The Lies (Zombie Ocean Book 8) by Michael John Grist

Author:Michael John Grist [Grist, Michael John]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2017-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

12. SLAPS

Lara woke from a dream of fiery rain, panting and afraid in the dark of the Lincoln Bedroom. She shifted to sit on the edge of the bed and hug her arms round her chest, waiting for the chill in her heart to subside.

Amo.

It felt as if he'd just called her name from the middle of the room; except of course he wasn't here, and he'd never called to her like that before. Even on the stage with Drake, even in the depths of his guilt after the Maine massacre, she hadn't felt that level of dark, bitter despair. It felt like a lash across her mind, far worse than Witzgenstein's slap.

Her Amo had changed.

She didn't know where he was or what had happened, but the depths of that misery scared her. She tried to trace him back on the line, but couldn't; his comforting presence that had throbbed in her mind for so long was now far out of range, as it had been for months.

But he was hurting, that much was plain. He was lost, and afraid, and alone, just like her. He had been betrayed, and that despair was his touch reaching out for a kindred soul.

She couldn't help him. It hurt to realize that, but also it made her strong, because he was out there still, and she loved him still, and that meant something. Their bond, their children, those were things bigger than Witzgenstein, things she had to fight hard for. This morning she had knelt to a new President, she'd been humiliated in front of everyone she knew, but these were only steps on a larger journey. Amo's touch reminded her who she was, and always had been.

Steadily she regained control of her breathing. Her pulse settled.

Now they were coming.

She took deep breaths as they came up the stairs. She'd been waiting all day since the Truman Balcony, listening to the changes on the line, feeling the way Witzgenstein's touch reached out and bridled them all. It was hot and cold at once, all unconscious desire and anger, like Drake on the stage or the demon with its hand around her chest.

It wasn't controlled, though there was a will behind it, twisting its shape to focus in tune with Witzgenstein's emotions. Watching it from up close in that kiss had taught her a lot about what had happened to Crow, and why her people had surrendered so easily on the road East, and why she had knelt down herself.

Witzgenstein was using the line. She held them all in the palm of her hand, in her bridle, whether she was aware of it or not.

BANG

The door crashed open and in they came.

Lara stood to meet them in the semi-dark, lit by moonlight coming in through the tall windows. They were lit by their fizzing yellow lanterns, piling in like a mob, short only of pitchforks and torches.

Witzgenstein wasn't there, but she was; the red reins laid over them all.

At the head was Frances, followed by Alan, George, Nancy and Cynthia.

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