The Final Hour

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

I climbed down the ladder as quickly as I could. I went to Prince and stood over him. He was still alive, but his body was twisted in a strange position and I knew he would not last long. He lay completely still, staring up at me. Only his lips were moving. He was trying to speak. I knelt down next to him. Put my ear close to his lips and listened.

“We will… destroy you…,” he whispered.

Startled, I turned to look in his eyes. They still burned hot with rage and hatred. If he could’ve moved, I think he would’ve spent his last breath trying to strangle me.

It was a terrible way to die, I thought. Feeling like that, being like that. That much anger: It must be like having acid in your heart. God save me from it, I thought. God save me from ever hating anything or anyone that much.

I put my hand on Prince’s shoulder. To be honest, I almost felt sorry for the guy. I did feel sorry for him. Only God knew what had made his life what it was, what had filled him with that kind of passion for destruction. Only God knew and only God could judge. I had stopped him from killing the people above me. That was the job that had fallen to me. Not to hate him, just to stop him. The job was done now. It was enough.

He died a few seconds later. I watched him go. I heard his last breath rattle in his throat. I watched the life leave his eyes. Anyone who’s ever seen that happen will tell you: You can almost see the soul depart. It made me wonder: Did the world look different to him now that he was gone? Was the hatred gone too? I bet if we could see the world from the perspective of the dead, it would look a whole lot different. I bet no one would ever hurt anyone then.

I knelt there and worked the backpack off Prince’s corpse. I opened the flap and looked inside. I could see the solid black object in there, the thing they called “the device.” I closed the pack and looped its strap over my shoulder.

I had to go. I had to get back to Mike. If he was still alive-and he had to be still alive, he had to be-I would get him help, get him to a hospital, even if I had to carry him the whole way.

Toting Prince’s backpack, I lowered myself off the platform, down to the train tracks. I began jogging back the way I came, back toward Mike. I knew I had to hurry, but I was so exhausted, I stumbled every other step. My mouth was hanging open. My vision was blurred.

I stepped out of the tunnel into the arcade-and a light shone in my eyes. A train, I thought. Heading for me.

But it wasn’t a train. Because then another light shone at me out of the darkness and another.

What now? I thought wearily. If there were any Home-landers left, I was finished. I couldn’t fight anymore.

A voice shouted at me: “Drop the pack, West! Put it down and put your hands up!”

I stopped. Stood there, confused, squinting into the glare of the bobbing lights coming toward me.

“Who’s there?” I asked-I barely had the strength to speak. “Who are you?”

“Police,” said one voice.

“FBI,” said another.

“Put the pack down, West!” yet another voice called. “Put your hands up!”

Blinking with exhaustion, I slipped the pack off my shoulder and dropped it onto the tracks. I lifted my hands in the air so they could see them. I stood there, swaying unsteadily on my feet.

A moment later, seven men came out of the darkness, all of them carrying flashlights, all of them carrying guns. Four of the men were in uniform-New York Police Department-NYPD. Three other guys were in suits and ties. One of the NYPD patrolmen came forward, took my raised hands and brought them around behind my back. I felt the cold metal of the handcuffs as they snapped around my wrists.

“Mike,” I said. “My friend-Mike. He was shot. He’s hurt.”

One of the plainclothes guys, a tall, broad-shouldered balding man, nodded at me. “Yeah, we found him. Looks like he took a few people with him.”

“He’s dead?”

“Not yet he’s not. He was breathing when we got to him, anyway. He’s being carried out to an EMS unit.”

“Alive,” I murmured dully. The word was like a small flame of hope flaring inside me.

The balding man nodded. “So far, yeah. He’s still alive.”

Another of the plainclothesmen, a small, narrow, red-haired guy, said, “Here it is.” He was kneeling on the tracks, looking in the backpack. “Looks like what they said. We better get the bomb squad down here.”

Then, “We got a dead one!” someone shouted from behind me in the tunnel.

“That’s Prince,” I told the balding guy. “He was one of the Homelanders. He was trying…”

“We know who he was. We know what he was trying to do,” Balding Guy said. He stepped forward to where I stood with my hands cuffed behind me. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Your friend Rose told us.”

Dazed, I could only look at him. Then I said, “You mean, you believe him? You finally believe him?”

Balding Guy gave a hollow laugh. “I guess we do now, don’t we?”

For a second, I couldn’t take this in. I couldn’t comprehend what it meant. Then I did. It meant that it was over. Finally over. People knew the truth now. They understood what had happened, what I’d done, why I’d done it. I wasn’t alone anymore.

My vision blurred as my eyes filled with tears. Not alone. Never alone.

The plainclothesman with the red hair glanced at the balding plainclothesman.

“Looks like this kid just saved the entire city of New York,” Red Hair said.

Balding Guy smiled wryly and nodded. Lifted his chin to the patrolman beside me. “Take those cuffs off him, will you?”

“But aren’t we supposed-” a patrolman began.

“Just take them off,” said Balding Guy.

I felt my hands come free as the cuffs were removed. I rubbed my wrists to take the tingling out of them.

My voice was unsteady. “Does this mean…?” I swallowed hard. “Does this mean I won’t have to go back to prison?”

Balding Guy let out another thick laugh. He glanced at Red Hair. Red Hair shook his head, smiling.

“I don’t write the laws, kid,” Balding Guy said. “And I can’t make any promises. But as far as I’m concerned, you deserve a medal and a parade.” He slapped me on the shoulder again.

“Happy New Year,” he said.