The Dead Town

Chapter 60

When Deucalion drove out of the parking lot at St. Bartholomew’s Abbey and immediately into the driveway at the Samples house, Carson O’Connor was waiting. She stopped him from getting out of the truck and spoke to him through the open door.

“Only three new kids here. Michael’s keeping them entertained. Big news is the radio station. There was a failed attack against the place. They’ve got an FBI agent on air with Mason Morrell, some guy named Frost. And they say they’ve got one of Victor’s new people, he’s come over to our side.”

Deucalion’s eyes pulsed with the light of another place, another time.

She remembered when first she’d seen those eyes in New Orleans, in Bobby Allwine’s apartment, where everything was black — floor, walls, ceiling, furniture. She was wary of Deucalion back then but not afraid, because she would never give anyone the satisfaction of controlling her with fear. Into her suspicion, he had said, “I’m not the monster anymore. I’m your best hope.” He was right about that, and it was still true.

Looking down at her from the driver’s seat of the truck, he said, “This is the moment, Carson. We’ll finish it now, finish him. I’ve been given … reasons to believe this is his last day. And in case he finishes me or you and Michael — or all of us — as we take him out … it’s been an honor knowing the two of you, being your friend and ally.”

She reached up and took one of his enormous hands in both of hers. At first she could not speak, only hold fast to him. But then she said, “You will not die.”

“I’m long overdue for death. Every human being is born with the dead, but I was born from the dead and don’t fear my end. I love this world, its beauty, but there could be nothing better than to die in its defense.”

“Even if you die,” she said, “you will not die forever.”

He smiled, and the light pulsed in his eyes, and he said, “Give Scout a kiss for me.”

As she stepped back, he pulled shut the door. She watched the truck turn through a half circle — and vanish.

Arriving from the Samples driveway, the truck ran over dead men lying in the KBOW parking lot. They were not men, of course, but Victor’s newest race, who encountered a far better armed resistance than they could ever have anticipated.

Getting out of the truck, Deucalion realized that these foiled attackers hadn’t been dead for a long time, only minutes. Those over whom he had not driven were covered by just a thin dusting of fresh snow.

He stepped around a corpse and into the engineer’s nest in the building. “You’ve captured one of them?”

Ralph Nettles looked up from the control board not in surprise but with a what’s-taken-you-so-long expression. “Not me. Some cranky old guy. He’s in Sammy’s office with a replicant of a cop named Barry Bozeman.”