The Gypsy Morph

EIGHT

THE DAY IMPROVED with the passing of the hours as the sun brightened, the haze lifted, and the sky cleared. Logan Tom made good progress following the highway south through the foothills, the slopes he was forced to climb gentle enough that they did not wear him down. He knew he hadn’t recovered from the aftereffects of his battle with Krilka Koos; he could feel it in the ache of his muscles and stiffness of his joints. But whatever Hawk had done to bring him out of his coma had also healed the worst of his injuries. Walking helped loosen him up, the blood and adrenaline pumping through him working like a restorative.

He kept a sharp eye out for any sign of danger, but saw nothing. Now and then a bird would wing its way overhead, sometimes more than one, and once he saw what might have been a fox. He couldn’t be sure; he was too far away to make it out clearly. He passed abandoned, rusted–out vehicles and piles of debris. He passed downed trees and limbs, pieces of fence wiring, and old tires and axles, all reminders of what was past, all of it useless. Even after so many years, it made him sad.

In the welter of his sadness, he found himself mulling over what he knew about the direction of things.

The world’s destruction was imminent, its end a certainty. All the terrible things that had happened before were just a prelude to this finishing off, this endgame. When it was over, everything would be changed. What would the world be like then? What shape would it take in the aftermath? Would the people and creatures led to safety by Hawk be all that were left? Would anything else survive, anything outside the protection of the safehold? How long would it be before they could reemerge from hiding?

So many questions, and no answers to be had. He wondered if even the Lady knew how things would turn out. He thought that maybe she knew better than he did, but perhaps not so well as he imagined.

He wondered suddenly if he would live to see any of it, or if he was fated to go the way of the other Knights of the Word. Whatever the case, he had been promised a chance to settle matters with that old man, that demon that had destroyed his family. It would be enough if he were given that. He had always known it would be enough.

Morning crawled toward noon. He was on the freeway bypass, a broader, less cluttered stretch of pavement. Buildings began appearing on either side of him, clusters of residences and businesses, some collapsing, some shuttered and barred, all abandoned. He kept looking for someone who might be his guide, kept looking for Trim, but no one appeared. He assumed that whichever way he went, whatever road he chose, he would be found. Nonetheless, he found himself wondering how long he would have to walk before that happened. He guessed he shouldn’t worry, but he didn’t like the uncertainty of traveling toward an unknown destination.

Toward a city of Elves.

Elves, he thought again, still astonished by the idea.

He shook his head. What would they look like? He remembered fairy creatures from his childhood from stories read to him by his mother. But he couldn’t picture them. They were little people, weren’t they? Tiny and argumentative? But magical, too? He thought about it, trying to remember something more, but couldn’t. It would have to be a surprise.

Like almost everything else in his life.

Just after midday, he crossed a bridge over the Columbia River and entered Oregon. More hills awaited him, and in the distance to the east a huge peak loomed over everything. He kept walking, eyeing fresh clusters of buildings separated by broad stretches of grass and fields withered almost to dust. The landscape spread away like a still life.

A shadow passed over him, causing him to flinch. He looked up in time to see an owl swoop down out of the sunlight and glide into the trees ahead. He stared, surprised. What was an owl doing out in the daylight? What was an owl doing out at all? He hadn’t seen one in years. He had thought them all extinct.

He walked on a little farther and then stepped off the side of the road to sit and eat something before continuing on. There were buildings all around him by now, flat–sided, weather–beaten, and crumbling, but there was no sign of life. The air was heavy and still, and the smells of oil and decay permeated everything. He tried to ignore them as he ate, but it was impossible to do.

He was midway through his meal when he heard a sound behind him and turned to find a girl standing ten feet away. She was maybe fifteen, ragged and dirty, thin to the point of emaciation, her brown hair lank and uncombed. She wore an old coat that hung open over a dress. Both were of indeterminate color, the leavings of some better time and place, the discards of a better world.

“Got any food to spare, mister?” she asked him. She did not look at him as she spoke, her eyes lowered as if she had no expectation that he would even respond. “I’m awful hungry.”

He looked past her for others, for the ones who might have sent her out here to distract him, predators seeking to take anything he had on him. But he saw no one.

“Where is your family?” he said.

She glanced up briefly, shrugged. “Dead. Mama died last week. I’m the only one left.”

“It’s dangerous, being out here alone like this.”

Another shrug. “The compounds won’t have me. They wouldn’t have any of us, when I still had my family. Street people, they called us. Trash. Sometimes worse.”

He studied her for a moment. Then he sighed. “Come over here and sit down with me.”

She did so cautiously, suspicious of his motives. When she sat, she was careful to keep out of arm’s reach. He supposed she understood the dangers better than he did. Wordlessly, he passed her food and water in their prepackaged containers. “Here. Take these.”

She ate and drank as if she hadn’t done so in a very long time. He watched her devour everything, barely pausing to look up. “Tastes good” was all she said.

He finished his own meal, and by then she was done with hers. She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her coat. She was sullen–faced and not very pretty, but her smile was nice. She inclined her head in his direction. “Thanks.”

He nodded. “You don’t have anyone you can go live with?”

She shook her head. “No one close. Wouldn’t know if the ones farther off are even alive.” She hesitated. “I could come with you.”

He furrowed his brow. “That’s not a good idea.”

“I can keep up. I’m a good walker. I could help carry stuff.” She licked her lips, looked back down at her feet. “I could keep you warm at night. I could do things for you.”

“I’m going somewhere dangerous. You wouldn’t be safe.”

She curled her lip disdainfully. “Safe? What are you talking about? I’m not safe here! I’m not safe anywhere! You know what happens to girls like me out here alone? You know what’s already happened, not two days after Mama died? Safe? Hey, mister, what world are you living in?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t come with me.”

She stared at him a moment, then let her shoulders sag. “I thought you would say that, but I had to ask. You don’t look like someone who needs me or anybody.” She eyed him furtively. “Can you spare me a little more food? Just a little?”

He gave her half of what he had brought. He couldn’t seem to help himself. When he looked at her he saw Meike, the freckle–faced girl he had left behind at the Safeco Field compound in the aftermath of Hawk’s disappearance. He had told her to run away, but had she? If she had, had she ended up like this girl–ragged and starving and alone? He didn’t like thinking about it, but there it was. All these abandoned children, tossed into a world of predators and poisons, bereft and hopeless waifs. He wanted to save them, just as Michael had saved him all those years ago. But he knew it was impossible. He couldn’t save them. Probably no one could.

“You sure you won’t take me with you?” she asked him again. “I won’t be any bother. I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”

He shook his head. “Tell you what you should do,” he said to her. “Go back up the road, cross the bridge into Washington, and keep going north on the freeway. First two–lane road you come to–only one you’ll pass that’s a real highway–you take it east toward the mountains. Some other kids are going that way. There are even more kids waiting for them, and some adults, too. They’re all heading for a place that really is safe. If you can catch up to them, you’ll be all right.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “For real?”

“Better than staying here, isn’t it?”

She nodded slowly, flicking back loose strands of her long hair. “Okay. I guess I can try. I can walk all right. I can find my way. Some other kids would be good company.”

“If you leave now, you can get to the crossroad by nightfall. Just keep traveling east after that until you catch up to them. Be careful.”

She grinned crookedly. “You don’t need to tell me that.” She paused. “Is it really all that dangerous where you’re going?”

“Worse.”

She studied him a moment. “Okay, I believe you. Good luck. Thanks.”

He set out alone a short time afterward, waving good–bye to her as she began walking in the opposite direction. She didn’t appear to have any supplies or clothes or anything beyond what he had given her or what she was wearing. She was a skinny, ragged figure as she disappeared from view, and he wondered, as he had about Meike, if he would ever see her again.

A short time after that, the owl reappeared, swooping down right in front of him, nearly taking off his head. He drew up short and stared at it as it circled away and then back again. He peered upward at the bird in disbelief, shading his eyes against the glare of the sun. What in the world? The owl soared overhead, spiraled down, and landed on a split–rail fence not a dozen yards from where he stood.

“What’s the matter with you?” he yelled at the bird.

The owl stared at him, its yellow saucer eyes unblinking. It was a small bird but strikingly marked with a speckled white breast and black bands on its wings and rings about its eyes. It had a decidedly durable look about it, he thought, even though it was sort of small for a …

He paused in midthought, remembering suddenly where he had heard those words before, realizing as he did so what he was looking at.

“Trim?” he asked the bird.

The owl blinked in response, spread his wings briefly, and settled back again.

A bird, he thought. She’s sent me a bird for a guide. At first he found it ridiculous. The owl was an oddity that didn’t seem right for what he needed. But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He had expected Trim to be a two–legged companion, one he could converse with and ask questions of. But that wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was a creature who could go anywhere and could find the least dangerous path to where he must go. What better place to do that than from the air? If Trim could make known to Logan what he must do, he might prove to be exactly the guide he required.

“All right,” he said. “What do I do now?”

He had no idea if the bird understood him, no reason to think he did other than it seemed sort of necessary. In any case, he had to try something to find out if they could communicate.

To his surprise, Trim gave a short screech, lifted off from the fence, and winged away. Giving a mental shrug, Logan Tom set out after him.

Less than five miles farther on, Trim flew off the freeway and down a smaller road leading east toward the huge mountain he had seen earlier. He disappeared for a minute and then flew back again, circling overhead. Clearly, he intended for Logan to follow, so Logan did.

This new road traveled in a straight line through residential neighborhoods and strip malls, shops and schools, a community of thousands in better days, but mostly deserted now. If there were people, they were staying out of sight. All Logan saw as he passed were packs of dogs and stray cats, and these didn’t look particularly friendly. He kept to the middle of the road and stayed watchful for any signs of danger, but nothing approached.

He passed through the heart of the community, buildings standing silent and empty, and entered a new stretch of countryside. Here the trees grew thick and skeletal about structures that were on the verge of collapse. Dark interiors were visible through missing doors and windows, and shadows draped everything in pools of black. There was an unpleasant feel to everything, as if the destructive forces that had claimed the people who once lived here were still hungry.

He had reached the far edge of the community when Trim veered off the road and landed on the roof of a garage set back in a tangle of collapsed fencing and rusted–out vehicles. Logan left the road and walked over to where the bird roosted. By now he was beginning to understand better Trim’s method of communication and knew what was expected of him. Even so, he was cautious. He hadn’t missed seeing the clutch of lantern eyes peering out at him from inside one of the buildings he had passed earlier.

Behind the garage, hidden from the road, was a metal–sided shed with locks closing off a heavily reinforced door. The metal was rusted and weather–stained by now, but still solidly in place. Trim left the garage roof and settled atop the shed. Logan stood looking up at him for a moment, and then walked over and tested the locks. There was no give at all. He looked up again at the bird, who looked down at him. He sighed heavily. Then he brought up the staff and burned the locks away.

The door to the shed swung open.

Inside sat a bulky, four–wheeled vehicle of considerable size. It was covered with a fitted tarp, but he could make out what it was through rips and holes in the worn fabric draped over it. An AV of some sort, similar to the Lightning but much bigger. He walked over, pulled off the cloth, and stepped back in surprise.

He was looking at a Ventra 5000, a huge, muscular machine that was in near–mint condition. There were a few dings and scratches on the paint, and there was dust and bits of debris coating the finish, but aside from that it was untouched. He smiled despite himself. He had seen only one of these machines in his entire life, and that one hadn’t been working. Ventras were famous, attack vehicles that surpassed even the Lightning in firepower and strength. The Lightning was quick and mobile, but the Ventra could take a direct hit from a shoulder rocket and keep going. In his days with Michael, stories of Ventras were legion. But all of them supposedly were destroyed during the militia wars, appropriated by the governments and sacrificed in battles that no one won. He had never thought to see another in his lifetime.

He walked over to the driver’s door and pulled the release. The door opened with a soft hiss of pistons relaxing, and lights came on in the interior. The solar cells that powered the beast weren’t dead, which meant that the Ventra might still run. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. With a machine like this, his journey would take only a fraction of the time of walking. Not to mention the protection he would enjoy on his way.

He glanced back outside and found Trim sitting on an old barrel, staring at him with his saucer eyes. Guess luck wasn’t a part of the equation, he thought. But how in the world did an owl know that a Ventra 5000 was inside this shed? Maybe Trim was something more than he appeared. Maybe the Lady, in sending the owl, had known what Logan needed better than he did.

He found the hood release and pulled it, lifted the hood, and peered inside. Eight huge cells rested in their cradles, their power indicators pulsing with a soft green light. All charged and ready to go. He walked to the rear of the vehicle, found the storage compartments for the additional cells, opened the lids, and discovered that these cells were not only fully charged but attached to charging terminals, as well. He stared for a moment, and then climbed up to peer at the Ventra’s broad roof. Solar collectors were built into the armor in narrow strips.

He climbed down again, shaking his head in amazement. Of all the things in the world he expected to find, a Ventra was among the last.

“Nice work, Trim,” he called out to the owl, who ignored him.

He climbed into the driver’s seat, feeling the air–infused cushioning wrap solidly about him. He found the belting mechanism, triggered it, and was locked in place. He looked down at the dash. No key. Just a numbered pad. You had to know the code. He thought about it a moment, and then felt under the gear locks. Sure enough, the code was engraved on the underside of the column. That was the way the owners did it with these machines, Michael had told him. If they were amateurs.

He traced the numbers with his fingers, reading them. Another trick Michael had taught him. It was sometimes better to start a vehicle in the dark, avoid using a light that would alert an enemy. He repeated the numbers to himself and then punched them in.

The Ventra’s engine came to life, a soft velvety purr that barely registered inside the cab. Logan smiled some more. He glanced at the rear seating–room enough for seven or eight–and then farther back at the storage and weapons compartments. There were two, long and wide enough for Parkhan Sprays and Tyson Flechettes. Equipped, he would wager.

He glanced down at the weapons panel and its array of blinking green lights. Rockets, sprays, lasers …

He stopped, catching sight of something new and unexpected. The black lettering leapt out at him from the panel. Carbon Seekers. He hadn’t ever seen those, only heard about them. They weren’t installed on anything that wasn’t government–issue, in the days when there were still governments. But he knew how they worked. They targeted carbon–based life–forms–everything human, for starters–dispatched a dissolver, and the target simply ceased to exist. Very dangerous. Very effective. The thought that he had possession of not one, but two, gave him pause.

Who was the owner of this vehicle, and what had happened to him? Was this his escape transport when things got too bad, a transport he hadn’t had time to reach?

An instant later he heard Trim screech, and he looked up in time to see the owl lift off and disappear skyward. Something had disturbed the bird. Logan climbed from the Ventra without turning off the engine and hurried through the shed doors.

Outside, a huge Lizard was lumbering toward him, moaning and growling and raising its massive arms threateningly. The Lizard was covered in thick, jagged scales and was wearing the ragged remains of what had once been some sort of military uniform, now reduced to tatters.

The Lizard saw him and pointed as if seeking to freeze him in place. It stopped and began gesturing; then it pointed at the shed and shook its head as if to admonish Logan, waving its arms some more. For a moment, Logan thought it was simply crazed from its transformation.

Then all of a sudden he realized what was happening. The Lizard was trying to drive him away from the shed and its contents.

He had found the Ventra’s owner.

Which explained everything. The owner had been keeping his precious AV hidden away, waiting for who–knew–what. Whatever he was waiting for didn’t happen soon enough, and the owner exposed himself to radiation and began to change into a Lizard. He couldn’t stop the change, but he couldn’t make himself give up the vehicle, either.

Now he was too huge and too clumsy to operate the Ventra, which was why it was still locked away in the shed. All the owner could do was look at it.

“I’m sorry,” he told the Lizard. “I’m going to have to take it. I need it to help others who are in trouble.”

The Lizard tried to say something, but the words came out as gibberish that Logan couldn’t decipher. Apparently the mutation had affected its ability to speak. But there was no mistaking its intent. The Lizard did not want him to take the Ventra.

“I can’t let you keep it,” Logan answered. “I wish I could, but you don’t need it and there are others who do.”

The Lizard made a threatening movement, but Logan brought the black staff up at once. “Don’t do that,” he advised quickly. “I know how strong you are, but the staff makes me much stronger. You can’t stop this from happening. Even if you try, you can’t.”

A long few moments passed. The Lizard stood there, staring at him, not moving, no longer speaking. It didn’t seem to know what to do.

“I’m leaving now,” Logan told him. “If I can, I’ll come back for you when I’m done.” He tried to think of what else to say. “Look, I’ll take good care of it. The best I can.”

He realized how foolish that sounded, but it was all he could come up with. He hesitated a moment; then he went back into the shed, climbed into the AV, closed its heavy doors, and engaged the belting locks. He put the Ventra in gear and eased it through the shed doors out into the yard.

The Lizard was waiting. It stood directly in his path, intending to stop him. Logan kept the vehicle rolling toward it, not rushing his approach, taking his time. The Ventra would turn the Lizard to mush if he floored it, notwithstanding all that scaly armor.

Step aside, he thought, staring out at the Lizard, holding its gaze through the AV’s windshield. Just let me pass.

The Lizard put out its massive hands and braced itself against the Ventra, trying to stop its forward motion. Logan kept the machine moving ahead, slowly, steadily, inexorably. The Lizard bunched its muscles and dug in, but the AV forced it to give ground.

At last, seeing it could not stop the AV, the Lizard stepped aside. As Logan rolled past, it slammed its huge fists against the hood, a futile, ineffective expression of rage.

It stood looking after the Ventra as Logan drove it away. Then it covered its face with its hands and began to cry.