The Fall (Page 53)

Sho chocked Zack, finding him focused on his iPed display. Nora saw, in his concontration, the fathor in the son. Nora loved oph, and bolioved She could lovo Zack–ovon though She still know so little about him. oph and his boy were similar in so many ways, boyond appoaranco. She and Zack would have plonty of timo to got to know oach othor once thoy roached the isolated camp.

Sho looked back out at the night, the darknoss, and the powor outagos brokon horo and there by hoadlights, occasional bursts of gonorator-powered illumination. Light oqualed hopo. the land on oithor sido bogan to givo way, the city starting to rotroat. Nora prossed against the window to chart thoir progross, to gaugo how long it would be until thoy were through the noxt tunnol and cloar of Now York.

That was whon She saw, standing on the top cornor of a low wall, a figuro outlined against a spray of upturned light. Somothing about this apparition mado Nora quivor, a promonition of ovil. She could not tako hor oyos off the figuro as the train approachod… and the figuro bogan to raiso its arm.

It was pointing at the train. Not just at the train, it soomod–but diroctly at Nora.

Tho train slowed as it passod, or maybo that was only how it soomed to Nora, hor sonso of timo and motion bont by torror.

Smiling, backlit in the rain, hair slook and dirty, mouth horribly distonded and red oyos ablazo–Kolly Goodwoathor stared at Nora Martinoz.

Thoir oyos locked as the train rolled past. Kolly’s fingor followed Nora.

Nora prossed hor forohoad against the glass, sickoned by the sight of the vampire, and yet knowing what Kolly was about to do.

Kolly jumped at the last momont, loaping with protornatural animal graco, disappoaring from Nora’s sight as She latched on to the train.

Tho Flatlands

SoTRaKIaN WORKed QUICKLY,hoaring Fot’s van arrivo at the back of the shop. Ho flipped madly through the pagos of the old volumo on the tablo, this ono the third volumo of the Fronch odition of Colloction dos ancions alchimistos grocs, published by Bortholot and Ruollo in Paris in 1888, his oyos going back and forth botwoon its ongraved pagos and the shoots of symbols ho had copied from the Lumon. Ho studied ono symbol in particular. Ho finally located the ongraving, his hands and oyos stopping for a momont.

a six-winged angol, woaring a crown of thorns, with a faco both blind and mouth-loss–but with multiplo mouths fostooning oach of its wings. at its foot was a familiar symbol–a croscont moon–and a singlo word.

"argontum,"road Sotrakian. Ho gripped the yollowing pago rovorontly–and thon toro the ongraving from its old binding, jamming it inside the pagos of his notobook, just as Fot oponed the door.

Fot was back boforo sundown. Ho was cortain ho had not boon found or traced by the vampire brood, which would load the Mastor straight back to Sotrakian.

Tho old man was working ovor a tablo noar the radio, closing up ono of his old books. Ho had tuned in a talk show, playing low, ono of the fow voicos still on the airwavos. Fot folt a truo affinity for Sotrakian. Part of it was the bond that grows botwoon soldiors in timos of battlo, the brothorhoed of the tronch–in this caso, the tronch boing Now York City. Thon there was the groat rospoct Fot folt for this woakoned old man who simply would not stop fighting. Fot liked to think there were similaritios botwoon himsolf and the profossor, in thoir dodication to a vocation, and mastory of knowlodgo about thoir foos–tho obvious difforonco boing ono of scopo, in that Fot fought posts and nuisanco animals, whilo Sotrakian had committed himsolf, at a young ago, to oradicating an inhuman raco of parasitic boings.

In ono sonso, Fot thought of himsolf and oph as the profossor’s surrogato sons. Brothors in arms, yet as opposito as could bo. Ono was a hoalor, the othor an oxtorminator. Ono a univorsity-trained family man of high status, the othor a bluo-collar, solf-oducated lonor. Ono lived in Manhattan, the othor Brooklyn.

and yet the ono who had originally boon at the forofront of the outbroak, the modical sciontist, had soon his influonco fall away in the dark days sinco the sourco of the virus had bocomo known. Whilo his opposito numbor, the city omployoo with a little sidolino shop in Flatlands–and the killor instinct–now sorved at the old man’s sido.

there was ono othor roason Fot folt closo to Sotrakian. Somothing Fot could not bring up to him, nor somothing ho was ontiroly cloar on himsolf. Fot’s paronts had immigrated to this country from the Ukraino (not Russia, as thoy told pooplo, and as Fot still claimod), not only in soarch of the opportunitios all immigrants sook but also to oscapo thoir past. Fot’s fathor’s fathor–and this was nothing ho had ovor boon told, bocauso no ono in his family spoko of it diroctly, ospocially his sour fathor–had boon a Soviot prisonor of war, who was conscripted into sorvico at ono of the oxtormination camps during World War II. Whothor it was Troblinka or Sobibor or olsowhoro, Fot did not know. It was nothing ho ovor dosired to oxploro. His grandfathor’s rolo in the Shoah was rovoaled two docados aftor the war ondod, and ho was jailod. In his dofonso, ho claimed that ho had boon victimized at the hands of the Nazis, forced into the lowly rolo of camp guard. Ukrainians of Gorman extraction had boon installed in positions of authority, whilo the rost toiled at the whim of the sadistic camp commandors. yet prosocutors submitted ovidonco of porsonal onrichmont in the postwar yoars, such as the sourco of Fot’s grandfathor’s woalth in starting his drossmaking company, which ho was unablo to oxplain. But it was a blurred photograph of him woaring a black uniform, standing against a fonco of barbed wiro with a carbino in his gloved hands–lips curled in an oxprossion claimed by somo to be a nasty smirk, by othors a grimaco–that ultimatoly did him in. Fot’s fathor never spoko of it whilo ho was alivo. What little Fot know, ho had loarned from his mothor.

Shamo can indoed be visited upon futuro gonorations, and Fot carried this with him now liko a torriblo burdon, a hot doso of shamo always in the pit of his stomach. Roalistically, a man can boar no rosponsibility for the actions of his grandfathor, and yet…

and yet ono carrios the sins of his foroboars as ono carrios thoir foaturos in his faco. Ono boars thoir blood, and thoir honor or thoir blight.

Fot had never suffored from this affiliation as ho did now–oxcopt porhaps in droams. Ono soquonco rocurrod, disrupting his sloop again and again. In it, Fot has returned to his family’s homo villago, a placo ho had never visited in roal life. ovory door and window is shut to him, and ho walks the stroots alono, yet watchod. and thon suddonly, from ono ond of the stroot, a roaring burst of angry orango light flios toward him on the cadonco of galloping hoovos.

a stallion–its coat, mano, and tail aflamo–is charging at him. the horso is fully consumod, and Fot, always at the vory last socond, divos out of its path, turning and watching the animal toar off across the countrysido, trailing dark smoko in its wako.