The boy looked at her for some moments before recognition crept into his eyes. “Nora,” he said, pronouncing the word slowly, as though having nearly forgotten it.
Despite the fact that there were fewer drones available to monitor the various potential automobile routes in northern New York State, the Master’s path grew ever more certain. The Master had viewed Dr. Martinez’s ambush through the eyes of Dr. Barnes’s security detail, until their violent release. Currently, the Master saw the helicopter in the highway, rotors still spinning, viewed through Kelly Goodweather’s eyes.
The Master watched as Kelly directed her driver down a steep embankment to an auxiliary road, driving fast, following the Explorer’s path. Kelly’s bond with Zachary was much more intense than her bond with her ex-mate Dr. Ephraim Goodweather. Her longing was much more pronounced—and, in this moment, productive.
And now the Master had an even better read on the infidels’ progress. They had taken the bait the Master knew would prove irresistible. The Master watched through Zachary’s eyes, sitting in the backseat of the automobile driven by Augustin Elizalde. The Master was all but with them there in the vehicle as they headed to rendezvous with Dr. Goodweather, who had possession of the
“I am following them,” said Barnes, his voice crackling on a radio. “I will keep you informed. You have me on the GPS.”
And indeed, a dot was visible on the GPS. An imperfect, pale, mechanical imitation of the Master’s bond, but one he could share with the traitor Barnes.
“I have the gun with me,” said Barnes. “I am ready for your command.”
The Master smiled. So obsequious.
They were close, perhaps mere miles away from their destination. Their northern trajectory put them on a path toward Lake Ontario or the Saint Lawrence River. And if a water crossing was in order, no matter. The Master had Creem to ferry him across, if needed, as the gang leader was still nominally human but wholly under his command.
The Master directed the helicopters north at full speed.
Creem’s mouth hurt. His gums burned where his dented silver teeth were attached. At first he thought this was more lingering effects resulting from the elbow he had taken from Mr. Quinlan. But now his fingers were growing sore, enough so that he plucked the bling off his knuckles, giving his digits a rest, the silver jewelry piling up in the cup holder.
He didn’t feel right. He felt woozy and warm. At first he feared some sort of bacterial infection like the one that had claimed Gus’s man. But the more he looked into his rearview mirror at the Master’s dark, worm-writhing face, the more Creem grew anxious, wondering if the Master had infected him. For an instant, he felt something move through his forearm and into his biceps. Something more than a tingle. Something en route to his heart.
Eph’s Jeep reached Fishers Landing first. The northernmost road ran along the edge of the Saint Lawrence. Mr. Quinlan couldn’t pick up on any vampires in the immediate area. They saw a CAMP RIVERSIDE sign pointing toward an area where the road left the water’s edge. They turned down the dirt road, riding out to a large spit of land jutting into the river. There were cabins and a restaurant with an adjacent sweets shop, and a sandy beach boxed in by a dock long and wide enough to be just barely visible over the water.
Eph pulled up sharply in the lot at the end of the road, leaving his headlamps on, and pointed at the water. He wanted to get out on that dock. They needed a boat.
As soon as he shut his door, a powerful light filled his vision, effectively blinding him. By thrusting up his arm, he could just make out multiple sources, one from near the restaurant, the other near a towel shack. He panicked a moment but then realized that these were artificial light sources—something vampires had no need or use for.
A voice called out, “Stop right there! Don’t move!”
A real voice, not a vampire voice projected into his head.
“Okay, okay!” said Eph, trying to shield his eyes. “I’m a human!”
“We see that now,” said the female voice.
A male voice from the other side said, “This one’s armed!”
Eph looked over at Fet on the other side of the Jeep. Fet said, “Are you armed?”
“You better believe it!” called the male voice.
“Can we both put them down and talk?” said Fet.
“No,” said the female voice. “We’re glad you aren’t stingers, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t raiders. Or Stonehearts in disguise.”
“We aren’t either,” said Eph, holding off the lights with his open hands. “We’re here on a… a sort of mission. But there isn’t much time.”
“There’s one more in the backseat!” yelled the male voice. “Show yourself!”
“I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you return.”
“You… you sound like fighters. Against the vampires. We’re fighters too. Part of a resistance.”
“We’re full up here, friend.”
Eph said, “We need to get out to one of the islands.”
“Feel free. Just do it from some other point along the Saint Lawrence. We don’t want any trouble, but we’re ready enough for it.”
“If I could have just ten minutes to explain—”
“You got ten seconds to leave. I can see your eyes, and your friend’s. They’re right enough in the light. But if your other friend isn’t getting out of the car, we’re going to start shooting.”
“First of all, we have something fragile and explosive in the car, so for your sake, don’t shoot. Second, you’re not going to like what you see in our other friend here.”
Fet chimed in. “He reads vamp. His pupils will glass up in the light. Because he’s part stinger.”
The male voice said, “No such thing.”
“One such thing,” said Eph. “He’s on our side, and I can explain—or try to—if you’ll give me a chance.”
Eph sensed the light source moving. Advancing on him. He stiffened, expecting an attack.
The male voice from the other light said, “Careful, Ann!”
The woman behind the light stopped about ten yards away from Eph, near enough that he could feel heat coming off the lamp. He made out rubber boots and an elbow behind the beam.
“William!” the female voice called.
William, the bearer of the other light, came running toward Fet. “What is it?”
“Take a good look at his face,” she said.
For a moment, Eph had both beams directly on him.
“What?” said William. “He ain’t no vamp.”
“No, dummy. From the news reports. The wanted man. Are you Goodweather?”
“Yes. Ephraim is my name.”
“Goodweather, the fugitive doctor. Who killed Eldritch Palmer.”
“Actually,” Eph said, “I was falsely accused. I didn’t kill the old bastard. I did try, though.”
“They wanted you real bad, didn’t they? Those motherfuckers.”
Eph nodded. “They still do.”
William said, “I don’t know, Ann.”
Ann said, “You’ve got ten minutes, asshole. But your so-called friend stays in the car, and if he tries to get out, you’re all fish food.”
Fet stood before the back of the Jeep, showing them the device and the timer he had attached by flashlight.
“Shee-it. A goddamn nuclear bomb,” said Ann, revealed to be a woman in her fifties with a long, fraying braid of gray hair, dressed in waders under a fisherman’s slicker.
“You thought it would be bigger,” said Fet.
“I don’t know what I thought.” She looked again at Eph and Fet. William—a man in his forties, wearing a wool sweater shaggy with pulls and droopy blue jeans—remained off to the side, both hands on his rifle. The lamps lay at his feet, one of them still turned on. The indirect light cast Mr. Quinlan, now standing outside the vehicle, in an intimidating cloak of shadows. “Except that your situation here is too bizarre to be untrue.”
