Her husband tried to quiet her, citing the need to view the strange broadcast, but she grasped his sleeve and led him away.
Kayla gave Jarrod a single nod and turned her attention back to the television. The face continued to list the unforgivable sins of humanity.
“You have spread like locusts, breeding without forethought and depleting the earth’s resources. Millions die of starvation, and still you continue your incessant nativity, heedless of genetic diseases and overpopulation. In doing so, you have doomed your children and grandchildren to slow and painful deaths.”
The image seemed to tilt forward and the black eyes vanished as if the face was bowed in prayer. “Your leaders care for no one but themselves. They spout the virtues of religion while ordering their followers to sacrifice themselves in holy war. They invade countries to steal life-giving resources and redistribute them among the fat, greedy, and wealthy. They sow hatred among their constituents as they cling to their precious Offices.”
The face inhaled deeply. “Worst of all, they have created weapons capable of destroying all life on this miraculous planet. And yet, you continue to follow them, raising the flags of your race, religion, or political party and marching in ignorance.” The face swayed ruefully from side to side. “But your ignorance is no excuse. You must be punished for your sins. You must learn the hard way or you will never learn at all.”
Everyone in the room but Jarrod leaned forward in expectation.
“Eleven days ago,” the face said, “I allowed a terrorist attack to take place in New York. I did this to teach you the dangers of religious fanaticism. Hundreds of people were killed and hundreds more were injured. And yet, you did not learn. You crowded together in churches, temples, mosques, and within your homes. You prayed to a God who isn’t there, begging for mercy while you carried on the tradition that led to the attacks in the first place. Because you are slow to learn, I am going to allow another attack—one immeasurably worse than the first. I am going to allow you to see the cost of pride. The cost of following your leaders.”
The face leaned back, taking on a superior air. “I have intercepted communications from a government that is opposed to the existence of the United States. This government has set in motion a plan to detonate a nuclear device within the heartland of the United States, to prove that no one in that vast nation is safe. America, you will pay a heavy price for your pride.”
As Jarrod looked on like an ebony statue, Kayla and everyone else in the room began to fidget.
“As the sole nation to use not one but two fission bombs against their fellow human beings, I believe it is fitting that Americans will be the first to perish in the heat of a fusion bomb.”
Kayla couldn’t stop the soft cry from escaping her lips. She covered her mouth and leaned into Eric’s chest. Her husband held her tight, and he shook with rage.
Borya Tabanov’s voice rose, as if he was speaking above a noisy crowd. “I can sense your hatred. You want to blame me for what you have done. But you could have stopped this. Decades ago, you could have demanded that these weapons be destroyed. But in your cowardice, in your fear that the other man would fire first, you did nothing. You stood idle while the most powerful and ruthless governments in the world stockpiled weapons of unfathomable horror. I hope you are paying attention. And I hope this is the last lesson you stubborn children must learn.”
The television screen went black. The men and women in the room clung to each other. Some began to shed tears; others shook with anger. But they all glared at Jarrod as if this was his fault.
Secretly, Kayla felt a seed of resentment germinating within her. Jarrod was perhaps the only person alive who could stand up to Borya, and he chose instead to stay close to Deedee and damn the rest of the world.
But the heat in her chest soon dissipated. She couldn’t blame Jarrod for wanting to protect his sister. In his position, Kayla would probably do the same. But there had to be a way to compromise—some way for him to fight back without leaving Deedee behind for good.
“Jarrod…” she said in a quiet voice. “Someone has to stop him.”
Jarrod turned toward her but didn’t make a sound.
Her throat had gone dry. She swallowed before continuing. “You’ve given so much in the fight against Borya, and no one has the right to ask you for more. But…” Eric gave her a reassuring squeeze, and she spoke a little louder. “They need you at Hillcrest. Other than you, they are the only ones who stand a chance against that madman. Please…will you consider going to Baltimore and answering their call for help?”
The black mask of metamaterial armor slid away from Jarrod’s face. He looked at her with pallid, cloudy eyes. “I have already considered it. And I will remain here.”
“Jarrod—” Eric started to say, but the vigilante held up his hand.
“I’m not discussing this anymore. If you need me, I will be patrolling the fenceline.”
With that, he covered his head once more. As he walked toward the door, his form became translucent, and then he disappeared completely.
Eric turned, gripping the satellite phone in his hand, and strode away from the crowd. The room fell silent. And someone whispered, “God, help us.”
9
Schaumburg, Illinois
Proud.
The word echoed in Bryce Larson’s ear as he eased another ten feet forward on Interstate 90. He was twenty miles northwest of Chicago, and traffic was nearly at a standstill.
He gripped the wheel and squeezed tight, then he glanced into the rearview mirror and clenched his teeth. He’d barely made it a mile in the past hour.
Normally, heavy traffic didn’t bother him. He’d grown up in Chicago and had gotten used to the frequent jams. But today, his patience had run out.
Proud.
Bryce punched the button for his radio and cranked up the volume. But instead of classic rock music, his speakers blasted the words of what sounded like an environmentalist talk show host.
“Seriously?” Bryce muttered. He hit the power button again and the speakers fell silent.
The stillness returned to his hybrid car, which used a whisper-quiet motor at low speeds or when idling. And as the stillness returned, so did his father’s last word.
Proud.
Bryce thumped a fist against the steering wheel and shook his head. Just a few hours ago, he had been certain that his father had been telling him that he was proud of him for standing up to his mother and the chaplain. Bryce had argued with his sister over the meaning of William Larson’s last word before leaving the hospital. And by the time he reached his car in the parking garage, he was starting to question himself.
Maybe his father simply meant that he was proud of Bryce in a general sense. Bryce, more than Janet or Eric, had valued logic, peace, and sensibility. He’d never bought into the American ideals of heroic violence or personal liberty at any cost. Knowledge was the true source of enlightenment—not sentimental emotion or childish spirituality. Bryce and his father were alike in that way. And the rest of the family had abandoned them because of it.
Yes, William had been proud of the path Bryce had chosen. Bryce was sure of it.
Or at least he had been. Now, trapped with his own thoughts in Interstate purgatory, he was beginning to doubt himself. He kept replaying the memory of the hospice in his mind, and every time he heard his father’s voice, he doubted himself even more.