“It’s impressive,” he said, “I’ll give you that.”
He walked over to a flat, underlit table in the corner. “I recognize all the equipment except this.”
He didn’t touch the table, but the white light beneath it cast his face in a ghostly glow, shadows from the gears and swinging hands slipping angles across his face.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Something my brother was working on.”
“It’s a countdown clock?”
“Is it?” I walked over and stared at the confusion of brass gears and needles that spun slowly in clear oil.
“I can’t make out the markers,” he said. “But it is either almost at the end or almost at the beginning of its cycle. Your brother didn’t mention what it was?”
“He always had some pet project he was working on down here.”
“Hm. Maybe we’ll get a chance to ask him soon.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be waiting outside. I’ll give you some time to say good-bye.”
Abraham walked up the stairs, leaving me behind with the impossible task of saying good-bye to my land, my grandmother, and my home.
10
They were not human, not exactly so. Raised from the edge of death, the twelve men and women who had survived the mad man’s experiment were rebuilt, piece by piece, until they were stronger than any human. Perfect for the war effort. Built for it. And sent into battle for their country.—1941
—from the journal of L.U.C.
Boston Sue was my nearest, paranoid, highly armed neighbor lady. I rang her up on the landline, and she answered on the vid.
“Bo,” I said, shifting so I was in view of the camera. “I need a favor.”
Bo was a large woman, with dozens of neat, thin black braids that draped around to fall in loops at either side of her pierced and decorated ears. Her eyes were deep set and dark and missed nothing. Her skin was darker than mine and so smooth and unstitched, it was like she was carved of the softest clay.
She was probably twenty or so years older than me and wore a gun the way most women wore purses—as a deadly accessory. Today’s little number was a semiautomatic, nestled in the folds of her brown and green tie-dyed dress.
“You heard the drones pass over?” Bo asked.
“I heard them,” I said. “It’s trouble I kicked up.”
“Trouble?”
“House trouble.”
“Tilly, what did you do that requires drones flying over our privacy?”
“Better you don’t know. But I do have a favor to ask,” I said. “Can you come stay with Grandma for a few weeks? I promise I’ll get in touch after a day or so.”
“Sure, sure,” she said. “Anything you need, baby sweet.”
“The beasts are fed and should be fine for a couple weeks. Neds are going with me.”
“Don’t tell me any more. Simple is better. Take care of yourself and come home safe, you hear?”
“Promise.”
“How can I reach you?” she asked.
“I’ll take the walkie-talkie. You know how to reach me.”
