Marlow didn’t know how much later it was that the van shuddered to a halt. It might have been minutes, it felt like days. He lifted his head, the world gradually coming into focus. Pan lay beside him, her head resting on his chest, and she stirred too, blinking like she’d just woken. It only took a couple of seconds for her expression to harden and she scowled as she pushed him away. She looked in shock, though, her whole body trembling, her chattering teeth the loudest sound in the sudden quiet.
Marlow struggled up, groaning. He felt like he’d just run an Ironman race, every single muscle aching. He eased his head left, then right, the tendons so tight they might snap. He couldn’t make out much from down here but he could see blue skies and he could hear seagulls, the soft lap of waves. Warm, musty air seeped in through the van’s broken windows and he inhaled deeply, doing a good impression of bagpipes. He reached for his inhaler, pressing it until the tightness began to ease. How many shots were left? Ten, twenty at a push.
“Everyone okay?” Herc said softly, like he didn’t want to give anyone a fright. He looked around, his pale face catching the light that streamed in through the windshield.
“Yeah,” spat Pan. “I’m great, just dandy.”
She pushed past the others, grabbing the handle and pulling hard. The van must have taken a beating on the drive because the door was wedged tight.
“Truck?” Pan said. “You think you might want to make yourself useful for a change?”
The big guy didn’t reply, just stared at something only he could see, his eyes crusted with dried blood, making it look like he was wearing clown makeup. Pan kicked him, and not gently.
“Hey, Truck, I’m talking to you.”
He snapped out of his trance and it seemed to take him a moment to work out where he was. He lumbered to his feet, ducking low to stop his head going through the roof. Grunting, he gave the door a shove and it snapped off like it was made of plywood and clattered across the asphalt. Pan jumped out, standing in the sun, a breeze kicking up her short hair.
“You’re welcome, Truck,” said Truck, speaking in a falsetto that was still deeper than most men’s voices. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Truck. Man, you’re so strong, Truck. You’re my hero, Truck.”
The van rocked wildly on its suspension as he followed Pan. Night was next, taking Truck’s outstretched hand as she skipped nimbly onto the pavement. Marlow wanted to go too—the van stank of smoke and sweat, reminding him of what he’d seen outside the school.
Yeah, said his head, and what was that?
It had seemed like the end of the world. Something unimaginable—literally, even now, knowing what he saw, he couldn’t picture it. When he tried to look back all he could make out was a black hole in his memory, like somebody had gone at it with a pair of shears. He clamped his teeth around the skin of one dirty knuckle, chewing, grateful to the pain for distracting him.
“That was … something,” said Charlie beside him. When he turned to his friend now he barely recognized the boy. Charlie’s face was drawn and haggard, his eyes so bloodshot they didn’t look human. “Please tell me I was high.”
Marlow would have laughed if he could remember how. Herc leaned over the back of the seat, studying the girl from the school—who was still out cold—and then them. His scarred brow creased into a frown.
“Please tell me I’m still high,” said Charlie.
“You in one piece?” Herc asked Marlow. Marlow didn’t know what to say, just nodded. As an afterthought he patted his legs, his chest, his crotch, just to make sure. Everything seemed to be where it was supposed to be. Herc coughed, wiping his mouth with his fist. “You know this guy.”
“Who, Charlie?” Marlow said. “Yeah, of course. He’s a friend.”
“Shame,” said Herc.
“Huh?” Marlow and Charlie asked together.
“Nothing. Come on.” Herc rubbed the back of his neck, grumbling, then he popped open his door and stepped out. Marlow could hear him talking about a helicopter as he strode across the lot.
Marlow stood, gritting his teeth against the pain. He hadn’t gone far before Charlie’s arm shot out, grabbing his wrist. In the half-light of the van his eyes looked huge.
“Marlow,” was all he said, but there was a question there. Marlow put a hand on top of his friend’s, holding tight.
“It’s okay,” he said, then he snorted. “Actually, it’s not okay, not even close. I can’t explain it, but these guys can.”
He helped Charlie up and they crept across the van, jumping down into a small parking lot. His nose told him where he was before his eyes, the instantly recognizable bittersweet aroma of the Fresh Kills landfill. The van was parked by the river, shielded by a platoon of bulldozers and a mountain of warehouses beyond. On the other side of the water were the rolling hills, trees, and wildflowers of the Island of Meadows, and just looking at them made Marlow’s chest feel a little looser, like he was standing in the countryside and not on the ass end of Staten Island. He took a deep breath through his nose, held it, then exhaled through his mouth—something his mom had taught him to do when he felt an attack coming on, when he needed to calm down. It sounded a bit like he was playing a kazoo.
Everyone was milling around, a collective unwinding. Pan stood right on the edge of the dock, hands on her hips, staring at the horizon, and even after what he’d seen, even though everything he thought he knew was falling apart, he couldn’t help but admire the sight.
“Yeah, now I know how you got embroiled in this mess,” said Charlie. The smallest of smiles danced around his mouth, a butterfly looking to land. Marlow felt his cheeks heat up and he waved his friend’s words away. Charlie breathed a laugh through his nose. “Always told you chasing tail would land you in trouble, just didn’t imagine it quite like this.”
“Tell me about it,” said Marlow.
“I thought you said you weren’t interested,” said Herc. He was stooped over against the van, looking even older than he had when Marlow had first met him. Out here, in the sun, each of his scars seemed to glow. There were so many of them that he looked like he’d been sewn together from scraps of other people’s skin. “In door number one.”
“Please tell me what he’s talking about,” said Charlie.
“Why don’t you?” Marlow asked. “Tell us, I mean. I think we deserve it. Saved your asses back there.”
Herc nodded reluctantly.
“Hey, Pan,” he said. She didn’t reply and he shouted her name again, three times, until she turned and glared at him.
“What?”
“I think we need to talk.”
“Yeah?” Pan said, marching toward them. Her face was so full of rage that Marlow took a subtle step back, shielding himself behind Charlie. “About what? About the fact that he was there? About the fact that he nearly caught us. Jesus Christ, Herc, what the hell was Ostheim thinking? He landed us right in it just so we could use this scrawny asshole as bait, just because there was a small chance we might catch a fish.”
“Wait, what?” said Marlow.
She ignored him, jabbing a finger at Herc. “He had no right to do that. You know what would have happened, another five seconds and we’d be finished. We’d be worse than dead, Herc.”
She wiped her eyes with her hand, tears leaving trails in the dirt on her face.
“Five more seconds. First Forrest, now this. He’s getting dangerous, Herc. Ostheim’s risking everything. He’s going to send us all to hell.”
Herc sighed again, toeing the dirt with his boot.
“Who was he?” Marlow asked. “I mean, what. Or who. I don’t know.”
“Oh,” said Pan, shooting him a look that could have left an exit wound the size of a fist in the back of his skull. “You suddenly decided you want in? Last thing I remember is you clucking out the door like a chicken.”
“Yeah?” Marlow snapped back. “Last thing I remember is using a beat-up crossbow from World of Warcraft to shoot some bug-eyed freak in a big-ass evil bubble cloud.”
They eyeballed each other for a moment, the anger boiling up from Marlow’s gut. His hands hurt and he realized that his fists were balled so tight that his nails were digging into his palms. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to punch the girl or kiss her.
“No you didn’t,” she said. “You were about to shoot yourself in the foot. Lucky I was there.”
Definitely punch her.
“Why do I feel like I’m missing the joke?” said Charlie. “What happened with you guys?”
“No,” Marlow said, waving his hands in the air like a conductor. “Just start from the beginning. Tell me the stuff you forgot to mention the other day. I need to know.”
Herc and Pan shared a look.
“You sure you’re ready?” Herc asked. “You won’t believe it.”
Marlow laughed, but there was no humor there. After what he’d seen in the last forty-eight hours or so it was impossible to know what he believed. Herc took a step back and looked expectantly at Pan. She seemed about to argue, then her shoulders sagged and she stared back out at the horizon. It took her an age to start speaking.
“What would you say if I told you there was a machine that could grant any wish?”
“I’d say wait right there while I call the DEA,” said Charlie. “Because you’re obviously smoking something pretty whack.”
Nobody laughed. Pan didn’t even acknowledge the comment.
“A machine that can do anything,” she went on. “That can make you … superhuman.”
“Come on,” said Charlie. “That’s bullsh—”
“Truck,” Pan yelled across the parking lot. The big guy was leaning against a bulldozer, sipping water from a bottle. “Show them, like they haven’t already seen it.”
Truck swallowed, replaced the cap on the bottle, then grabbed the bulldozer by its caterpillar tracks and lifted. It tilted up at a forty-five degree angle, the frame groaning in outrage. He held it for a few seconds, then let it go. It crashed back down, swaying back and forth like a rocking chair. Truck wasn’t even breaking a sweat, just went back to his drink.
“Got no sense of adventure, that guy,” Pan said. “Same deal every time. Hey, Night,” she called to the girl sitting on the dock. “Got a sec?”
Night nodded, then in a sudden blur of motion she was right next to them. Charlie actually squealed, staggering back in shock. Even though Marlow had witnessed it in the school he had to clamp his mouth shut to stop his jaw landing on his toes. Here, in broad daylight, away from the panic and the violence, it was just insane. What he was seeing was impossible. Nobody could move like that—the sheer force of acceleration would snap your neck like a twig.
“What?” Night said, panting slightly.
“Nothing,” Pan replied. Night frowned, mouthed whatever, then sped back to the riverside, a blur of color that reminded Marlow of a kingfisher he’d seen once on television.
“This can’t be … It can’t be real, Marlow,” said Charlie. He didn’t look shocked anymore, or even surprised. He just looked sad, like somebody who’s discovered the universe has been playing a trick on them.
“It’s real,” said Pan, walking to the van, checking on the girl inside, then pulling a bottle of water from a duffel bag. She chucked it to Marlow and he snatched it out of the air, screwing off the cap and taking a deep pull. Only now did he realize how thirsty he’d been, his mouth like sandpaper, so dry that it crackled as the water filled it. He downed three-quarters of the bottle before remembering Charlie, handing the rest to him. He took it but didn’t drink, just let it hang by his side as Pan rejoined them.
“But how?” Marlow asked, feeling like his batteries had been recharged, the water making everything less fuzzy.
“The truth is, we’re not sure,” Pan said. “All we know is that this machine, the Engine, it’s something older than time, something that … that doesn’t belong in this world. It was discovered during the war, beneath the streets of old Europe. Nobody knows who built it. To be honest, nobody even knows how anyone could build it. So far we’ve counted over eight hundred million moving parts, and there are sections of the machine we’ve not even gotten near yet.”
“A machine?” said Marlow. “I don’t get it.”
“Then maybe let me finish?” Pan said. Marlow held up his hands in surrender.
“The Engine … It’s hard to describe, you need to see it for yourself. There are so many moving parts it’s more like a … like a creature than a machine. It’s almost intelligent.” She shuddered and Marlow could see the goose bumps erupt on her arms. She rubbed them away, still staring into space. “It can give you anything. All you have to do is wish for it. Strength, like Truck, or the ability to run faster than sound, like Nightingale there. I’ve been invisible, I’ve had the ability to read minds, to control them. I’ve been able to fly.” She smiled, obviously remembering something good.
“You’ve come back from the dead,” said Marlow, and her smile vanished like a mouse that’s seen a hawk’s shadow. She glared at him like it was his fault, then nodded.
“Yeah, it can do that too. It can do pretty much anything.”
“But how?” asked Charlie. “How is that possible?”
“Because it’s not something human,” she replied.
“Alien?” Charlie said.
Pan shook her head. “No. Not that we can work out anyway. Not alien.”
“Then what?” said Marlow.
“Something worse,” she said. “You ever heard of Faust?”
The name rang a bell but Marlow couldn’t remember from where.
“Sounds like a player,” said Charlie.
Pan shook her head in disgust.
“It’s a story,” she said. “About a guy who makes a deal with Satan.”
“And what’s that got to do with…” Marlow started, then frowned. It felt like something dark and cold had burst inside his stomach. “Wait, what are you saying?”
Pan kicked the dirt, wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her eyes caught the sun and there might have been tears there.
“It’s what the Engine does,” she said. “It lets you make a deal with the Devil.”