Arthur settled back in his seat and tightened the seat belt as Eric zoomed the car around the second-to-last corner before home. He checked the Nightsweeper in his pocket. He couldn't use it for at least ten hours.
A lot could happen in that time. People could die, and the Nightsweeper would not bring them back. Arthur hadn't thought of that in his desire to get home. He'd thought it was all over. But defeating Monday wasn't the end. There was still more to do.
Arthur's breath caught and he instinctively reached for his inhaler. But it wasn't there. Panic rose, then was forced back as Arthur realized he didn't really need it. He wasn't breathing as free and easy as he had in the House, but his lungs weren't totally tightening up either. There was a catch to his breath and his lungs felt strangely lopsided, as if more air was getting in his left lung. But he was okay.
Eric didn't so much park the car as stop it near the front door. They both jumped out and rushed upstairs. Bob and Michaeli met them at the door, themselves rushing down to see who it was. After quick hugs, they all retreated into Bob's studio. Wherever they'd lived, that was always the place of family conferences and important events.
"Emily's all right," was the first thing Bob said. "But this is a bad one. A real outbreak. They don't know what it is, where it came from, or even what it can do."
"Mom'll work it out," said Michaeli. Eric nodded in agreement.
Bob noticed that Arthur didn't. He reached out and clapped his youngest son on the shoulder. "She'll be okay," he said. "We'll all be okay."
"Yeah," said Arthur. He touched his pocket again. Why, oh why hadn't he asked for something that would stop the plague right away? Anything could happen in the next ten hours. He could get the plague himself and fall asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The next ten hours were the longest of Arthur's life. He sat within the studio for a while, listening to Bob play the same tune over and over again on the piano. He watched the news on television with Michaeli for a much shorter time, but couldn't bear to hear of the many new cases or the attempts to break quarantine. And on the hour, every hour, some of the patients were dying. So far, it was all very old people, but that was no comfort to Arthur. He felt responsible for their deaths.
Finally he retreated to his room and lay on his bed. The red lacquer box was on his desk, and the Atlas with it. Arthur didn't even feel like looking at that. Instead he just held the Nightsweeper on the palm of his hand. It mostly stood still, but every now and then would take a few steps, or lower its head and nibble at his palm.
Eventually, without meaning to, or wanting to, Arthur fell asleep. One moment he was awake, the next he was suddenly aware that he was asleep.
Asleep! Every alarm in his brain went off as he struggled to wake up.
What if I've missed midnight? What if I have to wait a whole day till tomorrow night? More people will die! Mom might die!
Arthur woke thrashing and crying out. It was pitch black, save for the glow of his digital clock. He stared at it, sleep clogging his senses.
11:56! There was still time!
Then he had another panic. He was under a quilt. Bob must have found him asleep and thrown the quilt over him. The Nightsweeper was gone from his hand!
Arthur hurled himself out of bed and turned on every light. Then he ripped the quilt from the bed. The Nightsweeper had to be there somewhere.
What if Bob took it downstairs? Or if Michaeli had been the one who...
Then Arthur saw it, standing easily on top of the lacquer box. The Nightsweeper was prancing now, eager to be at its work.
Arthur let out the longest sigh he had ever made, reached over, and picked it up. It reared in his hand and gave an excited neigh.
Arthur took it to the window. It became even more restive as he raised the sash.
"Go on," said Arthur softly, opening his palm.
The black horse leaped into the night. Arthur saw it grow as it flew up to the sky. Grow and grow and grow, till its hooves alone were larger than the house. It neighed, and its neigh was like thunder, rattling the windows, shaking the house. It circled high in the air, then dove back down, great gusts of cold wind jetting from its flared nostrils.
The wind blew Arthur back onto the bed. It was cold, but a delicious cold, beautifully brisk. He felt it wake him up completely, sending a jolt through his entire body. It was the breath of pure, excited life, of raw energy, of the simple joy of running as hard as you can. Arthur rushed back to the window in time to see the Nightsweeper gallop high over the town beyond, its fresh, invigorating breath blowing the leaves from trees, shaking signs and sweeping up anything loose upon the streets. Car alarms came on everywhere it passed, and lights flicked on in waves beneath it.
The Nightsweeper was waking everything... and everyone... up.
Downstairs, Arthur heard the phone ringing. He ran out to see Michaeli and Eric already in the corridor. Together they tumbled down the stairs, down to the main living room. Bob was there, fully dressed and weary. He slowly put the phone down and smiled at his children.
"That was Emily. They've identified the genetic structure," he said, relief evident in every word and gesture. "There will be a vaccine within days. But it seems the virus is less fatal than everyone first thought. Lots of patients are waking up."
Arthur smiled then, relief washing through him. Finally it was over.
Then he heard another telephone ring. No one else reacted and for a second Arthur thought he was imagining it. But the sound got even louder, though Bob, Michaeli, and Eric still paid it no attention. It was an old-fashioned chattering bell, not an electronic beep. Arthur had only heard something like it in the House...
It had to be the phone in the red lacquer box.
Arthur looked at the clock on the wall. It ticked, and the minute hand moved a fraction.
It was one minute past twelve.
On Tuesday morning.