The Elves of Cintra

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

FIXIT WAS DEVASTATED. He was in despair. Owl could see it in his face as she wheeled herself over to where he was still being congratulated for his daring rescue. He might want to believe that it wasn't his fault that River's grandfather was dead, but she could tell that he couldn't quite convince himself She knew what he was thinking. If he hadn't been so quick. If he had just taken a mo–ment to check. If he hadn't driven so wildly. If he had not become dis–tracted.

She wanted to talk to him, to reassure him that it wasn't his fault. But before she could reach him, Logan called out sharply.

"All of you! Get away from the fence? Get back over here by the Lightning! Now!"

Everyone looked at him in surprise, and then to where he was pointing. Dozens of tiny machines had emerged from out of the com–plex, machines of all shapes and looks. Like ants, they swarmed over the corpses of their fallen brethren, extruding tiny welders and tools.

Without pausing, they went to work on the larger machines, repairing or replacing the broken parts, slowly but surely putting them back to–gether. Another dozen had come straight for the fence and were reat–taching the damaged links. The entire concrete surface surrounding the haulers was alive with activity.

Panther snatched up his Parkhan Spray and swung the barrel to–ward the enclosure, but Logan shouted at him. "Leave it, Panther We don't want to give them a reason to come out here. Let them do what they were programmed to do. Pack it up, and let's go."

Reluctantly, Panther turned away, muttering something about "Creepers." The Ghosts trotted back over to the AV and the shopping cart, where Logan assigned them their places. He put Candle in the front passenger's seat of the Lightning and River in back with her grandfather. He was heading for Owl when she waved him off. Instead she wheeled herself up to Fixit. "Would you push me for a while?" she asked him. "I need to be out in the open air."

Logan chained the boy with the ruined face to the shopping cart, told him he could walk for a while, put Bear next to him as guard, and ordered Panther to stay away. They set out within minutes, once more heading south, leaving Oronyx Experimental and its machines behind. They did not yet have the hauler they needed, but Logan told them not to worry. They would find something on the way, something not so heavily guarded.

The afternoon was waning, the sky losing its light and the shadows beginning to lengthen. There was an unusual chill to the normally sul–try, stagnant air, but Owl didn't want to ask Fixit to bring her a sweater or blanket because she was afraid of losing him. She wanted to keep him close until she had said to him what she thought needed saying. She didn't speak to him right away, however. She let him push her in silence, let the tension drain away. It was late in the day. They would travel just far enough to make camp, and then they would stop for the night.

"Did you read about machines like those in any of your magazines, Fixit?" she said finally. "I didn't know such things existed."

He didn't reply. He just kept pushing her along at a steady, even pace. Perhaps he hadn't even heard her. She glanced ahead to where Bear and Chalk walked next to the shopping cart and the chained boy. Ahead of them, the Lightning crawled down the highway like a big beetle. Panther was farther out, walking alone.

She glanced to either side without turning her head. Sparrow was walking behind her and to her left, staying just far enough back so as to not intrude, but close enough to come if called. That was Sparrow, she thought.

"I read something about it," Fixit said suddenly. "They were build–ing computers that could think like humans and were programmed to perform one or two specific functions. But I never actually saw one be–fore today."

"I wonder what else was in those buildings," she mused.

There was silence between them again for a time, only the crunch of the wheelchair running over gravel and debris intruding. Owl watched a hawk fly overhead and was reminded of why they were trav–eling south. She thought back for a moment to how things had been in Pioneer Square for all those years, when they had a home and the out–side world hadn't yet intruded. She thought about how much she missed it.

"I wish it hadn't happened," Fixit said suddenly, the words so soft she almost missed hearing them.

"I know." She kept her eyes directed forward. "I wish we could change all the bad things that happen to us."

"I didn't mean for it to happen."

"I know."

"I didn't even think about him being back there." She could hear his voice break. "Why didn't I look? All I had to do was turn around. I would have seen him."

"You were trying to do something brave and dangerous," she said. "You were trying to save your friends. There wasn't time to stop and think about anything else." She looked at him now. "If you hadn't acted so quickly, they would be dead. All of them. The rest of us didn't know what to do. You did. You were the only one."

He glanced down at her, then up again quickly. "I should have looked."

"It is easy to second–guess yourself now," she said. "Now, when everything is quiet and peaceful and safe. But you did the best you could in the heat of the moment. I don't think anyone blames you for what happened to River's grandfather. Not even River."

"You don't know that. She won't even talk to me."

Owl took a deep breath. "Let me tell you something, Fixit. Some–thing true. The Weatherman was very sick. He had the plague. He had a strain I couldn't treat, something I didn't have medicines for. It was a sickness he had suffered from before. River told us. This was just the latest incident. But this is what I haven't told anyone until now. He was going to die. He was getting weaker, and I couldn't do anything about it. He was already almost gone."

There was a long silence from behind her. She waited patiently. "You're just saying that to make me feel better," the boy said.

"Yes, I am saying it to make you feel better," she admitted. "But it's also the truth."

It wasn't the truth, of course. It was a white lie. River's grandfather might have gotten better, might have recovered. No one could be sure. But she didn't think so. She hadn't seen anything to indicate he would. And no one could know for sure whether anything that Fixit had done while driving the AV had contributed to the old man's death. For all they knew, he might have already been dead and no one had noticed. Death in their world was like that: it claimed those around you like a wind gathering fallen leaves, and you didn't even notice right away that they were gone.

"Did he make any sounds while you were driving?" she asked. "I don't know."

"Did you hear anything?"

Silence. "I guess not."

She let him think about it for a moment, then said, "You saved three lives. Three very important lives. If we had lost those lives, we might ourselves be lost. We probably couldn't complete this journey, our search for Hawk and Tessa, without those three to help us."

She didn't say anything more, nor did he, and they passed down the highway behind the AV and the shopping cart like sheep to a pasture as the sun faded into the west. By twilight, they had reached a wayside park where they could pull off and take cover in the trees, back where there was a shelter and fireplace and a few weathered old benches. As soon as they were stopped, Logan set about digging a grave farther back in the small stretch of forest. Bear and Panther were lending a hand when Fixit walked over to ask if he could help, too. Panther looked at him, and then gave up his shovel wordlessly and walked over to where Owl was unpacking the supplies that would provide them their dinner.

"That old man would have died anyway," he said without preamble.

"You and I know that, but Fixit isn't sure," she replied, looking up from her work. Sparrow, who was helping her unpack, didn't look up at all.

"Don't make sense, him blaming himself for this. He did what needed doing or we'd be dead, right, Sparrow?"

"You tell him that, Panther Puss," she said.

"Fixit ain't got nothin' to be sorry for."

"Tell him that, too."

Owl smiled at the boy. "He needs to hear it from all of us. He needs to hear it enough times that he'll start to believe it."

Half an hour later, they buried the Weatherman, the darkness nearly complete, the soft glow of a cloud–shrouded moon providing their only light. They gathered about his grave in a tight knot, and one by one they spoke about him.

"He was a strange old guy," Bear declared in his slow, meticulous way. He shifted his big frame from foot to foot, uneasy at having to speak. But Owl had asked them all to say something, and Owl was their mother. Bear cleared his throat. "He wasn't always easy to under–stand. But he was kind and never did anything to us. He was always looking out for us, even when we didn't know it. Hawk said so. We'll miss him."

"The Weatherman always told us when to watch out for things," Sparrow added. "He was good about that, even if we didn't always un–derstand him. If he was a kid, we would have made him a Ghost."

"Say what you want about that old man," Panther declared, after thinking about it a moment. "Say what you want, but then remember that he gave us River, and she's special."

It was so unexpected that for a moment no one else said anything. They just stood there in the shadows, looking at Panther.

"What?" Panther said finally, his face turning darker than usual. "I'm just sayin' what's so!"

"The Weatherman was our friend," said Chalk, and after pausing for a moment couldn't seem to think of anything else. He cleared his throat, glanced around at the others, and shrugged. "He was our friend," he repeated. "Always."

Then it was Fixit's turn. The boy stood there, looking at the ground, his body stiff and tight with emotion. He shook his head. "I don't know what to say," he whispered.

"I do."

River walked over to him and put her arm around him. "My grand–father was a good man, and he lived a good life. It wasn't always easy, but mostly. He liked all of you; he told me so. He got to come with you when you left, even though he didn't think he would be allowed to. That made him happy, even when he was sick. I know it did."

She paused, her arm still around Fixit. "If he was here, Fixit, he would tell you that what happened to him wasn't your fault. You are not to blame yourself for his dying. You were a good friend to him and you are a good friend to all of us, and we don't any of us want to think about it anymore. It's over."

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, then put her arms around him and hugged him. Fixit was crying, but Owl, sitting in her wheelchair and watching his face, knew it was going to be all right.

LOGAN TOM wasn't so sure.

He was unsure not only about Fixit, whom he was already viewing as damaged goods, but also about the way all of this was going to turn out. The expectation was that they would travel south toward the Co–lumbia River, finding Hawk and Tessa on the way, and everything would work out. But this assumed a few things. It assumed that they would get there in one piece. It assumed that Hawk would be easily found once they arrived. And it assumed that the journey itself would not do such emotional and psychological damage that they would not be able, over the course of time, to heal themselves.

The first two added up to enough wishful thinking to sink a barge, but the last was the one that bothered him the most. He knew some–thing of the sort of damage that journeys undertaken in this world could inflict on you. He had made more than a few over the past twenty years, and he still carried the scars deep inside. The Ghosts had overcome a lot to get to where they were, and their bonding as a fam–ily had helped to shield them. But they were still just children, with only Owl, Panther, and Bear old enough to be viewed as grown–up, and for all their bravado and determination they were likely so much can–non fodder for what lay between them and their destination. For half a dozen years, they had not left their sanctuary in the city of Seattle. They had not traveled more than a few miles from their home. Every–thing they knew was behind them. They were starting life over, a little family setting out on a strange road for a strange land.

Could they finish such a journey when things like the insect ma–chines and the Freaks waited for them around every twisty bend and in every dark corner?

What were the chances they could survive?

Could they manage without him?

These weren't idle questions. They were considerations he had been worrying over ever since they had set out from the city. He needed to know if they could make their way alone. Because he was thinking that at some point they might have to.

Because, in truth, he was thinking it might be best if he left them behind.

It sounded harsh, but it was the pragmatic choice. His charge from the Lady by way of Two Bears wasn't to save the Ghosts. It was to find and protect the gypsy morph, who just happened to he one of the Ghosts in its current transformation. He was to give the morph a chance to save humanity from the coming conflagration, to give it a chance, he assumed, to repopulate and rebuild the world. That charge did not involve the other Ghosts in any way, shape, or form.

It wasn't that he didn't want to help these kids. He did. But they were slowing him down. He could get to where he needed to go much faster on his own. He could travel more quickly and in greater safety. Every decision he made was affected by their presence. He wasn't used to this kind of responsibility. He had lived alone since Michael's death, and he had developed habits and patterns of behavior that improved his chances of surviving. Of necessity, much of what he had come to rely upon had gone by the wayside since he had taken on the burden of responsibility for the Ghosts.

Leaving them sounded callous and unfeeling. But this was a world where thinking too much about others could get you killed.

He put the matter aside that night after burying the Weatherman and settling in, thinking that he wasn't ready to make the decision to leave, no matter the arguments in favor, no matter the risks of staying. The timing just didn't feel right, and he would let things be for now.

But by the following morning, Fixit and River had both come down with a severe fever and were showing symptoms of the same form of plague that had claimed the Weatherman.

"I don't have enough medicine left to treat them for more than a few days," Owl advised him in confidence, her plain, no–nonsense fea–tures lined with worry. "We used most of what we had on River's

grandfather."

He had just finished placing both kids on stretchers in the back of the Lightning, taking it upon himself to secure them, using his own store of blankets to help keep them warm. They were flushed and coughing, their throats scratchy and dry. The first telltale signs of pur–ple splotches were starting to show on their necks. River was much worse than Fixit, her breathing harsh and irregular. But then she had been exposed to her grandfather for longer than the boy. Logan was al–ready dreading the ride ahead, shut away in a plague–infested space that even a steady influx of fresh air might not help. He was not afraid of demons and once–men, but ever since the sickness that had almost killed him at sixteen, he was deathly afraid of plague.

He looked off into the distance, past the knot of kids watching, past the bleak landscape with its wintry, dry vistas and empty spaces, past everything he could see to what he could only envision. It would be so easy to leave them. It would be the smart thing to do.

They found an old hay wagon sitting out in a field not long after they set out, and they abandoned the shopping cart and loaded the wagon with all their supplies and themselves, as well. Only Panther preferred to walk, striding out ahead, keeping a steady pace. Owl rode inside the Lightning with Logan so that she could watch over Fixit and River, insisting that she would share the risk, that she had survived con–tact with plague all her life. Logan was impressed. Not many in her place would have done so.

They made better time that day and the next, covering a much greater distance, traveling all the way south to the next city down. Logan didn't know its name; all the signage had long since been torn down. Owl produced one of her tattered maps and told him it was called Tacoma. By nightfall, they had reached the outskirts and found a field sheltered by a small copse of withered spruce in which to make camp. There were some buildings and a few pieces of rusted machin–ery, all of which helped hide and protect them against the things that prowled the night. River and Fixit had not improved; if anything, they were worse. Logan had already decided to go looking for the medicine Owl needed to treat them.

"Write it out for me," he asked her. "Describe what I'm looking for, especially the container. I'll take the Lightning and have a look in the city. Maybe I'll get lucky and find some medical supplies."

He didn't think he would, but it didn't serve any purpose to tell her that. Most of what might help had long since been picked over and taken by others. Drugs of any sort were rare, but especially those that protected or cured the various forms of plague.

"It's called Cyclomopensia," she told him, handing him a scrap of paper with the name carefully printed out. "It will come in large white pills with CYL-ONE imprinted on each." She handed him a plastic con–tainer. "This is what the ones I have left came in."

He studied the container and the paper a moment, and then shoved them into one of his pockets. He called the Ghosts together. "Listen carefully. I have to leave you for tonight and maybe all of tomorrow, too, if I'm going to find the medicine that River and Fixit need. I'll need the Lightning to get the job done. You have to be careful while I'm gone. No one leaves this place. No one does anything to draw attention. Someone stands guard all the time. If you have to move, carry River and Fixit on the stretchers and walk toward the city. Leave everything else. Look for the Lightning or me. We won't be far from each other."

He gave the Parkhan Sprays to Sparrow and Panther, and then handed a short–barreled Tyson Flechette, like the one his father had carried the day he had died, to Bear.

"Don't use any of these unless you have to. If you fire them, you will draw a lot of attention. The best thing you can do for yourselves is to be as inconspicuous as you can. Understand?"

They all nodded solemnly. "We know what to do," said Panther. "We ain't stupid."

That remained to be seen, Logan thought, remembering that it was Panther who had caused the incident with the machines at Oronyx Ex–perimental. But there was no help for it. He couldn't leave them out here unarmed. He had to trust that they would use good judgment and common sense where the weapons were concerned.

"Owl," he said, drawing her attention. "I'll put River and Fixit inside that shed over there." He pointed to the building that was in the best shape of the bunch. "No one goes inside except you, and you only go in to give them medicine or liquids or whatever you think might help. But everyone else stays out. If this thing spreads, we could all come down with it."

She nodded wordlessly. He hesitated, trying to think what else he should tell them, worried suddenly that this was a mistake and he was leaving them here to die. They were only children, he told himself for what must have been the hundredth time since they had set out from Seattle. They did not have his survival skills. They did not have his ex–perience or training. But there was no point in worrying over things that couldn't be helped.

He drove the hay wagon over to the buildings and behind the other machinery, then unhitched it. Mostly it looked like everything else, and it would go unnoticed if no one stopped to look or got too close.

"Remember what I said," he told them in parting. "Be careful. I'll be back as soon as I can."

But even as he was driving away, he was thinking again about leav–ing them for good.