The Touch of Heaven

Chapter 9

VIII

"It's a shame, Mrs. Everence., that your son and the immunes had to vanish under such enigmatic circumstances. But we're telling you, we're not able to find them at the moment."

Debbie sniffed. She was Miles' mother – just as much a worrywart as her son and the person most responsible, outside the Association members who'd shot his father, for shaping him into an anxious wreck – a bit plump around the edges, her face soft like rounded dough and her eyes those of a quivering baby's. She just looked like a grown-up, female version of her son in virtually every respect; her luscious hair was black, nicely curled and filled with, to my odd fascination, feathery down, and she smelled of shampoo and goldfish crackers. She was a woman of thirty-nine but she looked both twenty-five and fifty at the same time; her features were both youthful and expressive and constantly aged, stressed, and wrinkled out like a bad batch of laundry all the same.

"Everything?" Debbie said, on the verge of flipping out. "You need to do more. If my baby's out there in the unprotected zone with those filthy half-human raiders-"

"Calm down," the security guard confronting her said desperately. "Lt. Jones himself is trying his damnedest to get their signals down. No raiders have broken through here in months."

Me and Jilton, an hour or two after we'd discovered Tango was gone, had driven into the security bureau – a sub-department of the civilization bureau run by Lt. Jones – to report the matter. As it turns out, Tango, Miles, and Celia – although Celia hadn't had time to be properly registered, meaning she didn't have a signal to begin with – had completely vanished from Haven's walls and were nowhere to be seen in the ten-mile safe zone encompassing Haven. Me, Jilton, Lavender, and Darby were waiting out in a drab black waiting room of the security bureau in silence. Debbie had come with after we'd told her Miles was gone, causing her to raise up a fit I honestly couldn't blame her for. Jilton in particular didn't seem as mellow as she was. She seemed genuinely worried, her usual half-smirk gone and replaced with an expression of nervous fear.

"What if there's a security breach!?" Debbie continued to say, spinning up one potential situation after another to vex herself. "God knows those places aren't kept tight enough!"

"Ma'am, please," the security guard said, getting increasingly fed up with her but trying his level best to stay calm. "A security breach is a one in a million chance. That's not going to happen."

"Oh, that's what you say, but then the dominoes always topple and some poor bloke with the Phantom ends up shot by you freaks!" Debbie hissed at the security guard.

The sound of a door opening alerted all of us. From one of the inner hallways, a familiar face to us all walked out, his face undeniably stern. Lt. Donald Jones, the military officer stationed by the Association to handle their affairs in a joint leadership with Mayor Pleasance, had come through the hall, his face speaking of irritation and his hands folded behind his back. He had a face about as hard a rock wall, a military cap on his bald scalp and a PT uniform he hadn't bothered to dress out of on his toned body. His blue eyes were as clear as the eye of a hurricane and his face was covered in a brown moustache as bushy as a tumbleweed, each individual hair as sharp as the quill of a porcupine. Jones was something of a subject of conversation among Haven. He'd built a reputation he wore like a dog tag; he'd been stationed seven years earlier as one of the people who had helped to totally curb a brutal civil war in Libya. He had a metal plate implanted in his skull. He was apparently fishing buddies with the CEO of the Association himself, a father of four with a wife about as nails-tough as he was, and – most unexpectedly – was a damn good crocheter.

Before Debbie could redirect her series of accusations towards Jones, the security guard trying to keep her gone deserted her with a sigh of relief and faced Jones with a salute. Jones just sighed and gave the man a pat that made him loosen his shoulders.

"Ease yourself, Barney," he said in a voice comparable to the snores of a hibernating bear. "We got a lead."

"And, sir?" the security guard – Barney, apparently – responded.

"They left on their own accord" Jones said, his teeth grit. "Fires of hell know why."

Debbie turned to Jones with a grief-stricken expression. "And my Milesy? Where is he?" she uttered, horrified.

"Still unaccounted for along with the immunes," Jones said. "We studied some of the feedback from the early hours of this morning, though. An unrecorded vehicle drove into Haven this morning, somehow got past the security check, and took Tango with it. The boy's signal followed suit and they drove out of the safe zone."

My heart was pounding in my chest. I could remember what Miles had told me earlier – raiders. What if they'd all been attacked? Why had they all driven out to begin with?

"Um, Lt. Jones, sir," I said, trying to sound as respectful as I could, "but... there was a report of raider activity near the area, right?"

"Yeah," Jones said, without facing me. "Jango and his dogs are back. I know it's them."

I frowned. "...Who is Jango? I've heard a lot about him and the other raiders who used to come here, but..."

"He's a savage," Jones said with a hint of disgust. "He's been active for a few years now around the New Jersey area. Legal name was apparently Fritz Narciso before the Phantom hit. Resurfaced from apparent death five years back and he hasn't stopped since. No matter what protective measures we put forth, no matter how much we upped the security, that snake always found a way to break into our borders when no one was awake. Raided our supplies, thieved houses – murdered one of my closest friends, a guard who'd tried to stop him one time. If he's active now, he needs to be terminated."

I shrunk and nodded. "He's not gonna endanger Tango and Miles, is he?"

"He might," Jones said, not bothering to sugarcoat the danger at all. "That's why it's imperative we need to find the missing immediately. For now, though, I'm afraid there's not much you can do. Thank you for coming, though. Your concern's appreciated."

I did my best to smile, my heart still sore from worry, and replied in what I thought was the quietest I'd ever said anything. "Thank you, Lt. Jones. Please find them."

Jones nodded. "Hope we will, kid. Hope we will."

I turned and walked back to the others as Darby, Lavender, and Jilton stood up, having heard everything. Debbie was letting rip another fit, targeted towards Jones, now, in disbelief that she was being shooed out, but I was paying it no heed.

"Come on," Lavender said, her otherwise powerful voice faltering and hesitant. "Best we get home. Day's still young and there's nothing we can do."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to say that there was something we could do. I wanted to simply say we should just wait a bit outside the walls because they'd be back any minute now.

I think I was old enough to realize that optimism was misplaced, though. Nobody knew what was next.

The day went by as slow as a crippled snail. Jilton had simply dropped me off at my community center and she'd done her best, alongside Darby and Lavender, to reason they'd do whatever they could. I'd trailed off to my apartment and realized, a little bitterly, I still needed to go to the store. Couldn't be bothered. The rest of the day was taken up by mirthless viewings of LazyTown episodes I'd recorded, Tango on my mind. Eventually, with a half-consumed ice cream float on the little coffee table by the couch, I just passed out, LazyTown still playing.

Wake up.

My eyes blinked open in a heartbeat.

I couldn't remember any dreams. I was dead sure I hadn't dreamed, not of kittens, or Sportacus, or penguins and pebbles, or anything like that. It felt like I'd been asleep for a literal second before I'd woken up. I readjusted my specs – which were still on my face, for whatever reason – and looked at the time. 2:34 AM. I didn't know when I'd gone to sleep, but I'd been sleeping for at least a few hours. The TV had been switched off and, through the dark, I could tell that the ice cream in the float had melted. I sat up, detecting another presence in the room.

"Tango?" I said to the shadows, still half-asleep. "You back?"

The shadows moved. My eyes widened a bit as a figure moved a bit further from the corner and my heart turned to stone the instant I realized they weren't Tango.

Someone had broken in.

I backed up. The figure didn't move. They just stood there, watching me with eyes I couldn't see in the dark. The longer I concentrated, though, the more I could see something dimly glowing in the dark where the figure's eye should have been. I immediately backed up to the kitchen, took a dirty knife from the sink in a quivering hand, and confronted them, on the verge of tears.

"W-Who are y-y-you!?" I demanded, beyond terrified. "W-Why are you here!?"

I could sense the figure smile as they took another step forwards. A raspy voice greeted me in the shadows.

"Name's Celia," she said.

Celia? As in the missing immune Miles and Tango had brought in?

I took in a deep breath as Celia approached me a bit more. "P-Please stay back. What are you doing here? Where's... W-Where's-"

"-Tango?" Celia said, finishing my sentence. "That's why I'm here, silly. I know where your friend is. But you're going to have to come with me. Nobody else."

"W-Why?" I exclaimed. "H-How can I trust that you're t-telling the truth?"

"Because I was there when they were kidnapped," she said, casually. "I took Tango out of Haven for... uh, more personal reasons. But the raiders got us. Your friend and Miles or whatever his name was are being held in a*****e twenty-six miles away from here. I can drive you there and help you get your friend back. You game?"

I still felt suspicious. I didn't want to go near Celia; the entire situation reeked of an obvious set-up to sell me into human trafficking or something. But I felt a compulsion to say yes – a compulsion to agree with her I couldn't fight.

Before I realized that subconscious instinct hadn't been born of my mind, I'd already said "alright."

Celia grinned and took a step out of the shadow. She looked remarkably beat up, a fetid stench around her and her hair ruffled. Her pupil was subtly glowing in the dark. I looked into it and I was reminded of Heaven. That alone was motivation enough to never look into her eyes again.

I didn't have a choice. Celia was already taking me by the hand and I didn't feel the compulsion to fight back – or, perhaps, it was being suppressed. Besides, what if she was telling the truth? Was that gamble worth it to see Tango again?

I guess it was.

Celia's car, a BMW, was black, like Miles, but it seemed to blend in near-perfectly into the night, the windows tinted so I couldn't see through them. I nervously approached it – it'd been parked right outside of the community center – and got in. Celia happily got into the driver's seat and started it up. Everything felt confined and cramped. I felt secure, maybe a little too secure, in Miles' car, and this carried a similar but much more dreadful feeling; it was like I was locked in a supermax. Locked up and safe – but for who's safety?

We started off. Paranoia filled me the entire way through and I jumped once the car automatically locked its doors once we hit twenty-five miles an hour. I could look out the windows; they were tinted one way, it seemed. No other cars were out on the road and it was starting to snow, a heavy cloud hanging over the night. The walls came into view, and I suddenly realized that we'd have to go through the security checkpoint to even get out. No way Celia was going to be let out after this. God, it had been a doomed endeavor from the start.

We rolled up to the security checkpoint. The guard attending it, in his forties and apparently agitated he had the night shift, peeped out of the booth and looked us over with tired eyes.

"Trying to go out past the curfew?" he said, apparently in disbelief we'd stopped by the booth instead of just zooming past. His hand was on a red button apparently meant to trigger an alarm, however, poised to press it.

Celia rolled down the window and looked at him with her glowing eye. "That we are. Any complaints?"

I waited for the guard to either tell us to get back or sound the alarm upon seeing Celia, sighing to myself and bracing for the worst.

It never came.

A vacant stare came across the guard's face as he looked directly into Celia's eye. "No. None at all. Have a good night."

Celia beamed and rolled up the window as we drove past the walls, through the tunnel of the walls, and out into the open forest. I blinked.

"What... What just happened?" I eventually said after a full minute of pondering the situation. "Why did he?..."

"Huh?" Celia said, apparently not anticipating the question and her eyes still on the road. "Oh. Just my magic eye. Isn't Mylotheia wonderful in a pinch?"

I stared blankly at her. Did she just speak something in Hungarian?

"Oh yeah," she said, correcting herself with a giggle. "You're not an immune. Oh well. Enjoy the ride!"

I figured, at this point, it was better not to question anything – though I sure had a ton of questions. Twenty minutes passed by, all through which the snow got thicker and the woods got darker. The road was bumpy and the entire ride was an uncomfortable experience I was just longing to either end with me in Tango's arms or Celia revealing whatever nefarious intention she'd actually picked me up for. There were no other cars out. I'd never been this far out of Haven since me and the other applicants were flown in from Paradise. I just wanted to get it over with; the car, the emptiness, Celia herself – it was all a morbidly uncomfortable experience.

The most frightening thing, though, was the emptiness. There were no signs of life. No other cars on the road. No deer or raccoons or coyotes in the brush. Not even any birds in the sky. It was truly sinking in to me how many people the Phantom had killed.

The Earth would be barren if a cure couldn't be devised.

Eventually, after twenty minutes, there was a sudden break in the scenery of the forest. On the left side of the road on a disused driveway was a house. The lights inside were off, one of the windows smashed in, the door barely attached to the hinges, and the white paint job on the front crusted and falling off. Nobody had touched or lived in this place for years. Despite it all, Celia suddenly slowed down, turned into the driveway, and stopped the car in front of the house's closed-off garage.

My heart jumped. Why were we here?

"Hey," Celia suddenly said, causing me to jump again. "We're not there. Don't worry. I just need to get some stuff from my house. You wanna come in?"

My jaw fell open. This rotted-over skeleton of a woodside house was hers?

I felt uncomfortable with both going into the house, but I felt even more so in the darkness, alone in the car in the winter night. No survival instinct would help here, anyways; running back wouldn't work and there was little point to it, anyways.

"Okay," I said, against my better judgment.

Celia smiled in what seemed to be appreciation. We both got out of the car and I stepped into the snow, freezing cold since I wasn't wearing much aside from my nightclothes (just some puffy, polka-dotted pajama pants and a tank top, each dark blue) and no coat. Celia led me into the door, roughing shoving the door aside. There was no placemat, the closet by the door was empty, and the door stretched out to a hallway leading deeper into the house. The kitchen was right adjacent to the hallway – and that was when the smell hit me. It was putrid. Pungent. A little sweet. I covered my nose and my eyes teared up a bit as Celia led me in.

"God," I said, my voice muffled from my hands over my nose and mouth, "what is in here?!"

"Would you believe me if I said durians?" Celia said.

I blinked.

"Didn't think so," she said, without giving me a chance to respond. She didn't seem to mind the smell. "Look in the kitchen," she said, before walking down the hallway and going up a set of stairs by the end of it. I cautiously peered into the kitchen, still covering my nose, and regret it for the rest of my life.

There was two corpses. Dead bodies. From what I saw before pulling my head back in shock, she was an old woman, probably in her seventies. She'd been dead for a long, long time, her skin pale gray like that of a mummy's, her cheeks sagging into her near-skinless skull and her mouth agape in an unusual position, her eyes long eaten by maggots – a few which had still been festering in her skull. Her body had essentially collapsed on itself, her clothes withered and decayed and a massive hole having rotted into her chest. There was nothing in there but flecks of bone, flesh taken over by necrosis, and dust; anything that could have been eaten had long been done so by the rats and the bugs that had invaded the house in hope for a meal. The second body was her unfortunate dog which was still rearing over the body of its owner. Its face had completely rotted over to reveal portions of its skull and decomposed brain. It had probably tried to start to eat the old lady's body before it too had passed; anything beyond its head had collapsed into formless rot I didn't get a good look at before I pulled my head away.

I took in a shaking, sobbing gasp as the impact of what I just saw hit me. There was a dead body in the house. A decaying, dead person. I slouched against the wall, mortified and the image of what I'd seen burned into my mind, pressing my hands into my face and trying desperately to resist breaking into tears and just running back out into the woods. I'd seen a dead body – back in Paradise. My life had been in jeopardy. I'd killed someone before – Chayne. But the fact that a body was just here and nobody seemed to care just horrified me in ways I'd only known in the Mad Room.

Celia came back, whistling, a winter coat on, and something packed into her coat's pocket. I didn't notice her until she tapped me on the shoulder with the most out-of-place smile I'd ever seen.

"So?" she said, with mock playfulness. "Did you like it?"

I just stared at her with an abject terror. "Why is there... Why?! God!"

"Oh, you mean Grandma?" Celia said, seeming not to understand what was wrong. "She's been dead for a while. No need to worry. She and Skippy over there died of the Phantom at the same time I learned I was immune – that's why I made it. Guess nobody ever found her body. Figure she wouldn't want to leave the property."

"It's a corpse, Celia! She's dead!" I exclaimed.

Once more, for whatever reason, what I was trying to say flew completely over Celia's head. "I know. Your point is?"

I sniffed, my eye twitched, and I just walked back to the car, trying my absolute best to resist scratching out my eyes over what I'd just seen. Celia followed me, her face casual and impossibly light. There was something wrong with her. There really was.

"If it makes you feel any better," Celia said as she got back into the car, straightening her jacket and fiddling about with whatever else she took, "her death wasn't painful. She was infected way back and she didn't realize until the second month. She just kind of grew pale and slow, even for her age, and she stopped eating. By the time she realized what was wrong, she was too weak to call for help. Eventually, she just sort of collapsed on the ground and slowly starved to death. It was kind of a pity to watch."

My eyes widened. "So you watched her die and didn't do anything?!"

Celia shrugged. "She was nearing the end of her life anyways. It's not like I could have cured her. I tried force-feeding her; she just sputtered the food back up. Phantom does that to you after a certain stage. I couldn't call for help, either. Grandma was too paranoid to go into the town and she didn't have any sort of a phone. No way I was calling for help, anyways; the Association's people would have shot me on the spot without giving me a chance to explain I was immune. So I just kind of fled to the village. There I stayed for a long time and it was between then I got the call from the Sect of the Broken Mind. I've been preparing for this for a long time."

My gut twisted. I was long past the point of just being uncomfortable with Celia, now; she genuinely terrified me now. I was afraid one wrong move and she'd "accidentally" push me out of the car and run me over. We started driving again, my heart throbbing in my chest and a lingering sense of dread within me about what was next to come.

"What... What did you even grab?" I asked, still scared.

Celia opened her coat and dumped two things onto the seat next to her.

Guns. Two of them. Ordinary pistols, from the look of it, but the cottony inside of Celia's coat was lined with rounds and ammunition.

"Two of them. For you and for me," she said with the same morbid casualness she said everything with. "In case the raiders catch us and we need to shoot 'em. You ever fired a gun before?"

I nervously eyed the guns. For once, it was actually a legitimate concern, but the danger of this mission and the fact we might be risking our lives put me more on edge than I was. I had shot a gun before – and I'd somehow clipped off Ash's ear with it. He deserved it. I still wasn't sure the raiders did – Ash, on the other hand, was r****t scum. For as far as I knew, the raiders were just foragers trying their best to live in a world that oppressed the infected.

Still, if it was to save Tango, I reasoned it was worth it. I just hoped we were going to save Tango instead of, say, breaking into someone's house and murdering them. That seemed like the sort of thing Celia would trick me into doing and I half expected I'd be turning the gun on her if she went too far.

I just wordlessly nodded. Celia shot me a grin, shoved one of the guns into my hand, and resumed driving. "Shouldn't be long now. Shoot yourself and you're grounded," she quipped.

My hands quivered when they touched the pistol. It was cold, a bleak machine made to kill and nothing else. It was loaded and the safety was, conspicuously, off. I barely knew how to handle it, anyways. All I knew was point, shoot, and pray the resulting bang didn't blow my ears out or cause me to fling it out of my grip.

I sighed. "A-Alright."

"Oh, and Mint? Don't forget. This is life and death," Celia said. It was the most serious I'd ever heard her say anything, and it still sounded like she was joking about the situation.

I quietly huddled in the seat, looked out into the winter night, and hoped for the best.