A Perfect Machine(59)

But perhaps that was just as well, because Marcton would never even know that this was Henry Kyllo.

Now, standing in the street with the gaze of a monster fixed solely on him, Marcton was astonished to find his voice. Motioning toward the person the creature carried, he said, “Who is that?”

Marcton had no idea whether the thing spoke or understood English, but it was the only language he had with which to attempt communication. The creature seemed to understand. It looked down at its cargo, then slowly uncurled its fingers to reveal a woman. Unconscious. Not Palermo at all.

Marcton’s heart sank. So one of the bodies flying out the windows was likely Palermo’s. But he couldn’t know for sure. Not without checking out the bodies himself. Or sending one of his guys to do so.

Unless he asked. Long shot, but why not?

“And Palermo?”

No recognition. The beast just growled low in its throat, covered the woman with its hand again, put her back at its side. She groaned a little, then. It wouldn’t be long before she came around.

The monster took one tentative step forward, kept its eyes on Marcton’s gun. Moved its head in the direction of the entrance to the old subway tunnels. Back to Marcton. Back to the entrance.

Something clicked in its throat. Gears whirred, ground. Something resembling human speech tried to belch its way out of the thing’s neck.

Henry, of course, could’ve spoken if he’d wanted to, but felt he shouldn’t. Felt he should let them think he was nothing remotely like them. Internally, too, he was battling with that other voice that would have just had him crush these people to death. It had gotten the better of him before, with Palermo, but now he knew about it, felt its presence curled up, ready to pounce at the back of his thoughts. Better to know where the wasp in the room was than be oblivious to its presence.

Cleve, Bill, and Melvin stiffened. Cleve took a step back, raised his gun again, said, “What are we doing here, Marcton? Your call. Letting it go? It doesn’t look like it wants to hurt us, just wants to get past.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it’s just that…” Marcton said, fascinated. The creature was hard to look away from. It looked like no machine he’d seen before. There were familiar elements, of course, and something about the way it moved was… sinewy. As though beneath all the steel were flesh and blood muscles.

It had stopped trying to push out whatever sounds it apparently thought would help get its point across, and had fallen silent.

“Come on, Marcton,” Cleve said, keeping his voice low, placing a hand gently on his friend’s shoulder, so as not to startle him out of his state. “Let’s go.”

Marcton turned to look at him.

“I think you feel it, too, man,” Cleve continued. “It’s like I’m standing on a sheet of very, very thin fucking ice here. I’m afraid to move, but every instinct I have is telling me that now is the goddamn time to do so.”

Marcton nodded, turned to the creature, stepped backward. Put his gun away, told the other guys to do the same. They did, and everyone took several steps back, up onto the curb.

The beast looked toward the subway tunnels again.

“It’s OK,” Marcton said. “You can go.”

The thing took another step forward, then another, then another. With each step, he kept his eyes glued to the four men. When he was fifty feet beyond them, he turned his head toward his destination and walked faster, the pistons in his legs – and the smaller ones in his arms, Marcton just noticed as his angle changed – puffing vapor out into the crisp winter air.

They watched him go, each lost in their own thoughts, trying to process what they’d seen.

As the creature turned the nearest corner, they saw that its destination was the entrance to the old subway tunnels. It ducked its head to get inside, then disappeared from view.

The first snowflake of yet another storm fell, touched Marcton’s cheek near his jaw, melted, dripped down his neck. He looked up, saw the moon through a break in the clouds.

No one knew it then, but this storm was the main event.

This storm would never stop.





S E V E N T E E N





Milo’s trip to the subway entrance was less eventful than Henry’s, but no less distressing.

He was still trying to get the hang of gravity after floating around for as long as he had been, found it severely limiting to have to move muscles and such. The sensation almost made him wish he were invisible again.

Somehow, Adelina had done this for him. Through whatever power she had, she had essentially brought Milo back to life. And now here he was using that life to try to save someone else’s.

Faye’s head bobbed against his chest while he ran – well, walked quickly. What he was doing as he took the back stairs down to the ground floor – successfully avoiding questions, or even being stopped by police or firemen – couldn’t rightly be called running. His desperation to get Faye away, get her someplace safe, was overwhelming. It sped up certain experiences while slowing others down. But while his newly regained physical limitations were subjected to this effect, his brain had only one speed: overclocked.

Once outside the building, as he struggled to get over curbs and snowbanks, his mind reeled with everything that had just taken place. Images and voices swirled in a maelstrom of confusion. Several times he needed to physically shake his head to make them stop because his vision was blurring.