“Nathan?” she asked, still dubious of the reality of her situation. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing!” her brother replied. “Come on, we’ve got some catching up to do.”
They only moved to another table within the lounge, but Beth forgot as soon as they started exchanging stories and concerns. They shared some of the beer the bar sold at an exorbitant rate.
“You look well,” Beth commented.
Nathan smiled, pushing his hair out of his face and trying to look modest.
“You think so?” he asked. There was a tone of pride in his voice.
She nodded.
“Well, it took a lot of work,” he said. “Still does, as a matter of fact. I’ve been Fog-free for over three months now. Picked a hell of a time to get clean with the war breaking out.”
“But you didn’t relapse,” Beth pointed out.
“Thus far, no,” her brother replied, taking a swig of his beer. “Not like Fog dealers are in ready supply these days, but nonetheless, I like to think I’d stay away from it either way. There was an awful lot of brain damage I’d done to myself — irreversible damage — but I got out before it was too late. Before I was just another Fog zombie, easily possessed by these Liberator sons-of-bitches. Still, I have trouble remembering things sometimes. I’m ashamed I let it get so bad in the first place.”
“Well, I’m proud of you,” Beth said. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Nathan replied.
They clanked their bottles together.
“How long have you been back in the States?” Beth asked.
” ‘The States,’ ” he quoted. “Can we even still call them that anymore? Anyway, I came back just after I decided to get sober. I’d gotten sick of the strange places and the constant haze I was in. I had just flown back to reconnect with you and Mom — even Dad — when the war broke out.”
“Oh, no,” Beth whispered.
“Yeah,” Nathan continued. “I’d been trapped in Denver ever since my flight in — until they started evacuating us to this camp about a week ago. I still wish I had been able to check in on Mom and Dad. Make sure they’re okay.”
Beth nodded solemnly. “I’ve been thinking about them a lot since the war started,” she said. “I wish I had checked in with them, too.”
“Do you think they’re okay?” Nathan asked.
“I don’t know,” Beth replied. “I don’t think Dad would be in much trouble — but I can’t say the same for Mom.”
“She’s smart. She probably came to a camp just like this,” Nathan suggested. “Hell — they could even be here and we just haven’t run into them yet. It’s not a small suburb here, you know.”
Anything is possible, Beth thought, drinking some more of the beer. Her drink had gotten warm while they talked.
“Do you have a shelter yet?” she asked her brother.
“Yeah,” Nathan answered. “Staying in an old shipping crate with two other families. They rigged it to work like an apartment.”
“Well, what would you say to staying with me?” Beth offered. “I’ve got a shed to myself — probably much roomier than what you’ve got going on. Besides, the Dylan team should probably stick together, right?”
Nathan thought about it for a moment while a small smile stretched out on his lips. Whatever he mulled over seemed to please him, so he started nodding.
“That sounds great. Thanks, B.”
The sound of metal fork on metal tray filled the small shack Beth now shared with her brother. He had stayed with her for a couple days now. They would talk about his stories and the news surrounding them, but he seldom went into details. It was like the Fog still had a hold on his memory, so Beth did her best to compensate with stories of her own. She told him all about the hunt for Simon, the Fog house, Rubik, and the clinic. He was stunned when she explained how Tarov was actually an A.I. gone mad, and she had the evidence to prove it. She conveniently left out the fact that she shared her mind with the I.I. of Simon Mendez, Jr.
They had just finished a bit of tuna that Beth mixed with some bread to make a couple sandwiches when Nathan rose from his seat and walked over to the door of the shack.
Beth, a mouthful of tuna sandwich muffling her words, asked, “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” her brother replied.
He pulled the bolt lock on the door closed.
Beth stopped chewing. “What are you doing?” She swallowed.
“How has it felt, Beth?” Nathan said. Something about his inflection changed — like he was a stage actor dropping character. “Getting to reunite with your brother?”
Her eyes went wide. She knew that voice — that manner of speaking. It was not her brother.
“Tarov,” Simon said, his tone incredulous.
Nathan — or Tarov — smiled. “That’s right,” he said. “You realize it now. Nathan is gone. It’s been me the whole time.”
Beth’s heart sunk. It felt like it dropped right into a vat of freezing cold water. The icy clutch stole her breath.
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice diminutive. “Nathan’s gone?”
Tarov chuckled a little, and Beth shuddered at her brother’s voice. “He rotted his mind to the point that, if I weren’t in control of his implant right now, he would still be brain-dead,” he explained. “Your brother died a long time ago while sucking on a Fog pipe.”
Tears filled Beth’s vision. She felt like all of her muscles atrophied at the same time and she fell to her knees. For a moment, she was worried she might faint, but managed to stay upright, wobbling. Then the dam broke, and she started to cry. She doubled over herself, ignoring Tarov, ignoring everything but the hollow feeling of loss in her gut.
Tarov watched her for a minute. He seemed to relish her suffering, but after a while, grew impatient with it.
“I know you
