Shuttered Sky

inertia that he had to be ignited like a furnace. Dillon pushed his thoughts forward, seeing Michael’s being in his mind. Into Michael’s flesh, into his cells, deeper still to the space between molecules, Dillon forced his own spark, and finally felt Michael ignite! A wave of intensity imprinted itself on every cell of his renewed body, aligning the life within into the service of a single consciousness.

* * *

Michael felt his own ignition.

Void of thought or reason, knowing nothing but his own exis­tence, he was a bullet flying down the barrel, suddenly in motion, exploding forward into a body. He felt every bit of himself at the same instant, from the tips of his toes to the tips of his fingers. He felt his shape, settled into it, and seized control of a familiar mind, remem­ bering who he was, accepting all that went with that knowledge.

Michael opened his eyes, feeling as if he had just been hurled from a carnival ride. He didn’t know whether it was he who was spinning, or the room. Dillon stood over him, out of breath and flushed as if he had just climbed a long flight of stairs. Michael tried to speak, but only gasped at first, coughing until he hacked up a bitter, foul- smelling green wad that only slightly resembled mucous. In fact, he was lying in the stuff; green muck mixing with blood, like some bizarre birth caul. And he was naked.

Reflexively, he rolled to his side, away from Dillon, floundering in the slippery mire.

“Easy, Michael.” Dillon grabbed his shoulders to keep him from sliding off the table. Dillon took off his own shirt and handed it to Michael to cover himself. Then Michael heard Winston speak. Until he heard his voice, Michael hadn’t even known there was anyone else in the room.

“The temperature’s dropped ten degrees in thirty seconds,” Win­ston said. “Yeah, Michael’s back alright.”

Back? Back from where? Michael closed his eyes tightly, searching for a memory of the moment before, but there was none. He had no idea where he had just been, or how he got here. The past was piecing itself together now, bit by bit like the present. He remembered the dam collapsing around him and Tory. He remembered their terrified leap into the updraft which had carried them both into the sky. But Michael’s control of the wind had broken down. The updraft failed them, and gravity dragged them down through the thin, icy air. Al­ though he had clung to Tory, the force of the wind had torn her away. The last half mile he had tumbled alone. Brief pain. A blackout. And now this. It seemed many hours had passed since his last memory.

Shivering, he sat up, and turned around on the table, to see there were even more people present. Standing further away stood a woman Michael didn’t know, and Drew. Drew had an odd, lobotomized ex­pression on his face.

“Hey,” said Drew.

“Hey,” Michael answered.

The woman beside Drew stood wide-eyed and rigid against the wall, staring at him. Michael suspected if the wall wasn’t there to hold her up, she’d be on the ground.

Michael felt the temperature continue to drop as his uneasiness grew. “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Vegas anymore.”

“You’re in Houston,” Dillon answered, with more deadpan seri­ousness than Michael cared for.

“I survived the fall?”

Dillon hesitated. “Not exactly.”

Only now did his mind allow him to see that both Winston and Dillon were covered in blood. The sticky mess coated their arms to their elbows, and had splattered on their clothes.

Alright, thought Michael, I can handle this. It was, after all, what he had hoped for. That Dillon would find his broken body in the Nevada desert, and bring him back.

He shuddered in the cold, his breath now coming in puffs of steam. “So what’s this stuff I’m lying in? Some kind of ectoplasm?”

“More like pond scum,” Winston answered.

Across the room, the girl wouldn’t stop staring at him. Even with Dillon’s shirt clasped over himself, her stare was seriously unnerving.

“What’s the matter? You’ve never seen a resurrected naked guy lying in green shit before?”

“Sorry.” She turned her eyes away.

“Hey, where are my clothes anyway?”

Winston offered him an apologetic shrug. “Animals got ’em long before they buried you. Tough break.”

“Buried? Holy shit, they buried me?”

Dillon turned to the girl. “Where’s Tessic?” he asked. Michael was sure he didn’t hear him correctly.

“Gone,” she answered. “I’m amazed he actually got his legs to move. I couldn’t.”

Michael struggled to capture more of his bearings. He was on an X-ray table. Was this some sort of hospital? Dillon said they were in Houston—how did he get all the way here?

“I must have been offline a few weeks, huh?” he asked.

No immediate answer. Then as he regarded Winston and Dillon, it struck him how much different they both looked. A bit taller; a harder edge to their facial features. Suddenly he knew the gist of what they were about to tell him.

“Oh crap . . . ' Thunder rolled ominously outside. He wanted to deny it all. If only for a few moments, he wanted to believe that it was just a joke.

“It’s been over a year, Michael,” Dillon said.

He didn’t even try to consider all the ramifications of it now. It was so overwhelming all he could do was ride it, like a wave. “Damn. Now my video rentals are really gonna be overdue.”

Drew had scrounged up a hospital gown for him, and approached with it.

“What happened at the dam?” Michael asked Dillon. “Did you hold back the water? What about Okoya?”

“You’ll get cleaned up, and we’ll get you some clothes,” Dillon said, trying to wipe the blood from his own arms with a paper towel. “Then we’ll talk.”

Dillon turned but Michael grabbed him before he could go. “How about Tory? Did you find her, too?”

Dillon slid out of his grasp. “Like I said, we’ll talk later.”

Dillon left with the girl. Winston caught the door before it closed.

“Good to have you back, Michael,” Winston said, and left as well.

Now it was just himself and Drew. Drew held out the hospital gown to him. “You know the drill; slip this on, open to the back.”

Michael forced a grin. “So they left us to play doctor, did they? You gonna grab my balls and ask me to cough?”

“Ooh,” Drew said. “That’s low, even for you.”

Michael stood up, and let Drew help him into the gown. The moment was uncomfortable, but then, how could it be otherwise? Whatever else had been resolved between them, it didn’t change the fact that Drew, Michael’s closest friend, had wanted to be more than just friends. Michael hadn’t handled that well, and the year gone by hadn’t changed Michael’s discomfort. To him it had only been a few hours. The temperature in the room continued to fall, telegraphing Michael’s apprehension better than words or body language. He didn’t want to start his new life by treading on eggshells, so Michael chose to smash the shells with the bluntness that had always typified their friendship. “So what’s the deal with you?” Michael asked. “You still after me? And if so, would that be considered necrophilia?”

Drew laughed, tying the strings to his hospital gown. “To tell you the truth, Mikey-boy, dragging around your moldering bones wasn’t exactly a turn-on. Sorry to disappoint you, dude, but couldn’t we just be friends?”

Michael smiled. He had to remember that Drew had had a whole year to heal from old wounds. It suddenly struck Michael that Drew was a year older than him now. They all were.

“Fine with me,” Michael said, then pointed to Drew’s short, un­evenly shorn hair. “But as your friend, I gotta tell you, I don’t like the do.”

“Yeah, well, wait five minutes,” Drew answered.

* * *

Wrapped in a silk prayer shawl, Elon Tessic offered prayers to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Prayers that he could retain the courage of his convictions. Prayers that he might regain his composure. He had called for a