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It was funny, thought Coup, how fast things could change—how an already tense situation could go from bad to worse, often with the addition of just a single element: in this case, the soldiers’ firing of a flare and his own spotting of the young woman in one of the creatures’ oddly human hands—a live woman. One who was battered and bloody, to be sure, and who’s clothes were shredded to the point of nudity, but who was, undoubtedly, horrifyingly, alive.
Alive; and screaming.
“Jesus,” he said, “They may not see her. We’ve got to warn—”
“I’m on it,” said Cameron, and sprinted for the stairs.
Halverson blocked him. “Uh, no. That’s a negative.” He touched the breast of his suit jacket over his weapon—softly, briefly. “They’ve got their orders. And they’re not blind, otherwise they would have opened fire already.”
“Now wait just a—” Coup protested.
“Yeah, I mean, what it’s hurt to tell them?” said Rory. “Jesus! There’s a woman out there!”
“Get him out here,” said the State Trooper, referring to the President. “Now.”
There was another thump and another ki-crack as the animal outside brushed its head against the glass.
“Do it, Halverson,” said the other agent. “This glass isn’t going to hold for—”
“It’s gonna hold just fine,” said Tucker, emerging from the back, placing his hands on the counter. (He did not, however, circle around it to join them.) “Because as soon as my boys get an opening, they’re going to open fire.” Carson appeared behind him as he looked at Coup directly. “Yes, I’ve been informed. And I hate to break it to ya, Coup,” He pointed at Ricky-Tik’s makeshift bed. “But that thing is going out the door. And it’s going to go out—right now.”
Everyone just stood there—it wasn’t exactly the type of thing you wanted to root for—and looked at each other. For one—at least if the soldiers didn’t shoot—it meant sending the things away while still in possession of the woman.
Those things roared as everybody looked on, one seeming to answer the other, vibrating the glass.
At last Abbie said, “Look, if it’s between my daughter and that—that thing, than I’m with the President, clearly.” She looked around the room, shaken almost to tears. “Well, for fuck’s sake! Isn’t everybody?”
“We—we are,” said one of the girls in Cameron’s group—the activists. “We’re ... we’re really scared.”
“Me too,” said Elliott. “I’m with the President, that is.” He lowered his eyes as the woman’s screams penetrated the glass. “Can’t say I feel too good about it, though.” He looked at Rory as if for affirmation, but the big, black man only shook his head.
“No way, man. No way. That girl’s still alive.”
“She’s not going to be alive for long,” said Tucker, jerking his head in anger, gesturing with a fist and index finger. “But it feels good to think so, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it? Typical Liberal thinking, folks, right there! Fortunately—for all of us—I’m still in charge. I am the President, you know. I won. And I’m ordering that animal put out. Now, Mr. Halverson.”
Long stepped forward. “You put that animal out ... and you’ll waft our scent straight into their nostrils. They don’t know we’re here—okay? Why shouldn’t we keep it that way?”
Tucker moved to speak, flushed with anger, then paused, reconsidering. He lifted his chin imperiously. “Okay. Okay, I’ve listened. And I don’t do that very often—just ask the fake news. All right. All right, fine. So you heard the man.” He glanced at Coup as if for spite. “Mr. Halverson—shoot that thing.”
And everything just stopped, all eyes turning toward the agent, who took out his gun and pointed it at Ricky-Tik—then cocked its hammer, slowly, steadily, making the sound of a rachet handle.
“This is grotesque!” shouted Rory, looking at Coup for support—but finding him distant, detached. “Speak up, man!”
But Coup only swayed, feeling as though the room were spinning. I’ve come to tell you what you need to do, Henry was saying—as though he were being replayed in his mind; as though he had been looped like a tape recording. What you need to be ... in order to survive.
He steadied himself and looked at Tucker, whom he saw in an instant of clarity as a man driven by invisible forces, a man who would do anything—virtually anything—to win; and then down at Ricky-Tik.
What you need to be ...
And then he was moving, acting—knocking Halverson’s gun hand away, scooping up the marsupial which hissed and protested but did not bite him, turning to face the others as he cradled it.
“And now,” he said, breathing heavily, “we’re going to just sit here and do nothing. And hope those soldiers, Bo and his men—hope they not only see her, but can find an opening.” He looked at the President. “Unless, of course, you want to have me executed?”
And then the soldiers did open fire, lighting up the gloom like some kind of discotheque, causing the beasts to jump and thrash about—and the one to drop its prey—before they spun rapidly and beat a retreat; yelping like whipped dogs, their long, dark tails whipping.
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“The girl,” said Rory, “Go!”
“Now wait a min—” began Halverson, but it was too late, the big man had already thrown open the door and piled out, followed by Elliott and Cameron, who had returned from the back of the store. Coup, meanwhile, seeing that they had the situation in hand, quickly hustled around the counter—cradling the creature—where he stepped over the clerk-thing even while disregarding Tucker and pushed the door to the storage area open, on the floor of which he placed the animal before snatching the key labelled ‘STORAGE’ from the rack and locking the room tight. Then he hurried back to the front of the store, tossing the key slightly and catching it as he passed the President—saying ‘Fuck you’ without actually saying a word.
“Halverson!” barked Tucker after a moment’s hesitation. “Stop that man. And secure that fucking door!”
But Coup had already burst through it, preceded by Long, both of whom quickly joined the others in gathering around the girl and forming a human shield—after which Rory lifted her in his arms and hustled toward the store even as the ground began to shake and raptors descended out of nowhere, leaping from the gloom like kangaroos, locking jaws about Elliott’s and Cameron’s heads, causing Elliott’s gun to discharge. Nor was that the worst of it, for when Rory and the girl reached the door they found that it had, indeed—and unbelievably—been locked.
“Rory!” shouted Coup as the concrete split apart and something exploded in the distance—something massive, like an atom bomb. “My car!”
And then the soldiers opened fire and the raptors scattered—at least one of them dropping, kicking the air—but they didn’t scatter far, taking refuge instead behind gas pumps and vehicles, which were visible now, if only vaguely, not because the fog had lifted but because whatever had exploded had lit the mists orange and red, like Hell.
“Move it!” barked Coup, holding the driver’s door, as Long piled into the backseat and Rory lifted the girl in—before going around to the passenger side and getting in himself.
“Holy shit!” said Long, craning to look out the back, and when Coup saw what he was looking at through the rearview mirror his heart nearly stopped; indeed, he had to turn and peer out his window to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.
Nor was he—for a great column of fire, or at least molten lava, had appeared amidst the gloom, the kind you might see spewing from a volcano in Hawaii ... only right there, about 10 miles away, where Patagonia would have been. It was joined by another as he watched, this one further away, and one more still, which may have been as far as Tuscan.
“My God, it’s like the whole world has flashed back—to primordia,” said Coup. “There’s just no way this can only be happening here.”
“And yet we have to entertain the possibility that it is,” said Long. “That, as they say, would be the good news. That there may be safety just across the border.”
“Come on!” blurted Rory. “There can’t be no one time on this side and a different time on the other. Talk sense!”
“So what’s the bad news?” asked Coup.
Long was looking out the rear window. “The bad news is ...” He turned to face Coup again. “That lava is starting to flow. And based on what I know of the geology of this area—we’re in a valley, you understand—it’s gonna flow this direction.”
Coup just looked at him, then turned to look at Rory. At last he locked eyes with Long again. “What does that mean? And how long do we have?”
“Assuming it’s basaltic lava, which is the most common, and taking into account the steep slope of the land, I’d say we have about a half-hour, tops.”
Coup looked at the darkened store. “And we’re locked out ... not to mention in a kind of civil war.”
“Locked out and without a weapon between us,” said Rory.
At which point the proverbial light bulb went off in Coup’s head and he remembered the shotgun, which was in the back and on the floor—at the girl’s feet. And he remembered something else; something that, if they could pull it off, might turn the tide against both the President and the dinosaurs.
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Tess noticed the change the instant she exited the restroom (where she’d vomited profusely from stress and fear): the distant red fountains, the hellish light—the fact that Coup was no longer in the room. That several people were no longer in the room.
“What—what’s happening?” she said, watching the volcanoes erupt, “And where’s Coup?” She looked around, scanning everyone’s faces, including the President’s, who only stared back at her, showing no signs of emotion.
At last Ashley stepped forward and said, “They—they’re outside. In the Mustang. They—they went out to get someone ... and were attacked. Elliott and Cameron were killed instantly.”
“Oh, my ...” said Tess, covering her mouth. She moved toward the windows. “Are the others all right? Why haven’t they come back in?” She tried to see into the car but it was impossible in the murky red gloom. “Jesus, we’ve got to get to them.” She glanced at the volcanoes and the glowing rivers of lava. “And then get the hell out of ...”
That’s when she felt it—the weight of everyone’s eyes; pressing down upon her, suffocating her, as though everyone was in on some funny secret—everyone but her. She turned around.
“Don’t we?” She looked around at everyone. “What the hell’s wrong with everybody? Say something!”
At last Tucker said, “Look, it’s a rough situation, no question about it. But what separates winners from losers is how a person reacts ... and how we’ve reacted is to secure that door until the guys up top can snipe those animals. Shouldn’t be long now, actually. Like I said, they’re great guys.”
Tess simply looked at him slack-jawed. “You’re planning on just leaving them there. While those volcanoes erupt. Because you think—”
“I’m planning on keeping that door secured, yes,” said Tucker, “until our boys can pick off the remaining—” He looked at Halverson. “What are they, again?”
“Velociraptors, sir. ‘Raptor’ for short. Like ‘Bird of Prey.’”
“What?”
“Raptors, sir. Like Jurassic Park.”
“I haven’t seen that. I hear it’s good, a lot of people say it’s good. I don’t know if that’s true or not; but it’s what a lot of people say. But yes, Miss —I didn’t catch your name—that door is going to stay—”
“There isn’t going to be a door when that lava gets here!”
“There’s going to be a door because that lava is going to cool—okay?” He leaned against the counter—his Presidential podium—as though he were exasperated. “I mean, that’s what lava does—it cools. It cools and eventually stops. Halverson and I have already discussed it.” He turned to address everyone, not just Tess. “Now I know some of you—Crazy Coup, I bet, for sure—have probably thought, ‘Why don’t we just make a run for it?’” He raised his arms as if to repeat the sentiment: ‘Why?’ “For the border, I mean. After all, it’s right there, isn’t it? It’s right there. We’re practically sitting on it. But I’m not going to do that. And, as your Commander in Chief, I’m not going to let you do it, either.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, adjusted his tie. “For one, Americans don’t run. That’s just not what made us great. It sure as hell aint what made us great again, that I can tell you. We may withdraw on occasion, as I directed us to in Syria, but we don’t run, and we sure as hell don’t crawl hat in hand to some shithole like Mexico—especially when they’re no more capable of dealing with this than is the greatest nation on earth—I mean, am I right, folks?”
And to Tess’ utter astonishment, people began to clap—Carson, of course, but also Ashley and Abbie and Cameron’s activist friends, not to mention the State Trooper and the two Secret Service agents.
“It’s true. It’s true. Let me hear it if you think I’m right!”
And they did, continuing to clap and to nod their heads, saying ‘Right on’ and slapping each other on the back, pumping their fists. During which time Tess met eyes with the good-looking dark-skinned kid—he couldn’t have been more than 19—Johnny, from Tuscan, and knew, based on his expression (and the fact that he wasn’t clapping), that he was the only sane person left.
And then they were moving, both of them, toward each other and toward the door, making a beeline as everyone clapped and the volcanoes spewed molten rock; as several shadows flitted across the window, like kites, like pterodactyls, after which the soldiers on the roof promptly opened fire.
“Oh, and Miss,” said Tucker, halting on a dime, turning to Tess and Johnny. “It’s only fair to tell you that if you take one more step toward that door ... I’ll have you shot.”
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Everything stopped: Tess and Johnny in their places; the clapping hands of Carson and the others; Tucker’s Man of the People revival speech—all of it—at least until Halverson came to his senses and pointed his gun at them—at Tess and Johnny; after which he was quickly emulated by the other agent and even the State Trooper, although the latter, to his credit, seemed to have done it on mere instinct, and just as quickly lowered his weapon.
“Appreciate the applause, folks, I really do. But I don't want applause. I want toughness and vigilance. Because while you were applauding look what almost got away.” He raised his chin imperiously, as though he no longer even needed to hide his worse nature. “They could be a buddy movie, don’t you think? Nasty Woman and Bad Taco. Aw, don’t look so upset, N.W. Over your life, you’ve been called a lot worse. Isn’t that right? Wouldn’t you say?”
Laughter—and again, not just from those whom Tess would have expected (Carson; the other Secret Service agent; Halverson) but from the women, from Ashley and Abbie and the blue and green-haired activist girls. As though their very minds had flashed back along with the rest of the world; as though they’d nothing left but their lizard brains; all critical thinking vanquished, all rational thought discarded.
And who was to say? Wasn’t it at least possible that a phenomenon that could turn back time (or, as in Henry’s case, push it forward) might also affect people’s minds? That even now they might be regressing to an earlier epoch—an earlier species?
“Look, I—” the State Trooper started to say, his eyes moist and distant, as though he were waking from a dream, “I don’t want to be a part of this, okay?”
“That’s fine,” said the President. “We’ve—we’ve got the situation well in hand. Just keep your gun down—okay? Can you do that for me? I hate to say this, but, well, you look ill, frankly. Why don’t you go on back and take a—”
And Tess bolted, followed immediately by Johnny—both of them scrambling for the door, both of them rapidly closing the gap, even as Halverson squeezed off a shot and hit Johnny in the back and the State Trooper aimed his weapon—not at Johnny but at Halverson—and was shot himself by the other agent.
Nor did the other agent survive, for he was shot in turn by the trooper as the cop slid down the wall, leaving a smear of blood. And it might have been over then—considering Tess had knelt to help Johnny—had Bo not burst into the room from the stairs and promptly raised his rifle: jerking it back and forth between the dying men quickly before settling on Halverson himself and barking, “Freeze! Drop it!”
But Halverson did not drop it; and in the blink of an eye the two men had faced off, even as blood spread from the trooper’s and agent’s corpses and the ground started to shake and palm-like cycad trees appeared out of nowhere, blending and entwining with coolers and store fixtures, standing floor to ceiling, turning the room into an indoor jungle.
A jungle in which Tess thought she saw—for the briefest of moments—not modern people disagreeing but hair-covered hominids, ape-like brutes, missing links—clashing as though one had invaded the other’s territory on the prehistoric steppes of Arizona.
Killing each other without even a hint of compassion—as they had more than 3 million years ago.
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It had never occurred to Tess that a tank was a kind of dinosaur, too—all thunder and fury and noise and weight—at least until one came rumbling toward the store’s front windows, haphazardly, drunkenly, rolling right over a Toyota Prius before its great canon struck the glass and shattered it inward and its leviathan tracks crunched through metal and glass. Then Halverson fired—Bo having been temporarily distracted by the sight of his own tank barrelling toward him—and the sergeant fell, dropping his rifle, struck in his left arm. And finally the tank ground to a halt, its hatch clanging open to reveal Coup, who said, apologetically, “That was an accident. Sorry.” After which Halverson pointed his pistol and quickly froze; for Rory had appeared in the other hatch—and trained the shotgun on him.
“Don’t lock us out again, Halverson,” said Coup. He changed tack abruptly. “Okay, listen up. The plan is to drive this thing straight through that border wall—into Mexico—where we have reason to believe we’ll be safe.” He glanced over his shoulder at the lava, as well as looking out for Nag and Nagaina. “But we’re a little rushed; so, if you’ll all be so kind as to just climb on board, we’ll get this show on the—”
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Tucker, regaining his composure (having hurriedly ducked behind the counter). “I didn’t give the order to evacuate. Halverson, I want those men taken down from there. Now.”
“There’s no time for this!” shouted Tess, still kneeling over Johnny. “He needs medical attention—and I mean now. It didn’t penetrate his chest or abdominal cavity, thank god,” She glanced at Halverson accusatorily, “But he’s bleeding internally and needs a hospital. If there’s a chance—”
“That there’s one in Mexico? There isn’t,” said Tucker, dismissing the possibility. “That I can promise you. Raw sewage in gutters, maybe. But not a—”
And there was a gunshot—crack, like that—which made everyone jump (and caused Rory to lurch forward in the gunner’s hatch, his shoulder bleeding), even as Halverson re-trained his pistol on Coup and moved to fire again—until there was another crack and his head fell open ... for he’d been shot himself by Briggs, who had drawn his sidearm and was supporting himself against the wall of the stairwell.
“Jesus,” said Tucker, looking down at the corpse, watching the blood and brains start to flow. “You murdered him. You just ... shot him down in cold blood.”
“I neutralized an enemy,” said the sergeant, and looked him straight in the eye. “Just like I’ll neutralize you ... if you don’t sit down and shut up.” He added coldly: “Consider it an armed coup.”
At last he turned to Cooper and said, “I can drive that tank ... if someone can get me to it. And I can show you how to operate that 50-cal.” He glanced out the hole in the front of the store. “But we need to hurry—it’s no good against magma.”
And everyone just launched into action, pow, like that, as though there’d been no disagreement at all, moving toward the tank rapidly (and yet orderly), gathering up and helping those who were wounded, lifting them onto the top of the turret even as Tucker slipped away and Carson followed after him. Moreover, they were successful, not only in replacing Long with Bo in the driver’s seat—although not before he was able to instruct Coup on the use of the 50-caliber machine gun—but also in fitting everyone in and on the tank, for a total of 12 people.
And indeed, they just might have made it (at least without further casualties) had Nag and Nagaina not suddenly returned—bursting through what was left of the storefront like prehistoric wrecking balls, thrashing their great, dark tails, picking off two of the activists immediately—before descending upon them all like a reign of thunder.
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Nor is it likely any of them would have survived—certainly not those outside the tank—if not for the same fluke of the Flashback which had led to Henry’s advanced age; although in this case, it wasn’t centered around a person but an animal—the very same creature Tess and Coup had rescued from the desert (and which Long had called a marsupial lion) —which sprang from the back room as the walls collapsed and faced off with the tyrannosaur-like dinosaurs boldly, having grown to full adulthood (and more, for it was the nature of the Flashback to render things large) so that it bore more in common with a Bengal tiger—or even a bear—than a mere rodent.
And then they were circling each other, the dinosaurs hissing and feinting as Ricky-Tik did the same, even as the tank backed out of the rubble and changed direction—heading for the Mexican border (which was only a few miles away), rumbling toward the spikes and moats of the Great Wall of America.
Nor had Long been correct in his estimation of the lava’s travel time, for it was there already, piling red and black at the edge of the parking lot, toppling Benito the Bandido with a crash, sending up smoke and embers as it rolled over the landscaping. And yet it was worse than that, for when Tess looked away from the circling animals she saw that some of the lava had already passed them—passed them via two narrow, fast-flowing channels—which, due to the shape of the land, had circumnavigated the store completely and flown together once again, only this time against a wide natural berm so that its course was altered completely and now blocked their path.
“Jesus, do you think he sees that?” she asked Coup (who was manning the 50-caliber next to her), having to shout over the engine. “What if he doesn’t—”
“I don’t think it will be a problem,” he hollered, “so long as we keep moving.” But his words belied the concern on his face, which told Tess he was worried about the same thing as she—that if they didn’t or couldn’t keep moving the tank would surely sink under its own weight.
And that is precisely what happened—but not before they’d made it almost all the way across, so that they were able to jump—even the wounded; even the little girl—to safety across the lava, and continue on foot. For the wall was clearly visible now, and what’s more, there were people on top of it, people who could render help—who could lower a ladder, maybe, or a rope, anything. None of which changed the fact that the main magma front was still coming, and fast—so fast that Tess wasn’t sure if they could outrun it, especially with their wounded in tow.
And that’s when she saw something she would never forget, three somethings, actually, one no more incredible than the next. The first was that the marsupial lion had engaged with the much-larger therapods in a full-on melee, right there between the store and the gas pumps—an entire row of which were wiped out as she watched with just the swish of a tail. The second was the enormous fireball that resulted, which all but flattened the station and rose curling upon itself like a mushroom cloud, hiding the animals from view (if indeed they survived at all). And the third was the President’s black limo (Cadillac One, she knew it was called, or “The Beast”) barreling toward them across the desert—its tinted windows glinting, its fender flags on fire, and driven, it seemed likely (considering most everyone else was dead), by the President himself.
“Well that’s something you don’t see every day,” she said, and looked at Coup, who only shrugged.
“When you gotta go, you gotta go,” he said. “He went.”
“But don’t you see?” said Abbie, barely able to control her excitement. “That thing’s big enough to hold all of us.” She started jumping up and down and waving her arms, enthusiastically. “Hey! Over here! D.C. or bust!”
And, save for Tess and Coup, as well as Long, Rory and Bo (all of whom had had their fill of Donald J. Tucker) the others promptly joined in, hooting and hollering excitedly, hitching their thumbs, acting as though they were saved even though the wall was still at least half a mile away and the main wave of lava was coming fast—fast enough that it could be seen in the distance preceded by the two dinosaurs, which were running to escape it.
But the Presidential limo did not slow down, not before the berm and the river of lava, which was to be expected if he (they, assuming Carson was with him) wanted to get across, on bare rims, if necessary—nor after, and it didn’t take his fan club long to realize that their President had left them for dead, nor that the dinosaurs were rapidly closing and that behind them was a fast-moving wall of molten rock.
And then they were running, only Tess and Coup and Long bothering to help the wounded, and they’d gotten to within about thirty yards of the wall when the earth broke open like a loaf of bread and swallowed the front of Tucker’s car whole; leaving it angled like a rocket, steaming like a manhole cover, from which the two men emerged battered and bloody and quickly scrambled for the wall—waving their arms, crying for help—even as a Mexican soldier shouted down to them to stop and fired when they refused, hitting the President in the leg and the arm, dropping him like a sack of rocks. After which two men could be heard arguing in Spanish and there were more gunshots, followed by a body tumbling end over end into the moat and splashing, until at last a new voice shouted, “Es seguro! It is safe! Please, come on ahead—but hurry! Prisa! Prisa!”
And they hurried, even as ropes and floatation devices were lowered and at least one ladder—which Coup used, after helping everyone else get across, to transport Johnny, climbing rapidly as the wounded man clung to his back. Until, finally, they’d squeezed through the spikes and gained the gangway—all of them—where Coup and Tess and Long began hollering for Tucker and Carson (who had entered the moat) to do the same.
Which, of course, is what they were trying to do—Carson helping Tucker—in spite of the President’s wounds making it nearly impossible; nor were the large men (one with debilitating bone spurs) particularly suited for such work; indeed, Carson was consistently pushed down as he tried to help his floundering hero. Until at last the flamboyant rancher could be seen no more and it was only Tucker, reaching for a rope with his good arm; trying to stay afloat in the moat which had been his own idea; facing the wall which had been built to his own specifications. “One of the greatest achievements in human history,” he’d said at the time of its completion, “The Eighth Wonder of the World ...”
—until Nag and Nagaina descended without warning and without pity and the one bit him about the head and shoulders while the other clamped its jaws about his legs—and they backed away from each other; the result being that he was torn in half like mozzarella cheese: his muscles and ligaments stretching and breaking, his liver and gallbladder and spleen twisting and bursting, exploding; his intestines piling out of him like worms, like snakes, floating upon the bloody water, spreading out like questing tentacles, his blood which was so dark as to be almost black gurgling and bubbling up from his mouth, running from his nose, during which he screamed, gargling, “Enjoy the fucking shit-hole! Enjoy the fucking shit-hole!” and was gone, carried away by Nag and Nagaina even as the lava began to slow and cool and Tess turned away, clawing at her eyes—as Coup grabbed her and held her, trying to comfort her, trying to tell her it was going to be all right, and Ricky-Tik, far in the distance, ascended to the top of the wreckage with a pterodactyl in his mouth and dropped it—howling at the sun which was like an angry god, roaring victoriously, triumphantly.
––––––––
As it turned out, it was safe in Mexico; or at least that was the view from their cage, which they’d been languishing in now for several days. Still, there was plenty of room, in part because “Johnny” (who was in reality a Mexican national named Miguel Francisco) had already been processed and released. Nor was the food bad—indeed, some of it was quite good—or the water contaminated; in fact, considering the sheer number of refugees they’d had to deal with, Coup was amazed at the Mexican response. And yet it was a curious thing to live as a prisoner—however benign one’s jailer—one of those things a person couldn’t really understand until it happened to them personally; until the big, metal door swung shut and there you were, alone. Nor had Tess’s presence completely mitigated this, although what he would have done without her was anyone’s question.
She came to him then and they looked out at the processing center together, something they’d done a lot of over the last several days—each wondering what the future held; and each wondering if they were truly safe. When at last she spoke she did so quietly, almost reverentially.
“You were smiling in your sleep last night, did you know that? It was a look of sheer bliss. I thought maybe you were getting lucky.”
He grinned a little at that, but didn’t respond, at least not right away. At length he said, “I got lucky the day I saw you hitchhiking. But, no, no, it was something quite different. I dreamed I saw Henry Becker, and that he was young again, and with his wife. Isn’t that weird? Her name was Amal.” He turned to look at her, thoughtfully, dreamily. “I knew that in the same way I knew you, even before I knew you. In the same way I knew Bo and his men—God bless them—were A.W.O.L. I just ... knew it, somehow. I—I can’t explain it.”
“Don’t try,” she said, and leaned close, kissing him. “If the Flashback has taught us anything, it’s that none of that matters. What matters is right here. Right now. I had a dream myself, you know ...”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. That first night in the processing center. When we were spooning beneath that burlap blanket.”
“I wanted to do a lot more than spoon.”
“I know, I know. So did I. And it got me thinking, about all the little babies of the Flashback, and how many will be born approximately nine months from now, when the conceptions of men and women huddled together in fright, in the dark, with only each other for protection, all come into the world at once. And I thought, isn’t that nice? That something so wonderful could come from something so bad. That ... there was a reason we felt such a need to protect Ricky-Tik, we just didn’t know it yet. There might even have been a reason why Tucker was so filled with hate; though an awful reason, I suppose, because it implies he was born to die—but how would we have made it down from that wall if he hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t, I don’t know, sacrificed himself, in a sense? Though unwillingly. Because surely those monsters would have—”
“That’s called a eucatastrophe,” said Coup, and smiled, shaking his head. “I used to use them in my writing. You ever read The Lord of the Rings?”
She grinned as though he were being silly. “Of course ...”
“Well, Gollum’s a eucatastrophe, kept alive so he can die, essentially, and thus save the others. Leastwise that’s how I’ve always interpreted it.” He laughed, still shaking his head. “Stick with me, by the way, and that’s as good as it gets. Useless writer facts.”
“That and changing your adult diapers down the road?”
“At my 48 to your twentysomething? At best,” he said.
Then she put her arm around him and said, simply, “Tomorrow is not promised.”
“Yeah,” he said, looking out at the camp. “Amen to that.”
And neither of them noticed, not yet, anyway, that someone from their group was missing. That the activist girl had, unbeknownst to anyone, simply vanished without a trace. Nor, for that matter, that a tiny dinosaur, one that was no larger than a duck, had appeared in the cage across from them—where it was foraging through the refugees food even as they slept.