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  “They’ll be activated sure enough, sooner or later.” Bosco pushed his face between the seats again. “Better us to do it than anybody else. We’ll use the Dames for the betterment of humanity.”

  “You’re crazy. You were crazy at the warehouse, and you’re getting crazier by the minute.”

  Bosco licked his lips. “You should be careful. I’m still not over what you did to me back at the warehouse.”

  “It’ll happen again, worse.” Remmie felt an urge to fling her body up front and start wailing on Bosco and Rachael, but she knew she had to be patient. Emotional outbursts never paid off. “You won’t get away with this.”

  “I tried to help you listen to Willie Nelson. I’ve been nice.”

  “Shut up, Bosco,” Rachael said.

  He stomped his foot to the floor, looking out the side window. “They’ll be activated sure enough. And better us to do it.”

  “If you’re so sure you’re the good guys, why don’t you just destroy the Dames?”

  “Can’t be done,” Bosco said.

  “How do you know that? You’re clearly not a scientist. If you know anything, it’s what shady people have convinced you of. What’ll happen to you when they’re activated?”

  “I’m smarter than you think. And I’m immune.”

  “You have Malclenersy?”

  “Don’t need it.”

  “There are no good guys in any of this,” Eli said, softly, his eyes still on the back of the van.

  “Oh, he speaks,” Rachael said.

  “There is a way to block activation, locally,” he said. “Bosco and Rachael will be immune, and they’re right that the little devices can’t be destroyed, or purged. Not, at least, without destroying their host.”

  “How do you know that?” Remmie said. “Back at the cabin you seemed more optimistic there was a way.”

  “No more talk,” Rachael said.

  “I think it’s better we put it all on the table now,” Eli said. “Otherwise the questions won’t stop.”

  “They’ll stop if I—”

  “It’s not hurting anything,” Bosco said. “I want to hear too.”

  “I’ve tried to figure out a way to neutralize them or get them out,” Eli said. “And Victor tried . . . unsuccessfully, on our sister. If you try to neutralize, destroy, or purge them, the host dies with them. I believe that’s the only outcome.”

  “None of this makes sense,” Remmie said. “You say you believe all this. But you don’t sound so confident. What if they have a self-destruct signal that won’t harm their host? And how can you be sure what’ll happen when they’re switched on? In everyone? You said Victor had activated someone. What happened?”

  “Control is preprogrammed, to a degree, once the Dames are active,” Eli said. “It’s play nice, like cattle. I believe they inhibit aggressive behavior. People become easily manipulated. This is what happed to the guy who was activated. But like I said, it’s only to a degree. Once someone’s activated they need to be managed, like any machine. Without a control system, they’re limited.” Eli’s gaze moved to Remmie, his eyes piercing. “Once they’re activated, the problem becomes much greater, but Victor holds the key to this too because he understands how to move the dials and switches. If you move the dials, you can increase aggression, make someone suicidal, make somebody serve you . . . I believe anything is possible. But I have seen activation in action that one time, and I know that Mr. Sands, and others, are aware of this active person. He’s the only test subject in the world . . . that we know of.”

  “But people are already easily controlled,” Remmie said. “Look at the world—our country, even. The media, advertising, the education system . . . And where is this active guy now? Picking flowers in Mr. Sands’ garden?” Remmie turned to Bosco. “Is it you?”

  Bosco was silent.

  “A valid point,” Eli said, “that people are already easily led by the stimuli that surrounds them. But the Dames will enable everyone to be easily controlled by a privileged few. Near as I can figure it, the ones who created the Dames wanted beings who could be easily manipulated, follow directions, while still procreating, advancing technologically, and possessing the ability to cause humanity to destroy itself, given the dials are set properly. And in this day and age, the computing technology, the communications infrastructure required to manage the population does exist.” Eli adjusted his posture. “The Dames turn human beings into well-tuned machines, using their best attributes to the benefit of those who control them. The Dames foster a species unified by a single mission. They go far beyond propaganda and cultural norms. They take choice out of the equation.”

  “And is that such a bad thing?” Bosco said. “People left alone to grow and prosper without their less attractive personality traits? Everyone’ll be happy. It’ll be Utopia.”

  “You don’t even know what that word means,” Remmie said. “Do you even know who Thomas More is?”

  “The man for all seasons. Fought with King Henry. Not real fond of Protestants.”

  Remmie gritted her teeth. “But how can you be sure, Eli. And I still don’t know if I believe any of this. Maybe you’re all escaped from Twelve Virgins.”

  “You know that’s not true,” Eli said. “I’m sorry my brother brought you and Kyle into this. If you’d been left alone, you’d be fine. You wouldn’t know the difference.”

  Remmie felt her stomach churn at the mention of Kyle. He was free and she’d been left with the crazies. “What will Mr. Sands do with us? Those with Malclenersy?”

  “Provided they don’t rock the boat, they’ll be left alone,” Bosco said. “Like I’ll be left alone, and Rachael. But you guys? You know too much.” Bosco turned to Rachael. “What do we have planned for them?”

  “Well, the idiot behind your seat will be under control,” Rachael said. “The others know too much. That’s all I’ll say.”

  “Wait, you never answered my question, Eli,” Remmie said. “What ever happened to the guy who was activated?”

  “He disappeared.”

  “Disappeared? Maybe,” Bosco said. “But that wasn’t us.”

  “Nobody said it was you,” Eli said.

  “This conversation is over.” Rachael jammed the van into gear and pulled onto the highway.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  KYLE OPENED HIS eyes from a deep sleep. A foot from his face, the crinkly metallic ceiling was like looking at the snowcapped Appalachians from above. The air was thick with coffee, old Chinese food, and cheap perfume.

  Perfume?

  The top bunk was comfortable, but he felt claustrophobic as he tried to shake the groggy residue of a nap that lasted too long. It was dark outside, the tiny window to his left now void of sunlight.

  Victor was at the front of the trailer, sitting before a starship array of computer screens. He was typing at warp speed, much as he had been when Kyle fell asleep earlier that afternoon, soon after they’d arrived.

  Victor had been pensive the entire ride across Nevada, the veins in his temples flaring, his jaw muscles flexing. On arrival, Kyle was shocked at the junkyard condition of the travel trailer they would be squatting in after being in such a wonderful house. He thought maybe the big cabin was more Eli, and the trailer was more Victor. But Kyle didn’t mind. It wasn’t any dirtier than his apartment, and besides, having a place of your own, even a nasty one, was pretty awesome.

  Kyle had expected Vegas to be different: lights, dancing girls, roulette tables. But this? This reminded him of his uncle’s place south of Denver. His other uncle, not the statistician guy, but the one his dad always claimed was switched at birth. But Kyle thought Uncle Dave was pretty cool. He had given Kyle his first sip of beer and a bag of chewing tobacco when he was just seven. And Dave had a knack for inserting an f-bomb into every other statement. It didn’t matter who was around—

  “Kyle!” Victor said. “You awake, finally? It’s been seven hours. It’s after nine.”

  “Sorry, Victor, but—” />
  “It’s okay. You needed it. It’s gonna be a long night. I have a location. They’ve finally stopped moving. They’re in Southern California—the obvious place I never would have predicted. It’s almost like they want to lure us . . .” Victor closed one eye like Popeye the Sailor, contemplating his statement, then inhaled a gulp of coffee.

  Victor’s friend, Samuel, emerged from the bathroom. Kyle gasped. Samuel had entered the bathroom in baggy sweats. Now he wore a high-cut red dress, bushy blonde hair, and a thick layer of makeup. His legs were long and slender, smooth ebony skin shaved to perfection. And boobs!

  And the smell of perfume. “Samuel, what?”

  “It’s Vegas,” Samuel said, in a deep voice. “Everybody’s gotta earn a livin’ somehow.”

  According to Victor, Samuel was an old friend who had Malclenersy. Victor had met Samuel during his undergraduate days, a drinking buddy from another life. Even Eli had only met him once, years back. Kyle looked away, afraid he was going to start finding Samuel attractive. It was rare Kyle had seen a woman with legs that nice.

  Then he remembered that, before he went to sleep, he had convinced himself to bring up the issue of whether the Dames were active.

  “Victor, before Mr. Sands arrived, Eli said that people weren’t under control. He said that the Dames were—”

  “Sometimes Eli’s not the sharpest tool. Surely you get that.” Victor laughed.

  Samuel laughed too, in a female voice.

  “And don’t even think about anything Mr. Sands said,” Victor said. “His specialty is authentic-sounding lies.”

  Kyle realized they were laughing at him. “I’m not stupid.”

  “I know you’re not stupid,” Victor said. “Just a little naïve. That’s all I meant. I wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise. Don’t get hung up on what my brother was saying, about the Dames, or about why I chose you and Remmie. You’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for. And with the right guidance? You’re quite capable. And so is she. And we’ll find her, by the way.”

  “Okay, boys,” Samuel said. “I have to go to work.”

  “Are you a hooker?” Kyle said.

  “What!” Samuel cocked his fists. “You little bastard—”

  “Samuel dances,” Victor said quickly. “Respect it. We all have to make our own way. This is who he is, and he’s helping me, and you.”

  “I’m sorry.” Kyle felt bad, but also scared. Samuel was a big guy with big biceps, and, as it turned out, big melons. But Kyle wondered what was the point in dancing. “But if everybody’s under control, then why even do what you’re doing—dancing I mean? The world is a bunch of alien’s monkeys.”

  “Monkeys or not, it still pays the bills,” Samuel said. “And I’m not so sure what being under control means. Ninety-five percent human, five percent highjacked neurons? Don’t know. Either way, I need to keep living. I help Victor, but I’m leaving it to him to handle the save-the-world stuff. Besides, I love to dance. Ta’ all.”

  Samuel left for work.

  “I’m still confused,” Kyle said. “And how could Eli be wrong? Honestly, he seemed more—”

  “Credible? Strong? Charismatic? Appealing?”

  “Well, not all of those things. But when he says something I feel more convinced for some reason . . .” Kyle realized how this sounded, but he didn’t know how to turn back. “Than . . . when you say something.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been dealing with that my whole life.” Victor paused as if questioning his own perspective. “No, he’s wrong. Everybody’s under control. And we’re going to shut it down.”

  “What’ll happen to people if they’re not under control anymore?” Kyle didn’t want to mention what Mr. Sands had said about Victor’s sister, but he had to say it. “Your sis—”

  “No. I know what you’re going to say. They were on to me by then and . . . the Dames can kill their host if they feel threatened. I believe that’s what happened. Because they knew I wanted to deactivate her.”

  Victor was admitting it. He had actually killed his sister. And knowing it made Victor look different, feel different, like a stash of money you find, spend, and then discover it was some old lady’s rent money.

  “I didn’t . . .” Victor continued. “I tested it on myself beforehand, and on someone else in the past. I didn’t . . .” He paused. “We’re in a race, Kyle. It’s about doing the best you can, as quick as you can. Sometimes you’re too late, a moment behind the curve. And so it was with Anita, my sister. I wasn’t quick enough, so they got to her first. Let’s not be behind this time. Clean yourself up and get ready to go.” He threw on a backpack, then pointed to another backpack. “You carry that one. What are you waiting for?”

  Kyle climbed out of bed and started toward the bathroom, but Victor put his hand on Kyle’s chest, stopping him.

  “This isn’t Lara Stilltrot. It’s real.” He moved his hand to Kyle’s shoulder and gently patted him. “I need you. Remmie needs you.”

  A flow of icy prickles raced over Kyle’s body, washing away thoughts of the past, and reservations about the future, leaving only the present moment. He was again just doing. Only this time, he wasn’t abandoning Remmie. He was going to rescue her. It gave him a feeling of belonging to something important. He wasn’t alone in the world. He had purpose.

  “We’re heading to California,” Victor said. “And I’ll need your help driving. I didn’t get a nap like you. I don’t sleep much, but I still need some. But first we’re going to stop by Samuel’s workplace, the Cherry Obelisk.”

  “The Cherry Obelisk?”

  “I need some more equipment. And what I need, we’ll find there.”

  Kyle had heard about the Cherry Obelisk on TV, one of those massive casinos like you see in the movies with roulette tables and girls. This further fueled his motivation. And he had to be strong for Remmie. He was Kyle Stilltrot—the real Kyle Stilltrot, not like the fictitious Lara Stilltrot. And if Kyle saved Remmie, and the world, she would surely forgive him, right?

  But what could Victor possibly want at a casino?

  Victor stepped aside. “Get ready. Time’s wasting.”

  Kyle imagined the moment he rescued Remmie. A hug. A kiss. A beginning. And what better companion than Victor? As crazy as Victor seemed, Kyle believed in him, even if he screwed up. Because Victor was like a superhero, flawed, but invincible.

  TWENTY-NINE

  REMMIE’S CONTORTED BODY awakened from a shallow sleep as the van squeaked to a stop. The muscles on the back of her neck contracted into a stabbing knot. She pressed her thumb into it and massaged. She was glad Bosco had unbound her hands at their last bathroom stop. Anthony’s and Eli’s hands were still bound, but the bindings on their feet had been loosened enough for baby steps.

  It was dark outside. How long had she been sleeping?

  Bosco poked his head around the seat. “Welcome to paradise.”

  “What?” Remmie cringed as she attempted to lift her head, skewered by her knot.

  “Of course, that place you were staying with the twins was pretty nice too, but I prefer the beach.” He stepped out of the van.

  The sliding door flung open. Anthony started to fall backwards, but Rachael shoved him upright. His cheeks were like the oversized yellow squash Remmie’s dad used to grow in the garden, except Anthony’s squash was accented with red, ocean blue, and lights-out black. Eli just looked distant.

  Rachael and Bosco helped Eli and Anthony out of the van.

  A warm, soft breeze flowed over Remmie. She could smell the ocean—hear it, too. It comforted her senses, bringing peace to her bones. But her body was heavy, exhausted. She lifted her knee and a rush of needles fled from her butt to her calf. She emerged and stomped her foot to wake up her leg as she continued to massage the knot in her neck.

  “This is a nice place,” Rachael said to Remmie, “but don’t think you’ll be lying out on the beach anytime soon.”

  The bright lights that hung over the driveway sh
one on Eli’s face, illuminating a look of reluctant defeat and exhaustion, like he was coming off of a three-day binge.

  Anthony suddenly appeared ten years younger. “I’ve never seen the ocean. This place is massive.”

  The house was massive, even larger than the cabin. It looked like a single long cinder block, partially buried underground on the right. And jutting from the left was a four-car garage. She suspected the back was a wall of windows overlooking the ocean. It was like places she’d seen on HGTV. She thought of Kyle, at first wishing he were there to share the experience. Then she remembered that he had deserted her.

  Tommy emerged from the front door holding a rifle. Remmie turned to look back from where they’d come. There were sand dunes with vegetation on either side of a narrow road into darkness. Goose bumps lit on her arms. She did wish Kyle were there. His presence would’ve at least done something about the isolation she now felt. What really happened with him? Maybe he hadn’t abandoned her. She wanted to believe that, provided he was safe. But the salty air helped ease her anxiety, like a drug. She hadn’t seen the ocean since she was fifteen, on vacation in Florida with her parents.

  “Let’s head in,” Tommy said. “Mr. Sands is waiting with dinner.”

  “Something tells me this ain’t gonna be so bad,” Anthony said. “Being under control doesn’t sound so bad either.” He smiled at Rachael, his bruised cheeks billowing. “I’ve always thought redheads were the most beautiful heads there were.”

  Rachael shook her ponytail from her shoulder and pointed her gun between Anthony’s eyes, slowly moving its aim downward to his belly, then lower. His smile faded, his bruised cheeks shriveled up. She lunged forward and jammed the barrel into his gut. He yelped and doubled over. Tommy chuckled like a schoolyard bully.

  “I never appreciate men—boys—who degrade women,” Rachael said, standing over Anthony, braced like she was about to give him another kick for good measure.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Bosco said. “He’s got a mouth on him, but he’s harmless, and he did help us.”