A Perfect Machine(64)

Something hopeless, formless, filled with despair, inhabited her mind, ripped into her thoughts sharply, made her head spin, trying to cut her off, but she carried on. “I think I’ve been a big part of that manipulation, too. I just don’t know why, or to what end. But I think we’ll find out what it all means soon. I’m going to–”

She opened her mouth to continue, but then suddenly crumpled to the ground next to Faye.

“Adelina!” Milo said, crouched beside her. His initial alarm gave way to faint relief, as he realized that she’d just been pulled away from this body, back to wherever she went when she disappeared.

Henry, however, did not understand what was happening. In his addled state of mind he thought Milo had done something to “Faye” – the woman he’d brought with him in his hand from the apartment. For him, the two women on the ground blended into one.

Crouched low, back scraping the ceiling, he advanced on Milo, his eyes having adjusted enough to the near-pitch dark that her could just make out his shape. Milo glanced up at the sound, stood up, put his hands out in a supplicating manner, realizing that something protective in Henry’s scrambled brain must’ve just clicked in.

“Whoa-whoa-whoa, Henry, hang on, man. I don’t know what you think just happened, but Faye’s OK.”

Henry kept coming, looming over Milo now.

“Faye’s fine, man. I think. I hope.” He glanced down at her still-unconscious body at his feet. “Ah, Christ,” he said, took three steps behind him, now backed up flat against the wall.

Henry brought his face down close to Milo’s. Stared, breathed hard.

His breath smells like furnace ash, Milo thought, then shut his eyes, and waited to be pulped by Henry’s massive hands.

But then: “Henry?” a thin, female voice spoke near their feet.

Milo cracked an eye, looked down at the sound, his own eyes now adjusting to the gloom. Faye was stirring.

But did Henry hear her?

“Henry! Henry, look down, man. Look down!”

Henry did not look down. His gaze just burned a hole in Milo’s face – the only thing stopping him from flattening Milo likely being whatever recognition Henry still had of their friendship. But Milo knew that might not be enough if he actually thought Faye was dead.

Milo had to take a risk. He lifted his hands slowly upward. “Look, look,” he said. “I’m moving my hands, man. Take it easy. Just wanna show you something.”

Henry’s eyes darted to either side of his head, tracking Milo’s hands. Then the hands settled on the sides of Henry’s massive cranium – Milo’s arms were outstretched as far as they could go – and tried to angle it down to see Faye.

At first Henry resisted, his scowl darkening, but then he let Milo guide his gaze.

Faye, he thought. There you are.

By this time, Faye had maneuvered herself into a sitting position, and was rubbing her head. She glanced up to see Milo and Henry looking down at her.

“Everything hurts,” she said.

“I bet,” Milo replied, still breathing hard, but only mildly terrified for his safety now that Faye was awake. Milo smiled, looked at Henry. “See? She’s OK. For now. I had hoped the bullet had gone right through, but I don’t think it did. We need to patch her up, at the very least.”

Henry moved his head away from Milo, stepped closer to Faye, leaned back, and sat down hard on his butt, making a crater in the concrete. He rested his elbows on his knees.

The Casual Monster, Milo absurdly thought.

Something like the sound of a cement mixer starting up crunched in Henry’s chest, and one word came out: “Faye.”

Faye looked at Milo, said, “Gimme a hand?”

Milo helped her up. She brushed herself off, careful to avoid the bullet wound.

“Henry,” she said, walked toward him, realized there was nothing she could hug on his body except maybe an arm or a leg. She moved toward the closest leg, wrapped her arms around it as far as she could, like it was a tree trunk. Pressed her face against the cold steel there.

“Patch her, Milo,” Henry said.

“Yeah, I was thinking about how to do that. Shirt, maybe?” Milo took off his shirt, bit into one of its edges, then tugged furiously at it till a strip came free that was long enough to wrap around Faye’s armpit and shoulder. She winced as he applied pressure to the wound while he wrapped.

When he was finished, Milo shrugged what remained of his shirt back over his torso. “Better than nothing,” he said.

“Barely,” Faye said, and smiled.

Milo didn’t know where they were going to go, but he knew that staying still wasn’t a good plan, knew they needed to keep moving to avoid the police – and anyone else who might’ve been put into the service of catching the giant beast rampaging around the city.

“We need to keep going, Henry.”

Henry appeared to think about this for a few seconds, then said, “I remembered you telling me to come here. To meet with Faye. But I also knew I needed to hide.”

“You’re kind of big for that, don’t you think?” Milo said, but didn’t get the desired reaction from Henry, who just looked away toward the tunnels. When he brought his eyes back toward Milo, they settled on the dead woman on the floor.

Milo saw him staring at her, said, “Margaret Shearman.”