“Put up your hands,” one of them shouted.
Charlie rose slowly, his hands in the air.
“You’re under arrest,” the soldier shouted.
Lisa got to her feet with a strange grace, and Charlie saw that she was no longer crying, no longer afraid.
“What is it?” he asked desperately.
“Allie’s all right,” Lisa said. Her voice seemed to come to him from far away, and there was a strange wonder in her eyes. “She’s all right, but she’s doing something… very… very… hard.”
“She’s working really hard at something,” Wakeman said. He watched the monitors that lined the wall of the trailer, the evidence they showed of the raging torrents of Allie’s brain, a storm that for all its force and fury, remained locked inside her, so that her face gave so sign of it, but remained as motionless as the eye of a hurricane. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
General Beers stood beside him, his gaze moving from monitor to monitor, from the image of Allie that flickered on one of the screens, a little girl, seated in the bare room of a farmhouse, locked in dark concentration, to a second screen that showed the exterior of the craft, surrounded by armed men who seemed poised to enter it.
Wakeman glanced again at the first screen. He could almost see the volcanic intensity of Allie’s mind, the way it seemed at the edge of explosion.
“It’s time to get her,” he said.
Beers picked up the microphone, gave the order.
On the monitor, Wakeman watched as the soldiers began to close in upon the craft. Their movements were slow and hesitant despite their lethal arms, as if they sensed that their weapons were useless against the force they confronted, archaic as bows and arrows, the primitive armor of a primitive creature. “They’re scared to death,” he said.
Beers’ eyes fixed on the monitor as the soldiers moved forward, slowly tightening the circle around the craft. They took short, cautious steps, their fingers gripped tightly to their weapons, as if they were moving in on a trapped and wounded animal of ferocious strength, a tiger that might at any moment charge toward them at inhuman speed.
Then, suddenly, the craft began to glow, and the soldiers stopped, and crouched low on the ground, as if momentarily blinded by the building light.
Beers snapped up the microphone. “What’s happening?” he demanded.
“This is Walker, sir,” a voice called back. “Some kind of opening has appeared in the craft.”
Beers’ eyes shot over to the monitor. The glow had intensified, as if the craft were readying itself for some terrible defense. “Enter with extreme caution,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Walker answered.
On the monitor, Beers and Wakeman watched as the soldiers closed in upon the craft, then moved beneath it, toward the opening.
Then, abruptly, the monitor went blank.
Wakeman’s eyes shot from one monitor to the next, each of them now going blank in turn, as if switched off by invisible hands. “We’re blind,” he said.
Beers snatched up the microphone. “ Walker, what’s going on?” he demanded.
Walker ’s voice came through the scratchy dissonance. “We’re in the craft,” he said, his voice locked in unearthly wonder. “And there’s this woman.”
“What?” Beers cried.
“An old woman.”
“What are you talking about?”
“With cookies,” Walker said. “Pierce says…” His voice bore a world of awe on its quiet whisper. “Pierce says it’s his mother, sir.”
“ Walker,” the general barked. “Listen to me, I…”
“I know she isn’t real,” Walker stammered, “but…”
Suddenly a quiet voice came over the microphone. “Would any of you nice people like one of my Toll House cookies?”
“Dear God,” Wakeman whispered.
“Just keep moving!” Beers ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
Suddenly one of the monitors flashed on, revealing the craft, still glowing softly, but now around a central core of light that seemed to lead into it beckoningly, like a door.
“Sir, we’re in some sort of corridor,” Walker said. “It’s all light in here.”
“They’re flying blind,” Wakeman said.
The monitor flickered briefly. “We’re losing you,” Beers said.
Suddenly a wild scream broke through the static.
“Cockroaches!”
Beers glared at the still flickering monitor. “What the hell is going on there, Walker?”
“They’re all over,” Walker screamed. “Get off! Get off!”
Then, suddenly, the screaming stopped.
“ Walker, they’re not real,” Beers cried. “ Walker, it’s in your head. Walker?”
Walker ’s voice was filled with dark amazement. “They’re gone,” he whispered. “They ran away… into the light.” He laughed lightly, a man trying to regain his courage. “Did I mention I was scared of rabid dogs and cobras?” A pause, then, “Okay, we’re going on now.”
“What are you seeing?” Beers asked.
“Light,” Walker replied. “Like a corridor… of light. Then a room… and…”
“What?”
“A kitchen. Pierce is having cookies with his mother.”
Mary watched as the glass door slid open. She smiled at the man who stepped into the room, carrying a plate of Toll House cookies. “Have a cookie,” he said. “They’re very good.”
Mary stared at him, amazed.
The man’s gaze was very soft and sweet, as if, in this light, all the great tumult of his life, all the evil he had done, had evaporated, leaving only the best part of himself behind. “I see your father in you, but not enough to ruin things,” he said.
“Grandfather,” Mary said quietly.
“You’ve done all right to get this far,” Owen said.
“How is this happening?”
“They go into your head and pull things out,” Owen explained. “You’ve seen pictures of me. You have an idea of how you want me to be. In my day, we called them projections. Now you call them screen memories.”
“There’s so much I want to ask you,” Mary said. “But I suppose I’d just be asking myself.”
“Give it a try,” Owen said. “You might find something out about yourself you never knew.”
Mary nodded gently, her eyes suddenly moist. “I’ve done terrible things,” she said.
“You had to.”
“Why? To learn about them? To see them?”
“Because of your overwhelming sense of their power. Because you know, you truly know, that the future lies with them.”
Mary shook her head.
“You’ve got another idea?” Owen asked.
“They made this girl…” Mary said. “Allie. Because they weren’t complete without us… without something that we could give them.”
“Either way, their power is what compels you. You want to be part of that power… at any cost.” He smiled. “You don’t need that doctor boyfriend of yours anymore, Mary. You know more than he does. Trust your gut
