51

They went straight ahead, moving as quickly as they could until they reached the control room. There, Callie tried to key the door open. They were both surprised when it did open—apparently Briden had been confident enough that they wouldn’t make it that he hadn’t bothered to rekey the lock.

The control room contained a half dozen researchers, who all froze when they entered. Jensi waved his gun around, fired it once into the ceiling.

“Lift your hands above your heads,” he said. “No reason for anyone to get hurt.”

They mostly did, except for one man who hesitated. “He’s serious, Johnson,” Callie said to him. “He won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Slowly the man lifted his hands.

“There,” Jensi said. “Now, the two of us are going to enter the Marker chamber.”

“You can’t—” Johnson started.

“I’ve warned you once, Johnson,” Jensi said, his voice cold. “I won’t warn you again.”

Johnson didn’t speak again and nobody else moved. They continued slowly toward the door. “You’ll have to keep an eye on them,” said Callie in a low voice. “I’ve got to turn around long enough to press my hand to the keypad.”

Jensi nodded. He kept his gun trained at the scientists, sighting down the line of them and then back again. Behind him, he heard the scuff of Callie’s boots as she turned. Johnson, he saw, had started to lower his hands and he barked at him to keep them up and in place, and reluctantly he did. There was a beeping behind him, and Callie cursed. Then another, different beeping and the door slid open, and the two of them backed into the Marker room.

*   *   *

Inside it was strangely peaceful, strangely quiet. Istvan stood there alone beside the Marker, very focused, not seeming to notice them. Jensi felt his heart leap.

“Istvan, it’s me!” he called.

But his brother didn’t respond, didn’t even move. Jensi moved closer and repeated his words again, louder this time, and this time he watched Istvan slowly turn toward him, his eyes heavy and lidded.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Why do you look different from the other dead?”

Jensi paused, confused. “It’s me, Istvan,” he said. “Jensi.”

He watched as something changed in Istvan’s eyes. “Jensi,” he responded. “So you are dead now as well. How did you die? Or perhaps this is not a thing the Marker knows how to tell me in stealing your form.”

“Dead? What are you talking about? No, I’m here. I’m real,” said Jensi.

But Istvan didn’t seem to believe him. He stared at Jensi as if he were staring through him, then slowly shook his head. “No,” he said. “How can you be here? You can’t be here.” He turned and peered up at the Marker. “Of all the things you have made me see, this is the cruelest,” he said. “Give me another, not him.”

“I’ve had enough,” said Callie. “You’ve had your chance. You can see how crazy he is.”

“No,” said Jensi. “I’ve just found him. He’ll come around.”

“The time for talking is through,” she said. “You’ve had your chance and failed.”

“No!” said Jensi, and stepped between her and Istvan, beginning to move slowly toward her.

“Get out of the way,” she said, in a level voice. “It’s not pleasant but it needs to be done.”

“No reason to kill anyone,” he said, still moving slowly forward. “If you’ll just give me a few moments…” he said.

But Callie was already leveling the rifle at him. He leapt to one side, feeling the burn of it as the beam passed by him to singe the flesh off the outside of one of his shoulders. It hurt like hell. He spun and leapt again, this time into Callie, knocking her off her feet and onto the ground. The breath was knocked out of her, but she continued to hold the gun.

For a moment they struggled, he on top of her, both of them grabbing the gun and trying to pull it away from each other while in the background Istvan stood as motionless as the idol of a savage god. Jensi’s shoulder was aching now, and he could smell the stink of his own burnt flesh, and Callie below him had her jaw clenched determinedly and just refused to let go.

He reared up and raised his head and then brought it down hard, slammed it into her forehead. She cried out, her grip loosening. He raised his head again, struck again, and this time her eyes rolled up into her skull and she lost consciousness.

Even unconscious, her hands still gripped the gun. He almost had to break her fingers to get it away from her. He tossed it away from her and it skittered across the floor. Still breathing heavily, he heaved himself up and, clutching his shoulder, stumbled toward his brother.

*   *   *

It had been so long, and he had come so far. Here was his brother at last. Somewhere there, within this strange distracted false prophet, lurked his brother. He was there. He had to be.

He reached out and touched him. At first Istvan seemed not to notice but as Jensi kept his hand there he turned his body a little, trying to draw away from it.

“I’ve come for you, Istvan,” Jensi said. When Istvan didn’t respond, he continued. “I’m here to save you, to get you out of all this.”

By now Istvan had pulled fully away. Jensi took a step forward, pressed his brother’s shoulder again with his hand. “Istvan, it’s me, Jensi,” he said.

Istvan shrugged him off.

But Jensi was not to be denied. He came closer still and hugged Istvan, wrapped both his injured and uninjured arm around him and held on tighter this time.

“Istvan,” he said. “It’s really me. Can’t you see me? Can’t you remember?”

But Istvan was struggling to get away.

“All you have to do is look, brother,” said Jensi. “All you have to do is see me.”

Istvan gave a little grunt of anger and frustration. He pushed at Jensi’s head, but Jensi held on.

“Istvan,” he said. “I’m here for you.”

Istvan struck him very hard, in the face, but Jensi held on. He hit him again, and then again, and yet again, but still he held on. He hit him harder and harder, Jensi’s face growing bruised and bloody, his burnt shoulder cracking and bleeding as well. His head was growing loose on his shoulders, but still he held on.