Page 70 of The Godhead Complex
“13, 21, 34, 55 . . .” Trish counted along with the woman’s voice in the background.
“They’re the same, I swear!” Sadina turned to Miyoko and Roxy for support.
“Then we should go check it out,” Miyoko said.
Roxy shrugged. “Lady sounds innocent enough.”
Minho waited to hear a cannon blast, but he didn’t. “Fine. But stay behind me and be on guard.” He went into stealth-mode, watching each footstep to prevent noise as they approached the crazed voice reciting numbers aloud. She appeared, running frantically at them, a woman with long black hair, wrapped in a wooly yellow cloak. She was being chased by a Crank, probably the last one who’d escaped the chained collectives.
Minho positioned and aimed his gun. “Drop to the ground!”
She slipped instead, sliding right between two trees. Whatever worked. He took the shot.
The bullet landed home, middle of the forehead. The Crank dropped, landing only a few feet from his prey, dead. Minho scanned the tree line for any more loose Cranks. “Did we get them all now?” he asked Orange.
“Hope so.” She helped the woman get back to her feet, the odd robe muddied and torn.
Sadina walked right up to her. “Those numbers. What are they?”
The woman just shook her head and straightened her heavy cloak.
Minho pointed his weapon at her. “Tell us everything you know about the Godhead and what’s going on up north.” The stranger looked at each and every person in their group as if they were apparitions. She stared at Minho the longest, then glanced down at his uniform.
“You’re never going to kill the Godhead.” She spoke with an unreal confidence.
“Lady, we don’t care about killing the Godhead.” Orange tossed a piece of tree bark to the side; it was the first time Minho heard her admit she didn’t want to kill their lifelong enemy.
“The numbers,” Sadina insisted. “What does 1-2-3-4-8—mean?”
“Fourisn’ta sacred number!” the woman snapped, and Sadina took a step back.
Trish motioned to Sadina’s pocket. “Show her the pages that Old Man Frypan circled inThe Book of Newt.”
“Newt?” The woman perked up as if she’d been shocked with electricity. She limped over to Sadina to see the ratty book that Frypan had given her. Minho exchanged glances with Roxy and Orange. The three of them were more worried about Kletter’s captain’s log than deciphering some island bible.
“Newt was one of the subjects of the Maze,” Dominic said proudly, but there wasn’t any way in Flare’s hell this woman from Alaska didn’t know who Newt was.
“Yes, dear Newt.” The woman ran her fingers over the cover of the book. She then eyed Sadina, Trish, and Miyoko with a bit of awe, as if she wanted to touch their faces. “You’re . . . you’re from the island of immunes.” She seemed dreamy, as if a giant battle wasn’t taking place in the background. Like she’d gone to an island in her own mind.
“Yeah, we four are,” Miyoko said. “They’re from—”
Minho cut her a look that saidnever mind where we’re from. He still held his gun in a readied position but had lowered it a little. “We’re trying to get to the Godhead,” he said. “Any idea how or where they’re holing up—”
“Iamthe Godhead. Goddess Alexandra Romanov.” She folded her arms in a way that might have looked powerful if she weren’t wearing a bulky, dirty old cloak.
Minho lowered his weapon all the way to his side and motioned for Orange to do the same. She hesitated as if to askare you surebefore following his lead.
He didn’t believe this woman was a God. She was wearing a common cloak and she sounded just about as crazy as a Crank. Looked it, too. But she seemed harmless enough.
Trish had a one-track mind. “And those numbers, 5, 8, 13, 21 . . . what do they mean?”
“They’re a part of nature, of all evolution. The sequence of life, itself. The Culmination of the Evolution can’t be stopped no matter how many wars your people wage on us.” She raised her eyebrows at Minho.
“Goddess . . .” Minho started but he forgot her supposed name.
“Romanov.” She waited.
“GoddessRomanov. . .” He didn’t bother hiding the disbelief in his voice, but he didn’t know if he could outright mock the poor woman, either.
