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  Victor missed his family, Eli. He wondered what the future held. Could society even function under control? Maybe Eli wanted the human race to die out. Maybe he wanted only those with Malclenersy to survive. Or maybe he just wanted revenge on Victor and that was all.

  He was imprisoned, not unlike Rachael had been at the bungalow in the Sierra Madre. Where was she? But Victor’s hope rested in Kyle and Remmie, that they’d made it to the trailer, that they were safe.

  Did it really matter at this point?

  Clanging feet and an array of voices, familiar voices, sounded outside of Victor’s door. Samuel burst in, his expression grim.

  “We need you,” he said.

  Victor’s chains clanked as he followed Samuel into the open area of the basement. Remmie and Eli stood over the bed. Back from them stood Mr. Sands and Bosco, a bloody bandage under his nose. Someone was lying limp on the bed.

  Kyle.

  Remmie looked at Victor like she was standing barefoot on a block of ice. Eli possessed his operating room face.

  “He’s been shot in the head,” Eli said. “The bullet deflected over, but he’s lost a lot of blood. I need a pint of type O.”

  Victor and Eli were both type O.

  “Of course,” Victor said. It was an alignment of purpose with his brother, a moment of comradery, normalcy, to help a friend.

  “I need to put in some stitches and he needs antibiotics,” Eli said. “An X-ray would help to make sure the skull is intact. A CT or MRI would be even better.”

  “There’s a portable unit over there. It’s brand new and causes minimal exposure.” Mr. Sands motioned to the far wall where there was a chest-high apparatus that looked like a white donut on a trophy stand. “I’ll grab it.”

  “I looked at that a couple of times and it didn’t register what it was.” Eli showed a moment of enthusiastic emotion. “We’re covered for diagnosis.”

  Mr. Sands rolled the CT device over to Kyle with surprising ease.

  Victor eyed Bosco, who adjusted his face bandage as his eyes followed Mr. Sands. Victor’s feeling of shared purposed waned as he observed Bosco, wondering who had shot Kyle and why.

  Samuel said to Victor, “I don’t expect you’ll try anything.” He held out the key to Victor’s shackles. “But I will be watching you in case you do.”

  Eli peeled away Kyle’s bandages. A clot of blood pulled from the back of his head, fresh blood oozing from the wound.

  “There’re antibiotics in the refrigerator,” Mr. Sands said, now standing over Kyle’s head, setting up the CT unit.

  “Have a seat, Victor,” Eli said, eyes on Kyle.

  Victor sat on an easy chair next to the bed. He again wondered what had happened, his eyes on Bosco, who seemed to be without emotion . . . a familiar absence of presence.

  Ron.

  Samuel pushed a needle into Victor’s arm and began to draw blood.

  “Just relax and let it flow,” Eli said, now looking at Victor with an almost regretful look. Then he went back to examining Kyle’s entry and exit wounds.

  Bosco was activated. Remmie and Kyle had found the device and made it work.

  “Let’s get Kyle in that thing,” Eli said.

  “I can operate the machine,” Mr. Sands said.

  They slid Kyle’s head into the donut hole on a padded cushion that attached to the device. Remmie stood over Kyle, holding his hand, while Mr. Sands conducted the CT scan.

  Victor watched as the blood left his body, his head feeling a light dizziness. He saw concern all around, foes working side by side. It didn’t make sense to him why people had to die in all of this. What were they all really fighting for?

  “I need that IV ready,” Eli said. “Once we see the images . . . hopefully it’ll just be stitches and antibiotics, but I’m ready for the worst.”

  Samuel pulled the needle from Victor’s arm and gave him a bandage. Then Samuel helped Eli pull Kyle from the machine while Mr. Sands rolled it out of the way.

  As Eli and Samuel focused on Kyle, Victor saw an opportunity to make a move. Why had Eli allowed himself to be vulnerable? Maybe he trusted that Victor wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize Kyle, or Eli knew he could resist Victor with ease.

  “I know what you’re thinking, bro,” Eli said, “but now is not the time.”

  Eli turned on the suction and Victor’s dizziness amplified to full nausea at the memory of the sound—Anita’s surgery. The room felt as though it were swaying back and forth.

  Eli hooked the blood IV to Kyle. “Those images ready yet?”

  Mr. Sands held up a tablet computer, displaying the images. Eli surveyed them, toggling between the slices of Kyle’s head imaged by the CT scan. As Victor watched Eli, he thought of him as the embodiment of the perfect surgeon. Even with all that was happening, Eli held no emotion, his hands steady. Victor respected his brother’s surgical prowess, envied it even. Eli was driven to keep his patients alive, to do everything he could without mistakes. Surely Eli had chosen that profession for the betterment of humanity.

  So, could Eli change at his core, to become what he seemed? Could he change his mind about the Dames, if he were no longer blinded by all the tragic loss in his life?

  “Kyle’s skull is intact,” he said. “I see no evidence of any edema. Nothing of concern at the entry point.” He said to Kyle, who didn’t seem awake, “You have a hard head. You’re a lucky bastard.”

  Remmie squeezed Kyle’s hand. “You’re going to be okay.”

  He opened his eyes a sliver.

  “I need a local,” Eli said.

  Mr. Sands pulled a needle from the fridge. “Novocain. It’s all we have.”

  “It’s all we need.”

  He grabbed the needle and injected Kyle at his entry and exit wounds. Kyle’s face cringed a little as he looked up at Remmie and brandished something close to a smile.

  “Mr. Sands,” Eli said. “Let’s add an antibiotic to the IV.”

  Samuel watched Mr. Sands closely as he drew liquid from a vial into a syringe and then injected it into the IV line. Victor was thinking Mr. Sands wouldn’t try anything stupid.

  Eli turned a studying eye on Bosco. “I’ll take a look at that lip—what’s left of it—when I’m done here. Then I want to know what went down, and why this boy has a bullet wound in his head.”

  Eli began to stitch up Kyle, who stirred again.

  “Eli,” Kyle said softly. “Thank you.”

  He let go of Remmie’s hand and held it to Eli, who grabbed it, gripping tightly, and then sprouted a warm smile. Victor could see the humanity that still existed in his brother. But the moment brought a twinge of jealousy, a need to feel that connection with his brother.

  Kyle rolled his bloodshot eyes to Remmie. “I love you, Remmie.”

  Remmie looked up and around. Her face blushed.

  “Don’t worry,” Eli said. “It’s the head trauma. Well, maybe you should be worried; I think he’s telling the truth. The blood and fluids are kicking in. He’s regaining some strength.”

  Eli stitched up Kyle’s head quickly. “We’ll keep him here for a little while until the IV is done. Then it’ll be oral antibiotics for ten days and lots of rest.” Eli turned to Bosco. “Now for you.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  AT KYLE’S HOPEFUL prognosis, Remmie felt an end-of-marathon relief, and fatigue suddenly numbed her slouching body. She bit her lip in the pattern of the Dames. It was kind of a nice distraction, fiddling with her state three pattern and all. She looked at Bosco, whose disfigured mouth was about to be examined by Eli. Would he blow Rachael’s cover? If they asked the right question, he’d just answer it. But it didn’t matter, for she didn’t really care who happened to be in charge at that moment.

  Kyle was going to be okay. That’s all she had energy for.

  Eli said to Bosco, “Have a seat, man.”

  Bosco stood unresponsive, but his expression changed from lobotomy newbie to veteran soldier. His harpoon gaze was now firing at Kyle. Rem
mie felt her muscles tense.

  But no, Eli was there. He wouldn’t allow any more violence.

  “Suit yourself,” Eli said, “but I’m going to look under this bandage, and then you’re gonna tell me why Kyle has a hole in his head.”

  As Eli reached for the bandage, Bosco let out a battle cry, throwing his body forward, shoving Eli, who wasn’t prepared for a direct attack, to one side. Eli stumbled backward, grunting as he hit the floor, and Bosco turned on Kyle, grabbing his scalp, fingers prying into the bandage. Kyle mumbled, moving slothlike.

  Remmie snatched a scalpel from the surgical table.

  Victor and Samuel barreled in to confront Bosco. Remmie readied a strike, but Victor grabbed Bosco under his shoulders, using strength and momentum to lift him off his feet.

  Bosco knuckled Victor in the throat, but it was a weak hit, and Victor was able to launch Bosco back a yard.

  Bosco stumbled but didn’t go down until Eli and Samuel seized him and threw him to the floor kicking, flailing, and shouting.

  Remmie slipped the scalpel in her pocket. Who knew when it might come in handy?

  Her hands now hovered over Kyle’s wound, afraid to touch the dressing for fear of causing more damage.

  “I hate you all!” Bosco’s bandage flew from his face as he shouted, dangling flesh flapping, his speech a repulsive gurgle, spewing blood and fluid. “They activated me. Rachael is here!”

  “What?” Eli turned to Remmie.

  Holding down their own comrade, Eli and Samuel were no longer the ones in power. Victor, rubbing his throat, stood over them. Mr. Sands’ poker face watched the commotion from the sidelines, perhaps ready to seize his own opportunity.

  “Maybe Bosco’s lying,” Samuel said. “Maybe it’s a double cross.”

  Remmie peered under Kyle’s bandage. The wound was leaking some blood, but the stitches didn’t seem to be broken.

  Eli said to Bosco, “What do you mean they activated you?”

  “Victor’s device,” Bosco said. “The one we used to get in here. Remmie activated me, but I’m not now, or . . . I don’t know, but I feel like myself.”

  Eli thrust Bosco’s shoulder into the floor. “Why’d you shove me? To get at Kyle? Why? He’s no threat to you.”

  “I . . . didn’t know what I was doing. It must be a side effect of activation. Please. I’m feeling myself again now.”

  “Don’t let Bosco up,” Remmie said. “He shot Kyle. In the back. Tie him.”

  Jack and Will burst down with a shout of, “Let us see your hands,” pointing guns. Rachael sauntered down behind them, fresh makeup on her face, her blue eyes on Victor.

  “Hi, Vick,” she said.

  “Bosco’s not under control anymore,” Remmie said.

  “Looks like the tables have turned again,” Mr. Sands said. “And I think it’s time I revealed the truth to you all.”

  Victor and Eli shared a look.

  “Please, let me up,” Bosco said, no longer resisting. “I’ve been telling the truth, see?”

  “Don’t,” Remmie said.

  Eli and Samuel let go of Bosco, standing with their hands in the air under the double-barrels of Will and Jack.

  “Where’s the device?” Mr. Sands said.

  “I’ll grab it,” Rachael said, blowing Victor a grin on exit.

  “May I check on Kyle?” Eli said.

  Mr. Sands nodded. Remmie stepped aside for Eli.

  Eli said to Mr. Sands, “I didn’t want bloodshed any more than you. I never would have authorized what happed to this boy.”

  “Kyle was a threat,” Bosco said. “I had to . . . you weren’t there and don’t know.”

  “You shot him in the back of the head!” Remmie said. “They can see that from his wounds.”

  Eli pulled away Kyle’s bandage. “We’ll need a new dressing.”

  Remmie saw hope in Eli. He was a chaotic stew of emotion, but not inherently a bad person, she was certain. He’d lost so much in all of this. She could almost see herself taking the same path, if she were in his circumstances. Events and emotions could subtly inch you in a direction, and before you knew it you’d changed, for better or for worse.

  Eli replaced Kyle’s bandage.

  “He’ll be okay?” Mr. Sands said.

  Eli nodded.

  “I’m glad,” Mr. Sands said. “Now please step back from the table. You all don’t have to hold up your hands, but keep them in front of you. The information I have to share will unify us, I assure you.”

  Remmie wasn’t planning on stepping from Kyle’s side, and Mr. Sands didn’t question her. Eli, Victor, and Samuel moved back, clustering around Bosco.

  Eli whispered to Bosco, “Why’d you shoot the kid? I thought we had an understanding. I don’t know you like I thought I did.”

  “You never did,” Bosco said.

  Bosco catapulted his elbows, throttling Eli’s throat and careening into Samuel, throwing him off balance. Jack pointed his gun, but he didn’t have a good angle on Bosco. Bosco lunged into Mr. Sands, pushing him into Jack. Will stepped back, firing off a bullet that sped between Bosco and Mr. Sands, who fell to the floor. Victor and Samuel grabbed at Bosco, but his body was as a cornered feral cat’s.

  He grabbed hold of Jack’s arm. Will fired another shot that pierced Bosco in the shoulder, blood streamers flowing from the entry wound, but Bosco plowed Jack into the wall, spinning around to keep Jack’s body between himself and Will. Bosco got hold of Jack’s gun hand, rotating it, and fired off a shot that zoomed between Victor and Eli. They froze and held out their hands.

  Bosco shoved Jack toward Will and then shot Will in the mouth. He waved the gun across the group. Will fell to the floor, coughing up blood but still gripping his gun.

  “Don’t go near him,” Bosco said, referring to Will.

  “Put it down,” Eli said. “You can’t win this.”

  “All I want is to go.”

  Bosco slid along the wall until he was backed in the corner. His shoulder was bloody from being shot, but it didn’t seem to faze him.

  “Put the gun down, Bosco, please,” Mr. Sands said. “We can work this out.”

  Rachael emerged from the stairs. She held the device and a gun. “What’s happening?”

  “Drop the gun,” Bosco said, turning his gun on Rachael. “Toss it down the hall. Or I’ll unload this clip, take as many out as I can.”

  She complied.

  The others were backed up to the surgical table, in front of Kyle.

  Bosco said to Mr. Sands, “This is a joke. I was activated, and now I’m me again, but without a lip. There is no control. It’s all bullshit.”

  Eli took a step toward Bosco, “Just give me the gun and we’ll talk about this. I know what you’ve been through. I understand. Let’s—”

  Bosco pulled the trigger.

  The bullet pierced Eli’s chest, and he fell back against the table sliding to the floor. Victor shouted.

  “Nobody move or I’ll shoot another one,” Bosco said.

  Victor fell to his knees over Eli.

  Remmie took a step toward Bosco. “I love you, Bosco. I thought there was hope for us. Let me come with you, just us.”

  “You bit my fucking lip off!” His finger caressed the trigger, trembling.

  “I thought you had betrayed me. Surely you understand what that feels like. My love has to be strong to arouse such violent passion in me. We’re both deeply emotional . . . one of many things that connects us. I know you love me.”

  “I do . . .” His demeanor softened.

  Remmie glanced at Eli, his hand against his chest, blood dribbling between his fingers. Samuel knelt and took his hand, sharing a look with Victor.

  “We’ll let you go,” Rachael said to Bosco with a vicious calm.

  “Remmie’s coming with me,” he said.

  “No,” Eli whispered.

  “Yes.” Remmie reached out her hand to Bosco.

  “Up the stairs,” he said. “You go first.”
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br />   He knelt to pick up Will’s gun and pushed it into his pants. Remmie started up the stairway, her heartbeats squishy, unbalanced. She pulled her fist to her chest as she felt a tear fall down her cheek.

  The scalpel was in hand.

  “Quick,” Bosco said, his voice now tame.

  They reached the top stair. The house was clam, art covering the walls. The place had good energy. She wouldn’t mind having a place like this. Would it be here where she met her end? She could see Bosco’s reflection in a mirror on the far wall. He turned his head to look back.

  She spun her body around, pushed aside his gun hand, and buried the scalpel in his larynx.

  It was no time for half measures. She twisted the blade, ripping it sideways, slicing his neck like a swollen tube of bloody hamburger. He grabbed her wrist as he fell backward and pulled her over. The impact of their fall—she slammed on top of him—shot wormy prickles into Remmie’s arms. The scalpel bounced from her hand, the shine of the handle reflecting light from the window, the blade covered in a deep-red syrup. Crimson fountained from Bosco’s neck and painted Remmie’s face. She pushed her body up and stood over him.

  Their eyes met.

  Blood flowed from his shoulder, face, and neck like streams from melting ice around the complex topography of a mountain. His two front teeth were exposed behind a frayed curtain of flesh, the beginning of exposure of the skull, all that would soon remain after his flesh had rotted away.

  Bosco threw his good shoulder up and grabbed her ankle, pulling at her, and her weak legs folded.

  “You’ll die with me,” he murmured.

  She was able to reach the blade of the scalpel, slicing her finger as she grabbed at it. Bosco threw his arm around her torso, but she wrenched upward and jammed the scalpel into his eye.

  A high-pitched screech blasted through his front teeth, tearing at Remmie’s ears and he threw her aside, into the wall, the scalpel still in her hand with fragments of tissue hanging from the blade. Red bubbles emerged from Bosco’s mouth, his arms falling limp.

  The gunshot overwhelmed Remmie’s senses.

  *

  She woke up when Rachael pulled her upright and hugged her tight, holding Remmie’s head to her chest. Remmie opened one eye to see Bosco’s shredded face, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. She puked on Rachael’s bosom, then began to choke on her own vomit. But she held onto Rachael like a little girl holding a security blanket.