You stupid, stupid fool.
And now she was going to pay for her mistake. Dearly.
Dropping her flashlight, she raised the knife and held the blade hard against her own neck. There was time. They couldn't stop her.
Then the girl spoke again in her gentle voice.
"You don't want to do that."
Sarah croaked something unintelligible, her throat constricting with fear.
"You know who I am. I'm Rebecca."
Sarah shook her head, her eyes stricken. A remote corner of her brain wondered why the Styx girl was using a Topsoiler name. Nobody ever knew their real names.
"You've seen me at Will's house."
Sarah shook her head again, then froze. There was something familiar about the child. Sarah realized she must have been passing herself off as Will's sister. But how?
"The knife," Rebecca urged, "put it down."
"No," Sarah tried to say, but it came out as a groan.
"We have so much in common. We have a common interest. You should hear what I have to say."
"There's nothing to say!" Sarah cried, finding her voice again.
"Tell her, Joe," the Styx girl said, half turning.
Someone stepped from the wall. It was the man who had written the note, Joe Waites, one of her brother Tam's gang. Joe had been like family to her and her brother, a loyal friend who would have followed Tam to the ends of the earth.
"Go on," Rebecca commanded him. "Tell her."
"Sarah, it's me," Joe Waites said. "Joe Waites," he added hastily, as she didn't show any sign that she recognized him. He inched forward, his trembling palms turned to her and his voice cracking with hysteria as he delivered a tumble of words. "Oh, Sarah," he pleaded, "please… please put it down… put the knife down… do it for your son's sake… for Cal's sake… Your must've seen my message… It's true, it's the God's own…"
Sarah pressed the blade deeper into the flesh over her jugular and he stopped dead on the spot, his hands still raised, his fingers spread out, his whole body shaking violently. "No, no, don't, don't, don't… Listen to her… you have to. Rebecca can help."
"Nobody's going to make a move on you, Sarah. You have my word," the girl said calmly. "At least hear me out." She raised her shoulders in a small shrug, setting her head at an angle. "But you go ahead if you want to… cut your throat… I can't do anything to stop you." She let out a long sigh. "It would be such a waste, such a stupid, tragic waste. And don't you want to save Cal? He needs you."
Turning one way, then the other, gasping for breath like the cornered animal she was, Sarah's wide eyes stared at Joe Waites, blinking uncomprehendingly at the old man's unmistakable face under its tight-fitting skullcap, a lone tooth protruding from its top jaw.
"Joe?" she whispered hoarsely at him, with the quiet resignation of someone who was ready to die.
She twisted the blade deeper into her throat. Joe Waites flapped his arms frantically and cried out as the first drops of blood trickled down the paleness of her neck.
"Sarah, please!" he screamed. "Don't! Don't! DON'T!"
12
Will had volunteered to take first watch so the others could get some more rest. He tried to write in his journal but found it difficult to concentrate and, after a while, put it to one side. He paced around the table, listening to Chester's steady snoring, and then resolved to use the time to explore the house more thoroughly. Besides, he was dying to try out his new lantern. He proudly hooked it over his shirt pocket as his brother had shown him, and adjusted the intensity of the beam. With a last look at his sleeping comrades, he quietly left the library.
His first stop was the room on the opposite side of the hall, which he and Cal had only investigated briefly on their earlier excursion. He tiptoed through the dust and, nudging the door open, he went in.
It had the same dimensions as the library but was completely devoid of furniture or shelves. He walked around the edge of the room, peering down at the deep skirting where there were small strips of a lime-green paper, which had obviously once adorned the walls.
He went over to the shuttered windows, fighting the impulse to open them, and instead strolled around the floor several more times, the spotlight beam slashing through the darkness before him. Seeing nothing of interest, he was just on his way out when something caught his eye. He hadn't noticed it before, when all he and Cal had were the luminescent orbs, but now, with his brighter light, it was difficult to miss.
Scratched into the wall by the door, at about head height, were the following words:
Then, following a day with a number next to it that meant nothing to Will, was:
In wonder, Will reached out and ran his hand over some of the words, which reflected his light as if they had been gouged into metal.
"Dad! Dad's been here!" he began to shout. He was so elated that he forgot they had all been trying to be quiet. "My dad has been here!"
Chester and Cal, both wakened by his shouting, came tearing into the hallway.
"Will? What is it, Will?" Chester cried from the doorway, concerned for his friend.
"Look at that! He's been here!" Will was babbling, overcome with excitement.
They began to read the inscription, but Cal didn't seem to be impressed, almost immediately slouching against the wall. He yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"I wonder how long ago he did that," Will said.
"Incredible!" Chester exclaimed as he finished reading the message. "That's just wild!" He grinned widely at Will, sharing his friend's euphoria. But then a suggestion of a frown wrinkled his brow. "So do you think they were his footprints in the library?"
"Bet they were," Will said breathlessly. "But isn't it just too weird? Talk about a coincidence — we chose exactly the same route as him."
"Like father, like son." Chester gave Will a pat on the back.
"But he's not his father," said a resentful voice from the shadows behind Chester. Cal was shaking his head. "Not his real father," he said disagreeably. "And he didn't even have the guts to tell you that, did he, Will?"
Will didn't react, not allowing his brother to take away from the moment. "Well, we cant' hang around this area for long, if Dad's right about the radioactivity" — he carefully emphasized the word without looking at Cal — "and the walls are all coated with lead. I think he was right — feel here." He touched the surface of the wall under the message, and Chester did likewise. "Must act as a shielding."
"Yeah, feels cold, like lead, all right. So I suppose the rest of the house must be the same," Chester agreed, glancing around the room.
"That's obvious. I told you the air's bad in the Deeps, you dolts," Cal said contemptuously and stamped his way back through the dust, leaving the two of them standing there.
"Just when I'm beginning to think he's not such a brat," Chester grumbled, shaking his head, "he goes and ruins everything."
"Just ignore it," Will said.
"He may look like you, but that's as far as it goes," Chester fumed. He was irked by the younger boy's behavior. "The little midget only cares about one person, and that's himself! And I know what his game is, always trying to wind me up… He eats with his mouth wide open just to…" Chester stopped in midflow as he noticed the faraway look on his friend's face. Will wasn't listening; he stared at the writing on the wall, totally absorbed by thoughts of his father.