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  “That’s bullshit. Our minds are too complex to rebuild someone from their social media pages.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Victor then pondered the implications of injecting so much information—the history of other lives, an entire species—into an individual mind. “To merge would take away the identity of the individual.”

  “I’m still Franklin Sands, just . . . broader. Humans are wired to be individuals, as the Dames architects were. We’re simply being endowed with more information. I have memories of past lives of my Dames, and our species, but there are billions of lives I have yet to live. And perhaps someday we will find a way to collect both species into a new era of Dames, once we’ve exhausted all of our whims and passions as the beings we are now, and then jettison to another world and start anew. Eventually we’ll become God—to have complete knowledge of all that is.”

  “This is how you become God? Consume information, species, life, until you’ve done it all, seen it all?”

  “Yes, and this is the best course to realize a perfect existence.”

  “Your best course. To merge is to give up control. People should be given the choice. The Dames’ species chose this, not humanity.”

  “Who doesn’t want to know the mind of God? And control? What control? We’re all controlled by the laws of physics, probability. We’re simply pulled along by nature. We’re just along for the ride. Why not give that ride a final destination?”

  Mr. Sands was becoming agitated. All this knowledge, yet Mr. Sands exhibited the most self-centered of human behaviors.

  “Nature decides for us all the time,” Mr. Sands said through his teeth. “There is no free will. But we—you and I—have the power to make a decision for humanity. We represent humanity; therefore, humanity has the power to decide for itself, through us. And they would decide as we do if they knew what we know.”

  Victor shook his head, reeling from Mr. Sands’ serpentine logic—they were free because their knowledge only led to one possible decision. “They must decide as they are. Even merging with the Dames doesn’t yield perfect information . . . the mind of God, whatever that means.” Victor rubbed his chin, contemplating, searching for counterexamples. “If we all remain who we are, then psychopaths would gain this knowledge and use it to hurt, or destroy. Our minds would be overwhelmed by information, and the darker side of our nature—so many people lie, cheat, are wolves—would have the power of this profound knowledge. Knowledge is power.”

  “Yes, knowledge is power, but with knowledge comes morality. To merge will give them a moral compass, the history of their previous lives, and our race. The existing evil will be diluted by the future good.”

  “Are you giving a psychopath a moral compass or simply access to an arsenal with which to impose his immorality?”

  “I know myself and I am merged. The self is an illusion, nothing more than a data construct. What matters is complete information. As we approach it, we all become more and more the same—your psychopath included. The psychopath cannot reign once exposed to the larger collective mind.”

  “Then you’re confirming that the individual becomes lost in the collective mind, no longer exists in the same sense.”

  But a part of Victor was intrigued by the idea of tapping into the knowledge of other lifetimes—of inducing empathy by forcing people to remember they were once someone else. Would humanity be better off? If it were all true, maybe. But with uncertainty comes risk. He had no right to gamble with humanity without its consent, without humanity understanding the risk. And what if Mr. Sands was lying about all of it just to get Victor to flip the switch?

  “Clearly I behave as an individual,” Mr. Sands said. “You can’t deny the truth. Simply embrace it.”

  “What about Rachael? I love her.”

  “And you can love her still. But once merged, you’ll see beyond your differences, and the emotion that dominated you.”

  If merged, would he still have the capacity to love? Would he lose those unstable emotions that drove his passion?

  “I love Rachael as she is,” Victor said, “as I am.”

  “Why is this so difficult for you? You know what I’m saying is true, yet you don’t trust all of what I say.” Mr. Sands leaned in, looking at Victor as a comrade, a brother. “All you need to do is switch on the device. My unorthodox merging was not fully complete, in that my Dames don’t cause the activation of those around me, by design. When we are fully merged, then it’s diffusion that completes the cycle. Everyone we come in contact with will activate, and then merge shortly thereafter. If you and I start the diffusion, we’ll be the seed that merges humanity. Then we’ll learn how to move our minds to better machinery and live forever.”

  It sounded so tempting, Victor nearly gave in. But he felt he should let the best odds drive his decision, much as they did for the species who created the Dames. Would quality of life for humanity improve? He didn’t know. And clearly Mr. Sands was willing to kill and destroy to get his way—the psychopath would still reign. But Victor didn’t have enough information to know for sure what to do—he lacked complete information. He would run one additional experiment before making his decision, behave like a scientist, to be sure.

  No more mistakes.

  “Mr. Sands, I will show you how to merge me, begin the merging of humanity, using this device.”

  Mr. Sands eyes glittered. “I knew you’d agree.”

  “Turn the box over, unscrew the nut, and pull out the piece with the arrow. Make the arrow point to four.”

  Mr. Sands followed Victor’s direction. “Okay, now what?”

  “First, I want to ask you a question.”

  “Of course, my brother,” Mr. Sands said.

  “Do you remember how your parents died?”

  Mr. Sands appeared perplexed. “Yes, of course, but I don’t—”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “There was a fire. My father went in to save my mother and failed. Why this question? How did you know this?”

  “I looked up a lot on you when you first engaged me. My paranoia and shit like that. Did your father do the right thing?”

  “No, he sacrificed himself to get her. It was a waste.”

  “From what I read, the chances were pretty good that they’d both make it out.”

  “But not good enough.”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  “When I was younger.”

  “Do you remember what it was like, to love?”

  “To make love is certainly a pleasurable experience. Something the species of the Dames never enjoyed.”

  “Is she still alive?” Victor said.

  “She passed some years ago, actually while we were together. A car accident. My memory of the sadness is a powerful one.”

  Would Victor still be who he was if he was merged? Would Kyle be Kyle? Would Remmie stay as she was? Would Rachael? What would Eli do if he knew of this truth? Anita? What Victor had read about Franklin Sands as a child, a teenager, a student . . . so different from the person who was before him. Would Mr. Sands just reconstruct his parents or his lost love from the biased memories of those they interacted with, and love them with a Potemkin love?

  “You’re afraid to die,” Victor said. “You want to activate humanity in order to find a way to live forever, right?”

  “Yes, I don’t want to end. Surely you don’t either.”

  “You’re right. I also want to be merged,” Victor said, motioning to the device. “Let’s finish what we started. I’ll hold the buttons on either side of the box. You just need to flip the switch. That’ll let you keep your gun on me, just in case you don’t trust me.”

  Victor had resolved himself. Kyle and Remmie didn’t need to know the truth about the Dames. Victor’s gut told him Mr. Sands wasn’t the same after he became merged. The odds dictated that activation was a mistake, and it would stifle the unique journey of all human beings. There might be a better way,
a better future, a better being, but this wasn’t it.

  Victor thought of Rachael, her pure form, her scent. He remembered the intensity when they last made love. It was real, for both of them. And he thought of Kyle, Remmie, Eli, Anita.

  “Now’s the time,” Victor said. “The world will never be the same. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Victor depressed the buttons and Mr. Sands flipped the switch.

  There was an ear-splitting sound, a vibrant flash, and then nothing.

  SIXTY-SIX

  KYLE WAS REMINDED of the flash grenade—the brilliant flare and bursting sound, like shrapnel slicing his perception. Then a deep grinding pain, flowing from his entry and exit wounds.

  Flames projected glass from the windows of the house, and the front door splintered like chunks of mesquite, diffusing before mustard-yellow flame with red accents and broad puffs of smoke. The shock wave almost shook Kyle from the retaining wall.

  Everyone dropped to the ground except Rachael. She stood as a statue, her intense gaze on the house.

  “Victor,” Rachael said in a weak voice.

  Kyle reached to help Remmie to her feet. “You okay?”

  “Kyle, you should—”

  Samuel eyed Rachael, then hastened toward the house. She followed. Anthony sat motionless. Jack got to his feet, cigarette hanging from his lip, his gaze toggling between the house and the three of them.

  Kyle watched Samuel and Rachael, who had stopped close to the house, holding their forearms before their faces. So that was setting four. This was Victor’s plan all along.

  Flames were consuming the house, burning the roof, eating around the brick like Anthony gnawing on ribs.

  “Nothing in that house is alive,” Jack said.

  Kyle watched the house, Rachael and Samuel circling it as if there were a way to get in, if they could find the right angle, their arms up, battling the heat. Samuel disappeared around the house.

  Another explosion thundered from inside, a pillar of flame shooting from the roof. Rachael fell backward, then got to her feet and began running back to the others. Samuel emerged from behind the house at a sprint.

  “We should get further”—cough—“back!” Samuel said.

  They all moved to the end of the long driveway where it met the main dirt road. Another concussive explosion ensued from behind the house.

  “Propane,” Samuel said. “If this spreads to the trees . . . and if folks from town see the smoke, hear the explosions . . .”

  Rachael stumbled, rubbing her arm over her face. “What have I done?”

  Samuel suddenly lunged at Jack and punched him in the chin. Jack fell to his butt and sat there looking up like a beaten child.

  “Why’d you have to do that?” Jack said.

  “What happened here?” Samuel said.

  “You tell me,” Rachael said, standing her ground.

  “Was this by design?” Remmie said.

  “Maybe,” Kyle said.

  Everyone looked at Kyle.

  “Mr. Sands had something important to tell Victor,” Kyle said, “and he had Victor’s device. I think . . .” He looked at Remmie.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “I think this is what Victor wanted. His device could activate the Dames . . . stage one, two, and three, but also a fourth. But . . . in his note he said not to . . .”

  “Was this his fail-safe?” Remmie said.

  “We’ll wait until the flames die down,” Jack said. “We’ll go inside and figure out what happened.”

  “It could be a long time before it’s safe to go in there,” Samuel said. “And this fire may be visible from the town, depending on the wind. We’re at risk. It’s done.”

  “He’s gone,” Rachael said. “I could see it in his eyes. He had already decided it. He chose this.”

  “If that’s true, then what do we do now?” Remmie said.

  “We take you home,” Samuel said.

  “Let’s take the van up the road and cut into the woods,” Rachael said. “If anything goes awry, for any reason, we’ll have an exit to the south. Otherwise, when the flames have died, we’ll return. I have to know for sure.”

  “Agreed,” Samuel said.

  *

  Smoke billowed from random areas of debris, the house a brick shell with scattered embers. Kyle held Remmie’s moist hand as they surveyed the ruins. Rachael, Jack, and Anthony sat on the grass, smoking what was left of Jack’s cigarettes. Almost twenty hours had passed since the explosion, and no one else had shown up. Samuel and Jack had been sifting through the blackened wood and charred objects for more than an hour, searching for clues. They finally emerged, a hollow exhaustion echoed across their faces.

  “There are scattered remains,” Samuel said. “Near as I can tell the explosion blew them in every direction. I got Eli and Vick killed.”

  Rachael approached Samuel and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Their blood is on my hands as much as anyone’s.”

  Samuel held up a charred wristwatch. He handed it to Rachael, who scanned it with damp eyes and squeezed. Victor’s watch. She pressed her lips together.

  “You found his body? This watch?” Rachael said.

  “The watch was by itself, probably thrown by the explosion.”

  “But the band is latched.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  Rachael squeezed the watch tight. “Now we have to make right what’s left to make right.”

  Remmie grabbed Kyle’s hand and faced Rachael. “It’s not your fault. The situation carried you along, like it did all of us, and we did the best we knew how. This end was never anybody’s intent. I know that. If anyone’s to blame it’s Sands. And maybe Bosco.”

  “Victor wanted it this way,” Rachael said. “It was the only way. Just destroy all the evidence, including himself and the one who was driving this all along.”

  Kyle felt nauseous, and a dizzy spell threw him off balance. It had all been too much. Remmie put her arms around him.

  “Kyle, you need to take one of your antibiotics,” Rachael said. “We have to get you well.”

  “What if he needs a doctor?” Remmie said. “How will we explain a gunshot to the head?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Rachael said. “Eli did a great job stitching him up. I’ll tend to him until he’s well, and we’ll get a doctor to look at him. I promise. I know some people. I’ll get you both home.”

  “I never meant harm to any of you,” Samuel said. “I just wanted . . . I chose to get into this for the wrong reasons . . . selfish reasons. You two? You didn’t ask for it.”

  “There’s nothing left,” Kyle said. “They’re gone and that machine is scattered in as many pieces as they are.”

  “You know none of this is over,” Jack said. “As long as those things are in our heads . . . I don’t have Malclenersy.” He watched Kyle and Remmie as he picked up his gun and put it in his pants. “Go, but know this isn’t over.”

  “It is for the time being,” Samuel said.

  But it was Anthony who summed up what they all felt. “I want to go home.”

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  KYLE AWOKE TO Remmie shaking his arm.

  The van door slid open and there stood Rachael and Samuel. Remmie and Samuel helped Kyle to his feet. He ached but felt stronger, and he was confident that with rest and good food he’d be fine. He gazed at his apartment building. The window screen was still leaning against the side.

  “We’re home, man,” Anthony said, wide eyes. “I can’t wait to be in my place, pound a Thrifty Light, and sleep for the next week.”

  Anthony had been resting through the whole ordeal. He acted like he’d actually seen real action.

  For Kyle the present moment was like stepping backward, into an earlier time, when he was a mere child. This was a past life, the life of another person. He looked at Remmie, his core tingling as he admired the beauty of her ragged hair and her crooked smile. A peace and comfort filled his mind and body.
He was alive and in control, the path of his life stood before him, a path he was yet to chart. He put his hand on her cheek and she touched it gently.

  “You ready to go inside?” she said.

  Then Kyle remembered a dream he’d had in the van. It arose, unbidden, to the surface of his consciousness like a memory from the past. “I had a weird dream.”

  “Let’s get inside, sit down,” Remmie said. “You can tell me all about it. Hopefully you haven’t been evicted.”

  Anthony chuckled. “I bet you were, ha!”

  Anthony’s door was the one with the eviction notice. His key didn’t work on the lock.

  “We’ll pay your rent,” Samuel said. “Your shit’s probably still in there. When’s the last time you paid?”

  “I was already a month behind, and this all started at the first of the month, so I’m two months behind.” Anthony’s shoulders fell and he said to Kyle, “How come you don’t have a notice?”

  “I paid my rent for March a week early. I always do. I’m only a couple of days late for this month.”

  Kyle’s apartment was as he’d left it, except for the aroma of something rotting.

  “We’ll clean up,” Rachael said.

  Remmie said to Rachael, “You’re different. You were so mean in the beginning of all this. You were ready to beat me to a pulp.”

  “Yeah, well, I was pissed. Now? I’ve lost a lot in all of this. We aren’t so different. I need to start healing.”

  “Yeah,” Samuel said. “Once Kyle’s back on his feet I’m heading back to Vegas, or . . . well, no. I pissed a few local guys off back there. Maybe I’ll head to New York. Dancing is my passion, you know?”

  “What was the deal with those guys, by the way?” Kyle said. “Back at the Cherry . . . whatever it was called?”

  “They were a few local meatheads, into petty crime shit. I didn’t like the way they treated me a couple of times . . . things they said. So I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone. I told them there were a couple of guys poking around in the workshop out back. I got to kick the shit out of them while giving me a reason for storming the castle with you guys.”