Steal the Lightning: A Field Ops Novel (Field Ops #3)(79)

“OK . . .” I let him see me nod. “Tell me what I’ve lost, exactly.”

“The world.”

“World’s still here.” I spread my hands, looked right and left.

“You’re wrong.”

“Explain.”

“You can’t see it yet. It looks normal to you, I bet. The way it always did.”

I felt a little shiver of uncertainty. A sense I should have had this conversation somewhere else, away from any gods.

I’d thought I’d be OK, but I was getting spooked.

I told him, “You’re an amateur. Don’t try and frighten me. Every bloody job you’ve done, you’ve botched. And I’m the guy who’s got to clean up after you.”

I went on with my work, but watched him from the corner of my eye.

He just stood there by the wall. He didn’t move.

“You’re not control.”

“Well. First prize for that.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done. What I’ve achieved.”

I pretended to be concentrating, laying out the cable. He didn’t like that—that I’d stopped paying attention. The need to boast caught hold of him. I let him talk. He sounded cocky, pompous, but he couldn’t get the whine out of his voice.

I wondered who’d upset him as a kid to make him such a chippy little shit. Or maybe he was like that anyway. Nature or nurture?

I emptied out the reel, linked up the next one. Acted like I wasn’t listening.

“It’s in the name, see? Johnny Appleseed.” I heard him pull a breath, waiting for an answer that I wouldn’t give. “Scattering the seeds, see? Seeds like bombs, to blow a little hole in everything. That’s what I do. To break the locks and doors, tear the walls down. No more guilt. No more bad.” His hands moved on the wallpaper like he was reading all of this. “It’s happened, see? It’s already happened. And you can’t tell. You think it’s how it always was. Only it’s not.”

“Almost done here now,” I said.

“You still think you’re in charge. You think the gods all bow to you.” He waved a hand, sweeping away everything—the rooms, the corridor, the city itself. “The world’s already gone. The gods are free. This thing you’re looking at—it’s props. Stage flats. And I’m the one who did it. I’m the one who let them out. They’re here. Directing everything. Their hands, their voices. What you’re seeing—your world—is just a memory. To them, it ended years ago—”

He was breathing hard. His hands were pressed against the wall, lungs gulping the air. He made a weird, ratcheting sound in his throat.

“I don’t know who’s more crazy,” I said, “you or Ballington.”

I packed the gear away.

“Come on,” I told him. “Get yourself downstairs. Get a drink, for God’s sake. Whatever.” Over my shoulder, I said, “For all I know, the world came to an end ten years back. Who cares? I’ve still got work to do.”





Chapter 63

Thirteen




The elevator had a false ceiling, translucent panels resting on a metal frame. I climbed onto a chair and lifted off the corner piece. A Musketeers wrapper and quite a bit of dust fell out. There were lightbulbs round the top of the cubicle. A trapdoor in the roof. I rattled at the handle till I felt it give, then swung it open.

I was on the thirteenth floor. Above, I saw Angel, leaning from a rectangle of light. She’d been making friends with Shwetz. He’d given her the elevator keys. Brooding, bitter over what had happened, he hadn’t even asked her why she wanted them. Now she kept the door on fourteen wide. She dropped a cable, flicking it until it flipped towards me and I caught it. After that, she unspooled a few dozen feet, keeping the other end plugged to the box upstairs. I dropped the trapdoor and I put the ceiling panel back in place, lifted slightly, so the cable hung into the elevator carriage, piling on the floor.

So far, so good.

I took a roll of tape, and started anchoring it to the walls.



Thirteen was the problem, though. I could set up a perimeter on three sides without entering the room itself. Even then, though, I could feel the presence there. I never seemed to be alone. I kept looking behind me. Every time I saw an open door, I’d have the feeling someone must have just walked through it. Then I’d have to check, just to be sure. I never saw a soul. That didn’t make the sense of it any less strong.

It was like I’d said to Angel: most of the time, you get feelings, and you push them to the side, and do your job.

But sometimes—sometimes, you’ve got to listen. Sometimes they’re warnings, they’re signs.

They mean you need to get out. Fast.

Garbage shifted as I stepped into the hallway. A dusty ottoman swiveled on its legs, and turned as if to face me. Papers lifted on a breeze I couldn’t feel, shuffling across the floor. I unspooled the cable. Then I reached the back door to the god room.

I took a breath, and felt myself hunch down, defensively.

I opened it.

“Hush,” I said.

I stepped inside.

The light came on.

“Hush now. Everything’s OK.”

It was like somebody looked up and saw me. But there was no one there.