Marcton and Kendul stood on rubble in the basement where Adelina was buried. Kendul had brought a large duffle bag along, but hadn’t opened it when they’d arrived, and hadn’t told Marcton what was inside.
“She’s here?” Marcton said. “Beneath us?”
Kendul nodded, thought: And there’s that faint thrumming in my bones again, but even stronger than I remember. He still couldn’t understand how Edward hadn’t been able to feel it.
The house itself was mostly destroyed on the inside, but – quite miraculously – had stayed up the past three years. As amazing as that was, neither Marcton nor Kendul wanted to test their luck, so were fairly edgy, reacting to every creak and groan. From the outside it looked somewhat alright, but one wall had entirely come down, making it clear to any passerby that no one lived there, and likely hadn’t for years.
“So,” Marcton said. “We just start digging, do we? Then put her back together like fucking Humpty Dumpty?”
Kendul grimaced. “Something like that, yeah.”
Kendul turned, picked up one of the shovels they’d brought, stuck it into the earth, started heaving dirt and small chunks of concrete over his shoulder. Marcton followed suit. Before long, they’d uncovered an arm and part of Adelina’s torso.
“Fuck me running,” Marcton said, stopped digging, leaned on his shovel handle. “She is here.”
“Why would I lie, Marcton? What point would that have served?”
“I know, I know, it’s just… Christ. I somehow didn’t expect it to be true.”
“Let’s get some more hands in to get her out.”
“Yeah,” Marcton said, still dazed by confirmation of the discovery. “I’ll make the call.”
Three hours later, six sweating men – Kendul, Marcton, Cleve, Bill, and two random Runners – stood in a semi-circle around the two arms, one leg, and one torso-leg combination of what now constituted Adelina Palermo’s body.
“Jesus,” one of the randoms said.
“Crazy,” said the other, looked over at Kendul and Marcton. “What is this again? Some kinda robot?”
It’s you, Kendul thought. This is you. All of you. What you’d become in your purest state. He shuddered, said, “Yeah. Some kinda robot.”
On some level, they know. Even if it was never spoken aloud, they know. They have to sense it somehow, don’t they?
Kendul glanced at the four men they’d called in to help dig Adelina’s body out of the basement. Cleve and Bill were part of Marcton’s team, his inner circle, and they likely knew what they were looking at, but maybe Marcton told them to shut up about it. The other two, though – the looks on their faces indicated to Kendul that they weren’t necessarily firing on all cylinders, so maybe this moment’s profound significance escaped them. Kendul thought that even if they did know – if Marcton and Kendul just came right out and told them – they still wouldn’t really grasp it. They might intellectually know, but anything deeper would be impossible.
Better safe than sorry.
“What’re your names?” Kendul asked, flung his shovel into a corner of the basement. Something nearby groaned, shifted, and everyone looked alarmed for a moment till the noise settled, stopped.
“Harold.”
“Jeremy.”
“Well, Harold and Jeremy,” Kendul continued. “What if I told you that this is what you turn into when you achieve ascendance?”
Harold and Jeremy exchanged disbelieving glances.
“Geeeeeet fucked!” Harold said, with a giant grin on his big dumb face. “Seriously?”
Jeremy, possibly the smarter of the two, just shook his head, said, “No way. Nuh-uh.”
Kendul held their gazes seriously for a moment, then dropped his eyes, laughed once, sharply, said, “Nah, it’s just some kinda robot. You guys’re right.”
Harold and Jeremy looked satisfied with the answer. Easier to accept. Easier to swallow. Less horrifying than knowing that the thing you’ve been taught to aspire to – to treat as a lifelong ambition – ends with transformation into a giant beast that your own kind felt the need to blast literally limb from limb, and bury in the ground.
“Head back to the warehouse, fellas,” Marcton said, nodding at Jeremy and Harold. “We’ll catch up with you soon. And thanks for the help. Much appreciated.”
They nodded, looking both relieved and somewhat confused.
“Oh, and don’t mention the big robot, OK?”
They nodded, but Marcton knew they wouldn’t be able to keep their mouths shut. It wouldn’t matter soon enough, anyway. Either their plan would work, and Adelina would stop Kyllo – and they could then kill and bury her somewhere else (this time hopefully for good) – or their plan wouldn’t work, and Kyllo would carry on into the outside world, destroying the way of life and the anonymity they’d been building for over a century.
Jeremy and Harold said their goodbyes and left the basement. When he heard car doors slam, Marcton said, “Not the brightest bulbs, I know, but they work like fucking dogs.”
“By the way, any word of disappearances tonight from your camp?” Kendul asked.
“Not that I’ve heard, no. I kinda forgot about that, actually, with everything else blowing up. You?”
“No. Weird. Maybe whomever or whatever’s responsible for punishing our transgressions has more on its mind tonight, too.”
Marcton looked worried. “Maybe. It’s still early, though, too.”
Kendul nodded. The moment passed, then:
“So,” Marcton said. “What now?”
The sky was darkening, and snow was still falling – hadn’t stopped in days, and showed no signs of doing so.
“Well,” Kendul said. “Since none of the king’s horses or men are coming, I’d say we have to put her back together again ourselves.”
“I don’t like the Humpty Dumpty analogy,” Cleve said. “Can we use Frankenstein instead?”
“You mean Frankenstein’s monster,” Kendul said.
“I mean fuck you,” Cleve shot back.
“Alright,” Marcton said, “Frankenstein’s monster, it is. So how we do it? I know you said you feel that she’s alive, Kendul – in your bones, or whatever – but she looks real fuckin’ dead to the rest of us.”
Kendul shot him a look, considered further arguments, but then just dropped his eyes. I’m so goddamn tired. Exhausted by all this. Just wiped the fuck out…
“So what do we do now?” Marcton said. “Just tell us. Just tell us.”
Kendul looked back up at Marcton and in that instant – in a brief flash of insight – knew the kid would make a good leader. Probably better than Palermo ever was. He couldn’t put his finger on what made him think it, but it was suddenly there in his mind, like a memory of childhood, brought back to the surface. Never gone, just buried for a while, but always true.
“Alright, look. I don’t know exactly how we do it, but we need something to bring her back to us. I said earlier that our ace in the hole could be the fact that Kyllo killed her father. I think that was wrong: it’s not our ace in the hole; it’s the only fucking card we’ve got.”
“Séance,” Cleve said.
“No,” said Kendul. “Not a fucking séance. Dipshit.”
“Fine, not a fucking séance. Then what?”
“I think we just need to tell her. That her father is dead. That we know who killed him. All of us. And she needs to know we truly need her.”
“Do we need to, like, hold hands and shit?” Bill said.
“Yes. Yes, we do,” Kendul said.
“Oh. Um. I was kind of joking, but… OK.”
Kendul reached out his hand toward Marcton. Marcton took it, clasped it tightly. Nodded. Marcton grabbed Cleve’s hand. Cleve took Bill’s. Bill took Kendul’s.
Every one of them wanted to make a joke to relieve the awkwardness, but no one did. Almost immediately, each man felt the thrumming Kendul had experienced – was experiencing stronger than ever now.
Snowflakes fell gently outside. Marcton watched it through one of the dirty basement windows, and just let whatever was happening fill him up. Some of the snow sifted down through the side of the house that bore no wall. It blew in under the basement door, drifted down the stairs.
“Adelina, we–” Marcton began.
“Shut up,” Kendul cut him off. “Just don’t. Doesn’t feel right. Just think. Just… thoughts.”
Silence wrapped the room so tightly, it felt like the air was being sucked out into the night.
And Adelina heard them.
She heard them loud and clear.
Adelina felt Kendul’s and the others’ presence like a soft blanket draped slowly over her body. As she concentrated on connecting to their thoughts, her world of mostly formless swirls and forks of lightning began to solidify into something more concrete. Something tangible.
Crumbling walls, rubble, and dirt crisped into her mind. I know this place, she thought. I know where this is. This is home. My home.
As the scene continued to sharpen, four men took shape along the walls. Kendul. Dad’s friend. That one I know. The others… have I seen them before? I can’t remember. But they’re familiar.
A warm feeling washed over her, then – the warmest feeling she’d had in as long as she could remember.
Their thoughts were intensely focused on something in the ground. Something in the dirt. Exposed.
And then Adelina saw what they saw.
At first, she only saw it as the horribly mutated machine it would appear to be to most people – even to her kind – but then memories flooded her brain, and she realized that this was her. This was her body. She was inside that thing.
Or could be.
That was also the moment she realized she’d been here all along. Stuck in the cold ground, dismembered, left to rot for years.
Why would they do this to me? What could I have done to deserve this?
But those memories would not return. The part of her that understood what all this meant – what she’d been manipulated into doing all along: the plan for Henry; the goal; what needed to be achieved – that part of her would not allow any of her experience to become truly distasteful.
Though she did not know why – or at least no conscious idea why – she was instrumental to what Henry was destined for. What he was made to do, to become.
Then, clear as a bell, this thought came to her, calming, serene: Something inside me set all this in motion. That thing that protected our people for so long. Hid us from prying eyes. It is different now, but taken root in me. It has become me. Henry is our future. Henry must survive at all cost. He is –
– a murderer, your father’s killer –
The thought slipped beneath her radar, inserted itself into her narrative. Coming from the four men:
– Kyllo killed your father –
– we need your help –
– we need you –
– No – the voice within her broke in: Kyllo must survive. He will redefine what you are. What we all are. He will reshape everything, bring about the end of –
Then back to the men again:
– come back, come back –
– he’s your father’s murderer, Adelina –
– you need to stop him, you need to –
Something like breath moved through the torso of the machine in the ground, and Marcton flinched back, tripped over busted concrete, chunks of dirt, fell flat on his back.
The other three men stared at the machine’s chest.
“Un-fucking-real,” Cleve said. He turned to Bill: “Did we do that? We fucking did that, didn’t we?”
“I think we may have fucking done that, Cleve,” Bill replied.
“Steady,” Kendul breathed. “Steady on.” He was concentrating on the torso now, directing his thoughts there specifically.
With Marcton out of the circle, still in shock, dazed, just staring, the remaining three men joined hands.
“Keep going,” Kendul said. “Focus.”
As true and as real as her previous thoughts had felt about Henry Kyllo needing to be protected, to be saved at all costs, these new thoughts were just as true and just as real: he killed her father. Rage boiled up inside her – a rage she was incapable of feeling until now.
When Palermo had died on the street outside that apartment building, she’d known it, felt it on some level, but the connection to Kyllo wasn’t there. The knowledge of who killed her father hovered and flitted at the edges of her subconscious like a hummingbird: gentle, almost unnoticeable, not wanting to be detected. And, as she now knew, actively not wanting to be detected. Actively hiding from becoming part of her memories, her psychological makeup.
But now, realizing where she was, what she really was, Kendul’s and the others’ words, desires made more sense to her, drove her more than this other, manipulative, voice. This was not some indistinct, vague endgame to be played out on a grandiose stage.
This was revenge, pure and simple, and it spoke to her like nothing before ever had.
The thrumming in her chest increased: she willed it to do so. She saw clearly what she was – an organic mechanical beast broken to pieces in the cold, hard earth – and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she wanted something deeply. Down to her core. She needed to experience something she’d been denied for years:
Life.
In whatever form that took. She wanted it.
And she would have it.
Marcton stood up, brushed himself off. “Sorry, got freaked out there.”
“It’s fine,” Kendul said. “Get back into the circle. Quickly.”
Marcton moved ahead to join the circle when a fullblown breath inflated the machine’s torso.
Inhale.
Exhale.
No one moved.
Then Cleve very quietly whispered, “Guys, should we try to reattach–”
And at that moment, Adelina’s three disembodied limbs rose up out of the dirt, shot toward her torso, and stuck fast to her joints.
“Jesus fucking fuck,” Marcton breathed.
“Never mind,” Cleve said.
Power churned inside Adelina’s chest. She felt herself fill with it. A strength she’d never felt before, never known was possible.
Was this what happened before, and then at some point I lost control, and people dismembered me?
Metal and rock-hewn shards on her face contracted, lifted, resembled a scowl of sorts. She would need to get used to this body. Try to control it this time.
“Um,” Marcton said. “What now?”
“Let’s give her some room,” Kendul said. “Come on.” He waved his arms. “Step back, stay up against this wall.” They moved against the farthest wall. Kendul reached over to the duffle bag he’d brought. He unzipped it, reached inside, produced four shotguns and a pile of ammo.
“Uhh,” Cleve said.
“Just a precaution,” Kendul said. “This is how me and Edward downed her the first time. Barely. Gotta aim for the joints.”
Each man took a shotgun, loaded it, stood and waited.
Minutes that felt like hours ticked by as Adelina’s mind got used to its host again. Still lying on her back in the dirt, she flexed her fingers, moved her enormous feet back and forth – no toes as such there, more just two slabs of steel with what looked like tread of some kind, like on a tank, except it didn’t move. She lifted a knee up, brought it back down.
The snow had been drifting down and in through the holes in the roof and the one downed wall, had been steadily gathering, more and more blowing in as the wind had intensified. There had been about an inch or two when they’d arrived, already there from the previous few nights’ snowfall, but enough now had accumulated that there were a few inches to either side of Adelina, and a solid dusting on top of her.
As she continued to experiment with her body, at one point it looked like she was attempting something specific. Cleve was the first to recognize it.
“Is she…” He trailed off, frowning.
Kendul smiled. “Yeah, I think she is.”
Marcton voiced it: “Snow angel.”
Adelina moved her arms up and down, her legs side to side. The movements made the ground shudder.
“Surreal,” Marcton said, turned to Kendul. “I gather this is not how shit went down the first time?”
“Absolutely not. Much more running, screaming, and general death that first time. This is preferable by far.”
That’s when Adelina sat up, and all four men who’d resurrected her caught their breath. Snow drifted down from her arms and midsection, revealing both blackened and gleaming metal.
The men just stared and waited. For death. Or, hopefully, something less permanent.
Adelina clicked her tongue a few times; it sounded almost like someone forging a sword.
“Adelina,” Kendul said, breaking the silence and startling his companions. He knew he had to keep it simple. Didn’t want to clutter up her mind with a bunch of pointless questions. “What do you need from us?”
Adelina blinked. Immense power coursed through her; she found it difficult to stem its flow. But her mind was calming, filtering information, only allowing through the parts of herself she recognized. Trying like hell to keep the weight of decades of her ancestry at bay. That’s what wanted in, she understood: History, she thought. Longevity. Continuation.
The big metal balls that were her eyes moved from side to side, taking the men in. They squirmed under her gaze.
“Kyllo,” was all she said: granite dragged across concrete. It was all she needed to say.
And the voice that said it sounded like it had been waiting to say that particular word all its life.