Page 14 of The Godhead Complex
“I need time to process. Leave, now. I’ll prepare a statement to address thePilgrimsof the Maze on Sunday. Arrange it.”
“What about Mikhail?” Flint asked with glaring concern, and for just a moment, Alexandra considered the possibility of framing this whole thing on Mikhail. He’d left on his latest pilgrimage, and she didn’t know where. But she could easily cause an uprising, throw the people against him and raise her Goddess above all, without dispute.
Of course, doing so might cause a war within the city limits, and war was the last thing she wanted. War was low vibration, and the Evolution was aboutraisingthe vibration. She needed to use her proclamation on Sunday for good, not to point fingers of blame and cause more violence that didn’t suit her needs.
No. She’d use Nicholas’ death to propel her plan forward and to plant faith in the hearts of those who seemed to have lost all trust after seeing the new colors in the sky. Her ears buzzed with the possibility and the skin of her face pulsed with heat. She touched the top of her head and her fingertips grew cold. She touched her ears and they buzzed louder. She closed her eyes and saw flashes of red. Bright red, as if the sun shone inside the room. In her mind she heard the Pilgrim who spoke of the red sky before the solar flares.
Red.Could it be that her own evolution was still unfolding?No. Madness. But she feared madness. Oh, how she feared it.
“Goddess?” Flint’s voice sounded far away. “What about Mikhail?”
Alexandra recited the digits and tapped her fingers along to the count so that every thought, action, and vibration of her mind, body, and spirit embodied the sacred numbers.What about Mikhail?The question posed in Flint’s voice echoed through her mind but the red shapes in her vision spread to black. A tingling warmth came over her body, then a searing heat, and she felt herself falling.
“Goddess!” It was a single word, shouted as if from a dream.
Old Man Frypan woke up early every morning, but an early-riser didn’t make him a quick-mover. Minho guarded the trail for another one of Frypan’s bathroom breaks and he thought of asking the old geezer which was worse: the Maze and the Trials of the past, or the invisible Maze and trials that stayed intact within his mind. The Orphan named Minho knew all too well how growing up in the Remnant Nation felt like a prison, but it seemed only he could see the walls at times. They didn’t have Grievers in the Remnant Nation, but they sure as hell didn’t have friends either, and that was one thing he envied about Frypan. Friendship: how to be a friend and how to have a friend, were still things Minho had to learn.
Isaac walked up to Minho while the rest of the group waited on Frypan. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” Minho didn’t adjust his stance. But something about the look on Isaac’s face made him grip his gun even tighter.
Everyone else seemed occupied enough. Miyoko and Orange were picking weeds that looked like flowers; Jackie was poking Dominic’s arm where the murder hornet had stung him; Trish and Sadina were lost in some kind of dreamy conversation.
“Over here . . .” Isaac lowered his voice and pointed away from the group. They stepped to the side, shielded by a couple of trees.
“What’s wrong?” Minho asked, still not letting his guard down. Never letting his guard down.
“I need . . . um, I don’t know what I need,” Isaac stuttered, and his nervous energy was contagious.
“Something’s wrong.” Minho raised his eyebrows as if to tell Isaac to just spit it out already.
“What are the symptoms of The Flare?” Isaac blurted out, but the Orphan didn’t really know. His medical knowledge consisted of how to kill someone without making a sound and tending to battle wounds in the field.
“The Flare? Don’t worry about the Flare, you’re all immune, right?” Minho watched Isaac’s face closely but the nervousness didn’t fade. What did these people ever have to worry about on the island with their young and nearly perfect lives? He pictured them playing games on beaches, kayaking through streams, dancing every day.
Isaac pinched the skin between his thumb and forefinger. Something definitely wasn’t right. “I mean, if we were to run into someone, out here, who might have signs of something. How do we know if they’re infected or if they just have . . . say, allergies?”
Minho pivoted to turn his gun on Isaac. “You have symptoms?”
Isaac put his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, I’m not infected. I’m just curious!”
The fear in his face made it evident he didn’t know the slightest thing about guns. Minho didn’t have his finger anywhere near the trigger and he didn’t have the butt of the gun against his shoulder to prepare for kickback. Orange would’ve known from Minho’s stance that he wasn’t a threat. But the islanders thought having a gun within 100 feet was dangerous, so Minho used the misunderstanding to his advantage. “Tell me the real reason you’re asking. Now.”
“Okay, fine. It’s Ms. Cowan. She has a rash, but it’s just a rash.” Isaac paused. “So far.”
“The coughing. She said it was the dust in the air. Damn.” Minho held the gun tighter in frustration but then let it tilt toward the ground.
Isaac let all the oxygen out of his lungs. “And the cough, yeah, I forgot about the cough.”
Minho hated this. The rest of the group had started to call for them—they were ready to move back down along the coast. Minho looked hard at Isaac. He thought about the countless times he’d been forced to kill healthier people than Cowan—at just the possibility that theymighthave been somewhere where someone was infected. And now Cowan had three symptoms: Rash, the cough, and Minho had noticed her being lethargic lately.
“You can’t say anything,” Isaac said. “No one else knows.”
Minho thought about the possibilities. “I thought she had magic blood or something? Come on, let’s go back.”
“You’re not going to kill her . . . right?” Isaac tried to keep up with Minho’s steps as he walked back to the group.
“Of course not,” Minho replied. He really didn’t want to kill anyone ever again, but he would if it came down to it. But there were complicated dynamics that came with these new friendships of his. In the Remnant Nation he’d be punished if hedidn’tkill someone in this same circumstance, but out here he’d be punished if hedid. He could only imagine the response of the others, especially Sadina. Actually, Roxy might even go crazier on him. There were too many new rules that Minho had to keep track of, and he tried to think of all the possibilities quickly.
