Quasi'll do whatever Hannah asks him to do. You know that. Let me OUT!
She'll die if we do that.
So fucking what? WE'LL live.
Puppetman shook the bars. They bent under the pressure, creaking. Gregg's head felt as if it was about to crack, and all the poison inside would come pouring out, all the pain and death he'd accumulated over the years, pouring out like a vile river, pulsing and hot as lava. OUT! Puppetman screamed, and the power burst from Gregg's hold. He could see it, a physical presence, a smoky, wraith-like creature that rode the strings connecting Gregg to the others. Fuck you, Greggie! You never controlled me. Never! Puppetman flew toward Hannah, already pulling the strings to her mind, and Gregg leapt after it. His stubby arms reached out, and the puppet's mittens of hands clenched at the power's body. He caught hold, and Puppetman wrenched in his grasp, turning and twisting as it tried to escape.
Goddamn you! You can't do this to her. You can't.
You can't stop me, Greggie!
"Gregg, what's the matter with you? What the hell's going on?" Hannah cried out as Gregg, his body contorted from the effort of holding Puppetman, went caroming around the room. "Gregg!" He caught a glimpse of Quasi's face, mouth gaping wide in surprise.
"He's gone crazy," the Black Dog said, levering himself onto his feet. Blood soaked his fingers and his clothes. "He's fighting himself."
Puppetman scrabbled for Hannah, its ebon fingers clutching her strings desperately. Gregg pulled it back, slamming Puppetman against the bomb's truckbed. With each blow, its face changed, an endless parade of faces, each of them someone he'd taken as a puppet: Peanut, Kahina, Hiram Worchester ... Stop! You're hurting me! each of them screamed, but Gregg continued. "Quasi!" Gregg shouted over his shoulder. "Take her! Go!"
Quasi shook his head as if lost, then reached out with powerful hands and pulled Hannah to him. "Go on!" Gregg shouted again.
"Gregg, we can't - " Hannah began.
If the initial explosion isn't shaped exactly the right way, or if it goes off early or late, then ... Puppetman heard Gregg's thought also, and the power redoubled its efforts to get free. You can't do that! I won't let you toss away my life like that. You want to do something a little good here, fine. You want to kill as few people as possible, great. Let HER do it - we can make her, we can twist her around until she fucking BEGS you to go ...
"Damn it, don't you understand? We can do something right. We can finally, really, do something right," Gregg answered, without realizing that he spoke aloud. Puppetman struck at him with ghostly fists. The power writhed, changing shape: now it was Ellen's tormented shape before him, hading in her hands their dead child, and Gregg wailed. "No!"
"Gregg - "
"Get out of here!"
Gregg found the strings that led from Puppetman to Hannah He began to tear them loose of the power, bloodily, his hands digging into the creature's death-cold entrails. Puppetman wailed as they tore loose. You can't do this!
In Quasiman's arms, Hannah looked back at Gregg, her eyes wide with uncertainty and guilt, and both he and Puppetman felt her decision crystallize in the midst of the shades even as he pulled free the last of the strings. "Gregg, I lo - " Hannah stopped.
"I know," he told her, panting, holding the power back even as it twisted and clawed, as it attempted to stuff the strings back into itself. He could hear the screaming: in the voice of Mackie Messer, of Andrea, of Succubus, of Chrysalis and Gimli and Sarah Morgenstern. It screamed in Gregg's voice, the voice Gregg had once had. "I've always known. Now please go. Quickly."
And then she and Quasiman were gone. The only sound was the Black Dog's labored breathing and the silent screaming of Puppetman, inside.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Ray headed for the nearest manhole cover, pulled it up, and climbed down. Inside the tunnel it was dark and cool, almost restful. He was tempted to close his eyes for a moment, but he knew that if he closed them now he never would open them again.
Don't. Quasiman had said ... and somehow Ray had known.
He plunged into the tunnel, cursing the Fists and their crazy leader. The bastard must be planning to use the nuke to sterilize the city, to bomb the Black Trump out of existence. Him and Hartmann and that Bimbo Hannah Davis. Who the hell had appointed them God?
As he ran he passed others in the tunnels. Some were running, too. Others' running days were over. He stopped some, demanding to be led to the bomb, demanding to see the Black Dog, but they either didn't know or were too far gone in disease or panic to help him.
He was past desperation - desperation would have been peace of mind compared to the state he was in - when he finally ran into the familiar face he was praying for.
"Owl! Owl! It's me, Mumbles. Billy Ray!"
The teenager looked up from where he was slumped in a niche in the corridor. At first Ray thought the kid was sick or delirious, but when he grabbed him and looked close he saw that Owl had just been crying.
"Owl, snap out of it! I need help!"
"I ... I can't find anyone," he sobbed. "I can't find Needles or Zoe. Jellyhead is gone and Jan and Angel. I don't want to die alone!"
"It's all right, kid." For a second he crushed Owl to him, holding him in a fierce hug that surprised even himself. "It's okay to be scared. Jesus, you're just a kid. But listen, you're not going to die. Okay?"
He held Owl at arm's length. Owl sniffled. "Really?"
"We've got a shot at it, kid. There's an Overtrump. It's being distributed now. But tell me, is the Dog going to blow the nuke?"
Owl nodded, wiping the snot that was running out of his nose. "He said he had to blow the city to save the world."
"Well, he doesn't know shit. The world's been saved," I hope, Ray said quietly to himself. "Do you know where the bomb is?"
Owl nodded.
"Take me there. Fast!"
Owl sniffed again and wiped his nose on his sleeve. They moved off together under the Old City.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Balthazar held Zoe with an iron grip and forced his way into the crowd. Nats, jokers, their differences seemed small in the pervading terror. Zoe twisted, fighting to get back to Anne, to Angel. Zoe managed to get a quick look behind her; Angel was on his feet, and Jan! Jan supported him on one side, Anne on the other, the three of them in the center of the phalanx of Fists behind Balthazar.
Ahead of them, a battered truck labored toward the Zion gate, a truck that threatened to collapse under the weight of what seemed to be a thousand people who fought each other in an effort to cling to the battered boards on its sides. Balthazar struggled toward it.
"Bruckner!" Balthazar yelled.
Shortcut. My God, we can get out of here -
The Fists clubbed people out of their way to make a path toward the tailgate of the truck. Someone reached a three-fingered hand down to Zoe and pulled her aboard.
Angel, Jan and Anne tumbled in beside her. The truck stank of chickenshit. An occasional white feather floated free and out into the street.
Zoe tried to get farther forward, tried to make space for Balthazar, who clung to one of the slats on the truck's side and aimed his rifle at the crowd that followed the truck. The truck's gears ground against each other in agony.
"Only chance," Balthazar panted. "Countdown's running!"
The nuke! The Black Dog was setting off the nuke?
Anne held Angelfish on her lap and sheltered him as best she could with her shoulders, Michaelangelo's Pieta - Jan pressed a wad of her skirt against the wound on Angel's side; bright blood seeped around the girl's fingers. The truck sideswiped a Mercedes and slewed the other way, its tires screeching. Bruckner was getting up some speed, but they were still within the city walls.