The flames licked his porch and the hot air had blown out two of the windows on the second story. The flames were lapping at the outside of the building, crawling over the inside walls.No coincidence.Kurt coughed hard, his chest spasming against Alan’s back. Alan set him down, as in a dream. As in a dream, he picked his way through the flames on his porch and reached for the doorknob. It burned his hand.It was locked. His keys were in Kurt’s door, all the way up Augusta.“Around the back,” Bentley called, headed for the fence gate. Alan vaulted the porch rail, crashing though the wild grasses and ornamental scrub. “Come on,” Bentley said.His hand throbbed with the burn. The back yard was still lit up like Christmas, all the lights ablaze, shining through the smoke, the ash of books swirling in it, buoyed aloft on hot currents, fragments of words chasing each other like clouds of gnats.“Alan,” Kurt croaked. Somehow, he’d followed them back into the yard. “Alan.” He held out his hand, which glowed blue-white. Alan looked closer. It was his PDA, stubby wireless card poking out of it. “I’m online. Look.”Alan shook his head. “Not now.” Mimi, somewhere up there was Mimi.“Look,” Kurt croaked. He coughed again and went down to his knees.Arnos took the PDA in hand and peered at it. It was a familiar app, the traffic analysis app, the thing that monitored packet loss between the nodes. Lyman and Kurt had long since superimposed the logical network map over a physical map of the Market, using false-color overlays to show the degree to which the access points were well connected and firing on all cylinders.The map was painted in green, packets flying unimpeded throughout the empty nighttime Market. And there, approaching him, moving through the alleys toward his garage, a blob of interference, a slow, bobbing something that was scattering radio waves as it made its way toward him. Even on a three-inch screen, he recognized that walk. Davey.Not a coincidence, the fires.“Mimi!” he called. The back window was blown out, crystal slivers of glass all around him on the back lawn. “Mimi!”Billy was at his side, holding something. A knife. The knife. Serrated edge. Sharp. Cracked handle wound with knotted twine, but as he reached for it, it wasn’t cracked. It was the under-the-pillow knife, the wings knife, Krishna’s knife.“You forgot this,” he said, taking the PDA.Then Davey was in the yard. He cocked his head and eyed the knife warily.“Where’d you get that?” he said.Adam shifted his grip for slashing, and took one step forward, stamping his foot down as he did it. Davey retreated a step, then took two steps forward.“He set the fires,” Bentley said. “She’s as good as dead. Cooked. Won’t be long now, she’ll be cooked.”Darren looked at him for the first time. “Oh, yes,” he said. “That’s about right. I never found you, no matter how I looked. You don’t get found if you don’t want to.”Brent shook his head. “He set the fire, he used gasoline. Up the stairs, so it would spread up every floor quickly.”Aaron growled and lunged forward, slicing wildly, but Davey’s scurry was surprising and fast and nimble.“You’re going to stab me again, cut me again? What do you suppose that will get you?”“He’s weaker than he was, then. We got six years, then. He’s weaker. We’ll get ten years. Twenty.” Billy was hopping from foot to foot. “Do it.”Alan sliced and stabbed again, and the knife’s point caught Danny’s little bandy leg, like cutting through a loaf of stale bread, and Danny gasped and hopped back another step.“He gave you the knife, didn’t he? He gave you the knife last time. Last time, he took me to the school yard and showed me you and your girlfriend. He explained all about girlfriends to me and about what it would mean once our secret was out. He taught me the words, taught me to saypervert. Remember, Billy? Remember how you taught me?”Andrew hesitated.“He taught me the ritual with your thumbtip, how to make the little you, and then he took it away from me for safekeeping. He kept it in one of his rabbit cages, around on the other side of the mountain. It’s not there now. Have you seen it? Does he still have it?“He never liked having a little brother, not me or the others, but he liked having that little thing around to torture.”Billy hissed. “She’ll be dead in minutes,” he said. “In seconds. Another one dead. His doing!“Killed her, cut her up, buried her,” Benny chanted. “Sliced her open and cut her up,” he shrilled.Alan let the knife fall from his hands. Benny leapt for Danny, hands outstretched. Danny braced for the impact, rolled with him, and came up on top of him, small hands in Benny’s eyes, grinding.There were sirens out front now, lots of sirens.A distant crash, and a rain of glass fell about his shoulders. He turned and looked up, looked up into the dormer window of his attic, four stories up. Mimi’s head poked out from the window, wreathed in smoke, her face smudged and eyes screwed up.“Mimi!” he cried.She climbed unsteadily onto the windowsill, perched there for a moment. Then she leaned forward, ducked her head, and slipped into the sky.Her magnificent wings unfolded in the smoke, in the hot ash, in the smoldering remains of all of Alan’s life in human society. Her magnificent wings unfolded and caught the air with a sound he heard and with a downdraft of warm air that blew his hair off his forehead like a lover’s hand, smoky smell and spicy smell.She flew.The sirens grew louder and she swooped over the yard. She gave two powerful beats of her wings and rose higher than the roof, then she circled the yard in great loops, coming lower and lower with each pass. Davey and Benny watched her. Kurt watched her.Alan watched her. She was coming straight for him. He held out his arms and she fell into them, enfolding them both in her wings, her great and glorious wings.“Come on,” she said. Kurt was already limping for the alley. Benny and David had already melted away. They were alone in the yard, and the sirens were so loud now, and there were the reflections of emergency lights bouncing off the smoke around them. “Come on,” she said, and she put her arms around his waist, locking her wrists.It took five beats of her wings to get them aloft, and they barely cleared the fence, but they banked low over the alley and she beat her wings again and then they were gaining altitude, catching an updraft from the burning house on Wales Avenue, rising so high into the sky that he felt like they would fly to the moon.
The flames licked his porch and the hot air had blown out two of the windows on the second story. The flames were lapping at the outside of the building, crawling over the inside walls.
No coincidence.
Kurt coughed hard, his chest spasming against Alan’s back. Alan set him down, as in a dream. As in a dream, he picked his way through the flames on his porch and reached for the doorknob. It burned his hand.
It was locked. His keys were in Kurt’s door, all the way up Augusta.
“Around the back,” Bentley called, headed for the fence gate. Alan vaulted the porch rail, crashing though the wild grasses and ornamental scrub. “Come on,” Bentley said.
His hand throbbed with the burn. The back yard was still lit up like Christmas, all the lights ablaze, shining through the smoke, the ash of books swirling in it, buoyed aloft on hot currents, fragments of words chasing each other like clouds of gnats.
“Alan,” Kurt croaked. Somehow, he’d followed them back into the yard. “Alan.” He held out his hand, which glowed blue-white. Alan looked closer. It was his PDA, stubby wireless card poking out of it. “I’m online. Look.”
Alan shook his head. “Not now.” Mimi, somewhere up there was Mimi.
“Look,” Kurt croaked. He coughed again and went down to his knees.
Arnos took the PDA in hand and peered at it. It was a familiar app, the traffic analysis app, the thing that monitored packet loss between the nodes. Lyman and Kurt had long since superimposed the logical network map over a physical map of the Market, using false-color overlays to show the degree to which the access points were well connected and firing on all cylinders.
The map was painted in green, packets flying unimpeded throughout the empty nighttime Market. And there, approaching him, moving through the alleys toward his garage, a blob of interference, a slow, bobbing something that was scattering radio waves as it made its way toward him. Even on a three-inch screen, he recognized that walk. Davey.
Not a coincidence, the fires.
“Mimi!” he called. The back window was blown out, crystal slivers of glass all around him on the back lawn. “Mimi!”
Billy was at his side, holding something. A knife. The knife. Serrated edge. Sharp. Cracked handle wound with knotted twine, but as he reached for it, it wasn’t cracked. It was the under-the-pillow knife, the wings knife, Krishna’s knife.
“You forgot this,” he said, taking the PDA.
Then Davey was in the yard. He cocked his head and eyed the knife warily.
“Where’d you get that?” he said.
Adam shifted his grip for slashing, and took one step forward, stamping his foot down as he did it. Davey retreated a step, then took two steps forward.
“He set the fires,” Bentley said. “She’s as good as dead. Cooked. Won’t be long now, she’ll be cooked.”
Darren looked at him for the first time. “Oh, yes,” he said. “That’s about right. I never found you, no matter how I looked. You don’t get found if you don’t want to.”
Brent shook his head. “He set the fire, he used gasoline. Up the stairs, so it would spread up every floor quickly.”
Aaron growled and lunged forward, slicing wildly, but Davey’s scurry was surprising and fast and nimble.
“You’re going to stab me again, cut me again? What do you suppose that will get you?”
“He’s weaker than he was, then. We got six years, then. He’s weaker. We’ll get ten years. Twenty.” Billy was hopping from foot to foot. “Do it.”
Alan sliced and stabbed again, and the knife’s point caught Danny’s little bandy leg, like cutting through a loaf of stale bread, and Danny gasped and hopped back another step.
“He gave you the knife, didn’t he? He gave you the knife last time. Last time, he took me to the school yard and showed me you and your girlfriend. He explained all about girlfriends to me and about what it would mean once our secret was out. He taught me the words, taught me to saypervert. Remember, Billy? Remember how you taught me?”
Andrew hesitated.
“He taught me the ritual with your thumbtip, how to make the little you, and then he took it away from me for safekeeping. He kept it in one of his rabbit cages, around on the other side of the mountain. It’s not there now. Have you seen it? Does he still have it?
“He never liked having a little brother, not me or the others, but he liked having that little thing around to torture.”
Billy hissed. “She’ll be dead in minutes,” he said. “In seconds. Another one dead. His doing!
“Killed her, cut her up, buried her,” Benny chanted. “Sliced her open and cut her up,” he shrilled.
Alan let the knife fall from his hands. Benny leapt for Danny, hands outstretched. Danny braced for the impact, rolled with him, and came up on top of him, small hands in Benny’s eyes, grinding.
There were sirens out front now, lots of sirens.
A distant crash, and a rain of glass fell about his shoulders. He turned and looked up, looked up into the dormer window of his attic, four stories up. Mimi’s head poked out from the window, wreathed in smoke, her face smudged and eyes screwed up.
“Mimi!” he cried.
She climbed unsteadily onto the windowsill, perched there for a moment. Then she leaned forward, ducked her head, and slipped into the sky.
Her magnificent wings unfolded in the smoke, in the hot ash, in the smoldering remains of all of Alan’s life in human society. Her magnificent wings unfolded and caught the air with a sound he heard and with a downdraft of warm air that blew his hair off his forehead like a lover’s hand, smoky smell and spicy smell.
She flew.
The sirens grew louder and she swooped over the yard. She gave two powerful beats of her wings and rose higher than the roof, then she circled the yard in great loops, coming lower and lower with each pass. Davey and Benny watched her. Kurt watched her.
Alan watched her. She was coming straight for him. He held out his arms and she fell into them, enfolding them both in her wings, her great and glorious wings.
“Come on,” she said. Kurt was already limping for the alley. Benny and David had already melted away. They were alone in the yard, and the sirens were so loud now, and there were the reflections of emergency lights bouncing off the smoke around them. “Come on,” she said, and she put her arms around his waist, locking her wrists.
It took five beats of her wings to get them aloft, and they barely cleared the fence, but they banked low over the alley and she beat her wings again and then they were gaining altitude, catching an updraft from the burning house on Wales Avenue, rising so high into the sky that he felt like they would fly to the moon.