Chapter Forty-Two

Kristen

Side by side, Kristen and Madison ran steadily up along the length of the chilly shadow cast by the teetering skyscraper. Plaster and dust spilled off their hair and clothes and billowed behind them as they jogged past shattered storefronts and overturned cars. They were two faces in the indiscriminate mob, though the mass was noticeably diminishing as they crossed the intersections westward and put distance between themselves and the high-rises of Midtown. Out of danger from the collapsing skyscraper, they each still ran as fast as their dust-filled lungs would allow.

A loud rumbling thundered from behind them, and at the same moment the shadow of the skyscraper abruptly vanished. The grand building fell, its lashing supports crashing and hurdling into the heart of Manhattan. Rising from where the skyscraper had stood, a dark pillar of dust ascended high over the city. The cloud of wreckage that sprawled into the sky and surrounding streets, the one of which Kristen and Madison had been so nearly a part, seemed to touch the very ceiling of the clouds. Kristen turned and watched the churning plume in wordless awe. They were now well out of range of the devastation, but she took a few stunned steps backward on the trembling street. The back of her thighs touched the side of a police car, and she leaned back against it and watched the dreamlike cloud of destruction unfurl across the otherwise glittering autumn cityscape.

"Those poor people," Madison said.

Kristen's eyes reflected the ruin, and she quietly said, "Unforgivable."

The sentiment of the people pressing around them was not that of total relief, but certainly that of momentary appreciation for their narrow escape from a grisly death. They were leaving Midtown behind, and their growing distance from the towering skyscrapers placated the fear of an imminent death. Together, Kristen and Madison turned their backs to the towers of the city with a sense of final resolve, and continued at a steady trot toward the Hudson River.

"Someone shouldered that entire building. We both saw it." Madison spoke over the moving crowd as they fell in step. "If it wasn't Vengelis, who was it?"

"I don't know, but I don't like it."

"You don't like that someone saved your life?"

"That's not what I meant," Kristen said. "It's just that, well, I thought I had a grasp on the situation in all of this insanity. Now it looks like things are more complicated, which begs the question: what was Vengelis hiding? And that makes me scared."

Kristen reached a hand back and rested it against her backpack, where she felt the boxy form of the slide case through the nylon fabric. The case felt secure, undamaged. Somehow she had made it out of the disaster with the Sejero blood in her possession. They jogged wordlessly along the street, breathing the clean air deep down. Kristen's chest still felt fiery, the channels of her lungs razor sharp and inflamed. There were cuts and scrapes all over her body from the barrage of falling debris that had engulfed her, and her right ankle was tender from being twisted.

The crowd before them parted as the westward street met with the Hudson River, and they saw the full extent of the grand exodus off Manhattan Island. Kristen had never seen so many people in her life, and could not even venture a guess of their numbers. Countless men and women in military uniform were ushering the endless masses toward the river's edge. Sprawled out for miles and miles along the glistening cement strands, the grayish choppy water of the Hudson was swarming with ships. Though most of the boats were flying Navy and Coast Guard colors, there were also countless private yachts and heavy commercial vessels carrying anyone and everyone across the comparatively narrow body of water. Many of the boats were weighed down to the very brim with refugees throwing buckets of bilge from the sides, hulls lingering inches above the water.

Kristen paused to take in the momentous panorama, but the surrounding migration quickly pushed her forward. Turning to catch a glimpse of Manhattan, Kristen observed that the crashes and reverberations seemed to have died away with the felling of the giant skyscraper. The world was no longer trembling at the mercy of higher beings. At their backs, the city seemed eerily still, empty, and silent. The growing dome of dust that so nearly claimed her was being carried across the skyline in the cradle of Atlantic wind. With a mesmerized shake of her head, Kristen turned back to the riverside.

Pangs of anxiety began to flutter in her stomach. Her intellect alone controlled the fate of a technological creation unparalleled in the history of science—a truly foreign marvel. An undeniable truth faced her exhausted mind. If she chose one of the paths laid out before her, the name Kristen Jordan would be synonymous with Vatruvian cell technology, with the genesis of the enigmatic Felix.

The Felix.

Kristen buried her face in her dusty hands as indecision and doubt claimed her. The form of the destiny held within her backpack was obscured in boundless unknowns. Ruin and torment lingered from every angle. Would the idea taking form in her mind be mankind's grand salvation or inexorable peril? A large part of her wanted to shatter the slide of Sejero blood against the street or cast it into the Hudson, to abandon all thoughts of so compelling a notion. The power within her grasp was inconceivable, far too much for any one person to bear alone. But deep down Kristen knew it was not her decision to make.

"It's going to be okay," Madison said, seeing her inner torment.

Kristen looked out over the river and the crowding boats. Was this to be the future—the next hand dealt to humanity by the capriciousness of the fates: fear and desolation, subjugation and displacement? She could not selfishly destroy the Sejero blood to the torment of her world. With a sudden charge of gathered assurance, Kristen took a deep stirring breath. "You're right. It is going to be okay." At once, Kristen pushed to the nearby company of Marines standing by the river. "Hey! Hey! We know what they are; we have their weapons! Please!"

The nearest soldier, a man in his forties with an exhausted expression, held up a disinterested hand to her as he waved people onward to the boat launches. "Please continue toward the river and get in the lines to board one of the transports. We advise only boarding the Navy or Coast Guard ships. If you choose to board a private vessel, you do so at your own discretion. Just keep moving forward!"

"We need to talk to someone in charge!" Kristen shouted, her hair blowing in the wind. "We have vital information on the people attacking us! We were just in the Marriott Marquis where one of them held us captive!"

The soldier looked to Kristen with a thoughtfulness that surprised her. "Ma'am, look around you. Every single person you see is telling us they have seen something or know something about them. Now please, mind your own safety and board one of the designated crafts over the river. If what you say is true, then take it up with authorities once this mess settles down and you are out of harm's way."

"We didn't just see them," Kristen insisted. "We talked to them. Their leader explained to us what they are."

The soldier gave them a discerning look and raised a walkie-talkie to his mouth, but before he could speak, Kristen saw someone she could not believe. She stared past the Marine in disbelief for a stunned moment, and then lunged herself forward, nearly knocking him over.

"General Redford!" she screamed at the top of her lungs as the Marine grabbed her by the backpack. "General Redford!"

Kristen could not believe it. General Redford was walking beyond the line of soldiers, flanked on either side by a dozen men in uniform. The general stood a full head above the rest of his soldiers, and was issuing orders into a heavy military phone.

"General Redford!" Kristen shouted. "I need to talk to you! They came to the Marriott Marquis! They came to the convention! They held us hostage! Please!"

Hearing his name, General Redford turned to her and glared distantly for a moment, trying to place how he recognized her. His expression then lightened in familiarity. "Kristen Jordan?" he said, bewildered. "Let her through, soldier."

The Marine stepped aside at once and allowed Kristen to pass. Kristen grabbed Madison's arm and pushed through the line of camouflaged shoulders and machine guns.

"Bring the F-thirty-fives over the city one last time to remind people we're still here, and then ground them." General Redford spoke into a phone. "Yes, that's right. Ground them. They're doing no good. Fuel them up and be ready." He beckoned Kristen over to him as he hung up the phone. "I'm glad to see you made it out, Kristen." He placed a hand on the shoulder of one of the soldiers standing with him. "Lieutenant, please see that Miss Jordan here is brought aboard a transport right away."

The young soldier nodded. "Yes, sir. Please follow me, miss."

"Wait, wait!" Kristen said. "General Redford one of them came to the Marriott Marquis!"

"I beg your pardon?" the general's phone was already ringing again.

Kristen blurted out her words. "One of them . . . the people doing all this to New York and Chicago. He called himself Vengelis Epsilon, and he introduced us to those giants! He locked us in the convention ballroom and said they would destroy another city if I didn't help them."

General Redford was taken aback. "One of them was at the convention? I don't understand."

"They came here for Vatruvian cell technology."

"They . . . Vatruvian cell?" General Redford turned and faced her, his expression stern. "I don't understand. Where is Dr. Vatruvia?"

"He killed him."

"He?"

Kristen sighed shakily, aware of how insane she must sound. "Vengelis Epsilon."

"Vengelis Epsilon?" General Redford glared down the crowding riverbank. "Dr. Vatruvia is dead?"

Kristen nodded. "Vengelis Epsilon, the man claiming to be the emperor of their people, killed Professor Vatruvia in the Marriott Marquis."

The phone at General Redford's side continued to ring as he allowed the gravity of Kristen's words to soak in. After a moment he shook his head and answered the phone, issuing a string of orders and military acronyms that went over Kristen's head. "Walk," General Redford said as he hung up, and turned to the riverfront.

Kristen and Madison did not need telling twice. They followed close behind him as they passed by regiments of rushing soldiers and jumbled lines of people awaiting their transports across the river.

"I don't understand," General Redford said, leaning down to Kristen. "You are certain it was one of . . . them? This is a matter of national—hell, global—security."

"Beyond any doubt. We saw him fly. If that isn't enough in itself, we also watched him throw people across the Lutvak ballroom and disregard gunshots that hit him straight in the chest.

"He destroyed an eighteen-wheeler with his bare shoulder to prove to me his strength." Madison piped in. "And then forced me to take him to the Marriott Marquis. He only cared about the hotel and the scientists that were there."

"Destroyed an eighteen-wheeler you say?" General Redford asked, his expression registering familiarity. "Come with me."

Kristen and Madison followed him up a narrow gangplank and boarded a small ship with a gray hull and a billowing American flag. Underneath the steel grate at their feet, the gloomy waters of the Hudson looked cold and unwelcoming, the surface choppy in the chill wind. Across the crowding river, the western waterfront was being stormed with a horde of evacuees. The length of the New Jersey shore was lined with recently erected tents. Vaguely, Kristen noticed the George Washington Bridge was missing in the north.

"We're doing the best we can, given the circumstances. It might not look like it now, but New York was the city best equipped for this level of catastrophe. Lots and lots of disaster preparedness and evacuation protocol." General Redford said, his tone professional, though his gaze looked beaten as he looked out across the countless boats in the river. "You wouldn't believe Chicago."

"Is it as bad as it looked?" Kristen asked.

"Worse," General Redford said. "Much worse. We tried to engage them over the city—those giants, or whatever they are. A single one of them wiped out an entire squadron of F-twenty-twos with his hands. Our most advanced missiles fizzled against their chests as if they were nothing at all; M-sixty rounds bounced off them like pebbles. We're putting up a losing fight here, if it can be called a fight at all. Right now the plan is to keep as many people alive for as long as possible. We started getting a lot of reports that there is conflict among . . . whoever they are. There are tens of thousands of witnesses, but no two stories are alike. We have hundreds of analysts sifting through the facts, but nothing's reliable yet. The one common trend in the reports is that there appears to be a divergence between them. You say you talked to one of them?" General Redford handed his phone to one of the men walking beside him and turned to Kristen, the breeze of the river ruffling his fatigues. "Tell me everything."

Kristen took a breath, and at once delved into all the tumultuous happenings that had transpired from the time she had begun her Vatruvian cell presentation earlier in the afternoon. Almost immediately, General Redford looked astounded. He called over an assistant to record every word spoken as their boat slowly made its way through the dense traffic of the waterway.

Against the clamorous backdrop surrounding them, Kristen told the general everything she knew. She spoke of Vengelis Epsilon and his apparent intentions; she explained the close relationship of the Felix research report and Vatruvian cell technology. As the boat pitched back and forth, Kristen described the two giants that destroyed Chicago and what she had inferred about the Primus race and Sejero genetics. Every now and then Madison spoke up and added something Kristen had overlooked. They were getting on with their account as the barge pulled away from its docking.

"I believe you," General Redford said as Kristen's telling came to the falling skyscraper and the person who saved their lives. He called over another assistant. "The reconnaissance images, please."

The assistant rifled through a leather suitcase and handed the general a manila folder with a classified stamp on the side. Flipping through the folder for a moment, General Redford pulled out a loose paper and handed it to Kristen.

"What do you see?" he asked.

It was a grainy printout of a photograph, the clarity of the image blurred with movement. There were two men who looked like they were falling through the sky, but after the day's events Kristen acknowledged that they were surely flying. They were striking out at each other and locked in struggle, their arms and legs obscured with sheer speed. Though the day had partially inured her to such representations, the captured image was nevertheless mesmerizing. They were alpha and omega incarnate, each of their allegiances equal in mystery. Only one of their faces could be seen in the image, and the other one had his back turned. Kristen tapped a finger on the handsome face and nimble body on the right. "This is the person we've been talking about. Vengelis Epsilon."

"The one in charge?" General Redford asked.

"Yes. We only met him and the giants who were under his command. I don't know who the person is with his back turned." Kristen glared at the backside of the mysterious man. "I don't know who he is, but I think he's the one who saved our lives."

"Yes, I don't doubt that." General Redford stared in awe at the picture. "We have no idea who or what he is, but we believe he's the sole reason the carnage of Chicago didn't spread. From what we've witnessed, it appears as though whoever he is, he's on our side. He overcame both of the giants above the city. The media's caught wind of him, too. They're already calling him our savior. People are beginning to suggest that he is some sort of . . . messiah."

"No," Kristen said, and met the general's gaze with an uncompromising look. "Neither of them have anything to do with religion, and the sooner that is ingrained into people's minds the better."

"I couldn't agree with you more . . . but with or without a religious perspective, this man has undeniably protected us."

Kristen stared at the nameless man's backside in wonder.

"He is the keystone," General Redford said as their barge lurched from contact with the western wharf and chains began to lower the gangplank. "We've tentatively decided that, for the time being, he is our ally. Considering none of our most powerful weapons succeeded in even scratching the giants, most of the world's governments have agreed to hold off on any radical counter measure until we can get in contact with him—or the faction he represents. But come, I'll have a trooper escort you to a missions operation tent. We'll need to have someone debrief the both of you."

"Wait, general," Kristen said, and looked sidelong at Madison, who nodded her onward. "There's one more thing."

"Yes?"

"Remember earlier today when we discussed Vatruvian cell technology and how it can recreate a given organism?"

"I . . ." General Redford blinked. "Yes, I recall."

"Well, it's not a hypothetical science to them. Vengelis's people did it; they created Vatruvian replicates of themselves using their own genetics. He said the scientists in his world gave rise to entities with the same immense power he and the giants exercised against us today. According to Vengelis, the Vatruvian entities they created are more powerful than themselves. He told me these Vatruvian creations set into motion all of this insanity."

"Okay," General Redford said, his expression showing a lack of understanding.

"You said none of our most powerful weapons wounded the giants. Well," Kristen took a deep breath and slipped off her dusty backpack, kneeling down to pull back the zipper, "I believe we do have a means of defending ourselves against them."

"I don't understand," General Redford said. "How?"

Kristen carefully pulled the slide from its protective case and held it up for him to see. The crimson stain of blood—of Sejero genetics—glinted in the sunlight, crude and bare. Beyond the slide held between her thumb and forefinger, looming high above the exodus, the great pillar of dust billowed southward across the vast skyline of New York, a curtain of darkness and doubt challenging the certainty of their world.

"We have their blood," Kristen said with anticipation and dread as she gazed exhaustedly at the slide and the maimed city beyond. "And with it we can defeat them."

"Sir," an assistant approached General Redford with another printed photograph. "The analysts just sent this image through the wire. It's the first reliable close-up of the man who saved the city."

The general reached out and held it in his hands for all of them to see.

Kristen's curiosity roused, she leaned over to look at the man who had saved all of their lives. Her expression