The flames were only just beginning as I pushed my way through the wreckage, but I knew that the place would soon be a mass of fire. I pulled at a section of wall. I moved a fallen beam. I saw her there, lying there, still.
I heaved at the rubble which still covered her. I could not tell whether she was breathing. There were smoke and flames all about me by the time I had her free. I picked her up and made my way back out of the ruin. Now I knew what a laser perimeter defense did.
I heard moaning as I left what remained of the building. Matthews was lying on the ground about forty feet away. I lowered Cora and felt for her pulse.. It was weak. She was breathing shallowly. Her right arm looked broken. Her scalp and forehead were badly lacerated. I raised her eyelids, having read a lot of neurological literature during my incapacitation. Her right pupil was a pinpoint; her left one was normal-sized. I began wiping blood from her face and arm.
“Cora!” I said. “Can you hear me?”
There was no reply. I rubbed her wrists. I tried to place her into the most comfortable position…
“Steve!”
I turned my head. Willy Boy, badly burned, was propped on an elbow. The left side of his face looked charred. His left eye was closed. His garments still smoked.
“Come here,” he croaked.
“You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t need a coronary, thanks.”
“I won’t hurt you… Please.”
I looked at Cora. I looked back at him. I couldn’t think of anything else to do for her.
There was something peculiar about Matthews—and then I realized what it was.
I stood.
“Okay,” I said. “But you listen to me first. I can feel that little gadget in your chest working overtime. Maybe you know now what I can do to machines. I’ll come and see what I can do for you. But if I feel the least pain in my chest I’m going to turn your pacemaker off.” I snapped my fingers. “Like that.”
He grinned weakly as I left Cora and moved toward him.
“You might call this a heart to heart talk then,” he said.
As I moved nearer, he began reciting numbers and then he said something in German.
“Get that?” he finished.
“No.”
“If you’ve got something to write with, write ’em down. Please.”
“What are they?”
He said them again and I scribbled them onto the same piece of paper from my wallet that I’d used for my phoney Angra account number.
“…And Maggie Sims in Atlanta,” he said hoarsely. “Here’s her phone number…”
“What is all this?”
“She’s my sister—the only family I got left. Call her and give her the name of my Swiss bank and that number. I hate to see all that money go to waste…”
“Shit!” I said. “Your dirty money can rot in Switzerland and your sister in Atlanta! You killed Ann and you tried to kill me! The hell with you!”
I turned away and headed back for Cora. Then I halted.
“Willy Boy…” I said. “Maybe we can make a deal.”
“What?” he whispered.
“You used to be in the healing business. Do it for Cora and I’ll call your sister. I’ll tell her what you said.”
“Steve, I ain’t done that in years.”
“Do it now.”
He was silent for a little while. Then, “Bring her over,” he said, “and I’ll give it a try.”
I went back to Cora. She was still breathing, shallowly. I gathered her up and carried her over to Willy Boy. I set her down beside him.
“Okay,” I said.
“Prop me up against this pile of stuff, will you?”
He was heavy, but I managed to shift him into a sitting position against the nearest mound of slag. He bit his lip and remained silent while I did it. But then he began coughing. It went on for a while.
Then, “Can you turn me a bit to the left?” he said. “And then get my flask out of my hip pocket?”
I managed to roll him to the side. I located his flask. I pulled it from his pocket and unstoppered it. I began raising it to his lips, but he took it into his hand and guided it himself. He took a long pull, then began coughing again. When he stopped, he took another drink and then lowered it. He breathed heavily then for a moment and nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
He looked at Cora, and then he grinned. He rolled his eyes upward in an expression of mock-piety.
“Got a minute, God?” he asked. “This here’s old Willy Boy, prayin’ off his regular network. Now our sister here is ailin’…”
“Cut it out,” I said, feeling uncomfortable. “Just do it, huh?”
But he ignored me.
“…An innocent child, so far as I know,” he went on, “she just got herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s sad. I don’t know if she’s got faith and all that, or if it matters much any more. But how about a little grace and mercy and healin’?” He was still grinning. “Let’s have a touch of the Spirit to ease her troubles…” He raised the flask and took another drink. “Now, we used to do this thing reg’lar together. Maybe for old times’ sake and love and compassion and all that stuff—”
Suddenly his voice broke and he closed his good eye.
“Damn!” he said. “I feel the Spirit! I do feel it!”
His display bothered me more and more. I had never considered myself especially religious, but there seemed no reason for all this mockery and… whatever it was.
“…So I’m gonna lay hands on our sister here,” he said, and now his voice was changed to a more serious tone. He’d been too much of a showman once, I decided. But… could this have been his real style?
He reached over and touched Cora’s head.
“Now a little silence for prayer,” he said, bowing.
Cora’s breathing deepened. Her eyelids flickered. Her arm looked straighter.
“That’s right! That’s right! Amen! Amen!” he said loudly.
I was surprised to see that his eye was moist.
“Washed in the blood of the lamb!” he cried. “If that ain’t grace, what is? Amen!”
Then he withdrew his hand and leaned his head back.
“Speakin’ of sinners,” he said more weakly, “here I am. Sorry to’ve bothered You… You go and do what You want with me now. It’s okay. Old Willy Boy’s comin’, Lord…”
His head came forward then, and I didn’t realize for a long time that it wasn’t a bow, not till the flask fell from his fingers. Then I saw that he’d stopped breathing.
Cora moved then, as if she were trying to sit up. I reached to stop her, but I didn’t. I caught hold of her shoulder instead and moved nearer. Her eyes were open and sporting a matching set of pupils. I moved my fingertips up her brow, into her hair. There were no lacerations beneath the dried blood.
“Don…?”
“Your right arm…” I said.
She looked at it. She moved it
“What about it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
She looked at Matthews.
“Who’s that?” she asked. “It looks like…”
“It is. He helped you.”
The flames from the hut crackled behind me. I looked to the north. A streamer of smoke was smearing the sky there, too.
“Can you get up?” I asked.
“Yes. I think so.”
I began helping her to her feet. Then, through the acrid smoke, I smelled roses.
“It is here now,” Ann’s voice said within my mind. “I am strong enough now that it can reach you through me.”
My grip tightened, probably painfully, on Cora’s arm.
“Don! What’s the matter?” she said, continuing to straighten as I began to sink.
“Don’t—know,” I managed, before I was swept away completely, involuntarily sucked through a Coil Effect that went on and on and on…