“Fewer than one hundred thousand,” Victor said.
“And what happens to all those other billions? They vanish?”
“Most will probably starve to death,” Victor said. “The rest? They’ll be cleansed.”
“As in bathed?” Caleb asked.
Victor stared at Caleb for what felt like a while and Mercy tried to think of something to say to break the tension, lighten the mood that had turned dark uncomfortably fast. She could not think of anything.
“They’ll be killed,” Victor said.
The slight smile that curved his upper lip made Mercy think of deranged madmen stalking the streets for vulnerable women. Men who carried knives underneath long, slick jackets.
THIRTY-THREE
Victor couldn’t help but grin. A lesser man, someone who believed he controlled his own success, would be gushing with masturbatory self-congratulations. Everything was falling very perfectly into place. Victor, however, knew he was only a servant to a grand, amorphous master. If he did what was expected of him, did not fight against it out of some misguided self-assurance that he knew better, but fully embraced his destiny, all things would come to him.
They were practically in his hands already.
Mercy’s father glared at Victor for a moment and then burst out laughing. “Of course they’ll be killed. The question is how.”
Victor shrugged. “How many ways are there to die?”
“Now, there’s a discussion,” her father said.
“Maybe for weirdos on the Internet at two in the morning,” Mercy said. “But I really don’t want to get into that now.”
“Okay,” her father said. “You’re right.”
When his eyes met Victor’s again, however, he said, “If billions of people are going to die, it’s got be some kind of global climate apocalypse. Thousand-foot tsunamis or unprecedented hurricanes or--”
“Systematic murder,” Victor said. “One at a time.”
Her father seemed to consider that. “Sounds like it’ll be a while before the Great Change then.” He laughed and so did Caleb. Victor joined in after a moment.
“Maybe not as far off as you think,” Victor said. “This process started a long time ago.”
The fire made crinkling, snapping noises and the darkness weighed on Mercy’s father like a foreign hand, slumping his shoulders, bowing his head. His face fell into shadow and the firelight set his hair aglow. It almost looked like a halo. As if angels actually existed.
Above, a crow cawed.
“You’re a very interesting man,” Mercy’s father said. Something more lingered on his lips but he kept it to himself as if afraid to voice those thoughts.
“You want to take a walk?” Mercy asked.
Her legs were pulled up to her chest, head tilted so it was almost resting on her knees and her hair cascaded toward the ground. It would be so easy to wrap his hand in that hair and yank her head back and forth. Yank it hard enough to snap her neck.
“No,” Mercy’s father said. “You shouldn’t go walking in the woods after dark.”
“Dad. There’s nothing out here. We’ll be fine.”
He turned to Caleb. “How about you show me that tent you’ve got over there. Some kind of fancy thermal igloo thing?”
“Sort of,” Caleb said.
The men stood. Mercy’s father nodded to Victor and then winked at his daughter. Caleb simply turned around and walked to his single-size tent. Before their forms could vanish completely into the darkness, flashlight beams shone from their sides like sabers and they became walking ghosts.
Victor didn’t believe in ghosts, not as most people thought of them anyway. Ghosts were manifestations of the universe’s will. They were messengers. He had never seen one but if ever there were a time and place to encounter one it was tonight on this mountain. Such a sign would be further vindication that he was not only right in what he was doing but empowered to keep going and going until the reward was his. Until Mercy Higgins was writhing beneath him, moaning or screaming in pleasure or pain. It didn’t matter which.
“I feel bad,” Mercy said.
“Why?”
“My dad is trying to be so nice while he’s . . .”
“He’s what?”
She licked her upper lip. “He’s got cancer.”
“I guess the conversation about the end of everything wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear,” Victor said.
She shrugged. “He actually seemed interested. I don’t know. He only just told me today. I don’t know how he’s feeling. We come up here because my mother died of cancer a few months ago and he thought we needed some time or something.”
“You poor thing,” he said, sounding sincere and empathetic. For a moment, he wondered if he actually had been sincere.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all sad.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
She shifted her body closer. Her jeans pulled tight against the insides of her thighs.
“Well, you did start it with that apocalyptic stuff.”
“Guilty as charged.”
He held up his hands as if under arrest. She smiled in a contemplative way and touched her palms to his like they were playing paddy cake. Her skin was soft, like touching fine fabric. Her fingers were slender and perfectly straight, ending in clean, rounded nails.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Her fingers slipped between his and their hands curled together. She pulled him gently toward her while she leaned in. He could snap both her wrists with one, fluid jerk of his own.
She paused only a few inches from his face. Her soft flesh pulsed in shades of orange and yellow as if her blood was boiling. Her lips opened just enough to let her tongue pass slowly over them.
“Well?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you kiss me?”
He leaned toward her and she shut her eyes and her lips protruded toward him like a pair of eager worms. He stopped an inch from her face, their noses almost touching.
“You’re killing me,” she whispered.
“Maybe we should go in your tent,” he said. “So your father doesn’t have to watch.”
When she opened her eyes, tongues of fire lapped across their glistening surface.
“Not even one kiss first?” she asked.
“Once I start, I fear I won’t be able to stop.”
She kissed him quickly on the cheek and pulled off her boots. She appreciated him for another moment and then scrambled toward the tent as if something wonderful were waiting inside.
Victor approached the tent slowly. There were times to hesitate and manipulate for control. There were also times to take that control and surrender to all his desires.
His belt buckle was already swinging open when he crawled inside the tent.
THIRTY-FOUR
