Nightjack Read Free

the bed and read the Bible all night, even if you really were. There was too much of a chance that they’d think you might start hearing the voice of God coming out of the paperboy’s ass, run around shooting people in their naughty bits.
    Again, the flash of disappointment in Dr. Brandt’s expression even though he knew he’d given her what she wanted. She nodded sadly, her wet hair flapping around her shoulders.
    Christ, if they didn’t beat you with the meds then they went and did it with this vague look of shame. He was obviously doing something wrong here, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.
    “Do you miss teaching?” she asked.
    “Teaching?”
    “You remember. We’ve talked about this. You used to be a high school teacher. You taught twelfth-grade English literature.”
    “Yes, I know. And no, I don’t miss it. Not much.”
    When they got to the train station, the place was empty. Water puddled around them on the tile floor as she visibly relaxed and even allowed herself a relieved smile.
    He grinned back at her feeling very stupid. What the hell, let’s stand around and be happy, tomorrow I start canning fish for the rest of my life. The joy can’t be contained.
    She took his hand and squeezed. He tightened his fingers around hers and thought about how weak he’d become, even if he had broken Ernie’s nose and hadn’t quite seen it. Once his hands had been strong, he thought. Almost unbelievably so.
    Perhaps it was true. These fists weren’t entirely his anymore. Maybe they never had been.
    Dr. Brandt led him over to the automatic ticket booth and she started punching numbers and feeding bills into the machine. He wondered if he should pay, but he didn’t know if he had a wallet or any money on him. He stuck a hand in his pants pocket and pulled free a folded piece of paper.
    The note, written in a ornate cursive handwriting, read:
     
    Don’t take any more of your medication, no matter what they tell you. Protect Doctor Brandt, she’s in danger. They all are. Remember Cassandra and Kaltzas and Pythos. The dead will follow.
     
    Dr. Brandt couldn’t get one of the bills to work in the machine. It kept spitting the dollar back out at her. Her fingers trembled. “Oh, damn.”
    “Flatten it.”
    “It is.”
    “Uncurl the edges,” he said.
    “They are.”
    Pace shrugged. That was about it so far as his ability to help went. He wasn’t sure where they were going, which button she intended to push for the tickets.
    Where did they can fish? He’d never seen a fish cannery before.
    The things you had to worry about, one second to the next. Didn’t they have robot slaves to do that sort of shit yet?
    A scraping sound drew his attention to the left.
    He turned and, shoving his hair from his eyes, watched as three figures rose from the corners of the waiting area. A girl scuttling out from beneath a distant bench, two men unfolding from behind the ATM across the station. Even muggers would never lower themselves to hide in such spots. Nobody in their right minds would.
    He tapped Dr. Brandt on the shoulder and she said, “The edges are uncurled!”
    “Don’t worry about that now.”
    “I hate these stupid things.”
    “Forget that.”
    For a moment the station seemed filled with people. A cacophony of voices and noise erupted around him. Pace bit back a yelp and steadied himself against the side of the ticket machine.
    The benches and aisles suddenly overflowed with people and animals. Wings flapped past, brushing his neck. A dog howled forlornly. A woman with blue skin and obsidian eyes began writing flaming runes in the air. A nun was running around with a yardstick screaming, “Don’t eat paste!” Kids laughed. An Indian with lengthy braids twirled a pair of six-shooters and aimed here and there, practicing taking the tops of skulls off. There were others Pace couldn’t focus on, who moved in and out of his vision, shifting and fluctuating. Blurred colors and activity swept across