals call the baobabs “The Lovers.” They lean upon each other, branches wrapping around the trunk of their partner as if in embrace, their crowns entirely woven together. Monkey fruit hangs heavy on their branches; eagles, vultures, and storks have made their twig nests in the Lovers’ tangled, sleepy heads; owls huddle in the crevices of their trunks; squirrels and lizards, snakes and tree frogs, and thousands of varieties of insects make their home there.

The locals come here for the grove’s wild beauty, but they are drawn also, they say, by its magic. Couples are married here under the shade of the baobabs, and at the end of the ritual they take a seed from the monkey fruit with them to plant in front of their own homes-because then the luck of the grove will follow them through their lives. They bring their sick here, to feed them kuka and bungha made from the trees’ bounty; it is said that the blessing of the Lovers comes sometimes to those who eat from the trees, and those with the worst illnesses might be cured, even when the doctors have given up hope.

They also say that if one stays here at night and listens very carefully in the black stillness, that you might hear a voice whispering among the branches and through the grove. A woman’s voice, calling eternally for someone.

To hear the woman’s voice is the best magic of all. If you listen closely to her, they say, you will hear the name of the person who is destined to be your own lover. The skeptics say it is only the wind, but those who know the grove best will only smile at that, and shake their heads. No, they will say. There is magic here. All you have to do is allow yourself to feel it.

And that magic will never die.