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“It’s not fair!” said Speedo as he moved farther and farther away from the center of activity, wanting to get as far from Mary as he could. “This was my claim, I found it. It’s mine.”
“Yeah, but we’re back with Mary now,” said Sandman, who used to be in charge of the sleeping car. Now he was in charge of collecting beds for the Artesia Interlights, many of whom were suspected to be skinjackers.
“So what?” said Speedo. “It’s still not fair.” He kicked a pile of air conditioners, making the top few tumble. For a moment, he thought he saw something moving in the pile, but he knew it was just his imagination.
“Maybe I should tell Mary how you feel,” said Sandman.
“No,” said Speedo fearfully. The last thing he wanted was for Mary to know that he was not with the program. “No, I’ll be okay. I just got to get used to the idea.”
“Better get used to it fast, because now that she’s here, everything’s going back to how it used to be.” Then Sandman strode off in search of more beds, leaving Speedo alone with his thoughts.
Disgusted and dejected, Speedo leaned against a ’57 Thunderbird convertible and reached down, trying to scrape the muddy sand from the soles of his wet feet.
“It’s not fair . . . ,” Speedo mumbled again, and, to his surprise, someone answered.
“Of course it’s not fair.”
He spun to see, of all spirits, Allie the Outcast sitting in the passenger seat of the bright red T-bird.
“Mary treats everyone unfairly,” she said, “and somehow she makes you feel like that’s exactly what you want. I’m glad you aren’t falling for it anymore.”
Speedo’s first instinct was to run and tell Mary . . . but then, why should he? What did he owe Mary? All this time he had chauffeured her around by car, by zeppelin, by train—and how did she repay him? By jumping his claim.
“Don’t . . . Don’t hurt me” was all Speedo could think to say.
“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Allie said. “The worst I could do would be to send you down, but I won’t do that, Speedo, because I think you finally get it.” Then she patted the driver seat beside her. “Come on, hop in.”
Speedo looked around to make sure they weren’t being watched, then got in. He didn’t use the door, he just hopped over it the way he imagined James Bond would, and slid down to the plush leather seat of the convertible with a wet sploosh.
“Put your hands on the wheel,” Allie said. “Go on.”
“Why? I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
“You could be,” Allie told him. “This car and everything on this deadspot could be yours again.”
Speedo sighed. He knew where this was going. “But only if I turn against Mary, and join up with you, right?”
“Not even that much,” Allie said. “All you have to do is get Mary to come to the edge of the deadspot.”
“And then?”
“And then nothing. I’ll take it from there.”
Speedo shook his head. “If I do that, and you do something to her, everyone will know I helped you.”
“I think you’re clever enough to get Mary here without anyone knowing you helped me.”
Then, as Speedo looked at the various piles around them he got a flash of inspiration. “We’re in the north part of the deadspot right now, but I think I can bring her to the southern edge. Can you be there in an hour?”
Allie nodded, and with their plan set, Speedo left with the firm knowledge that Allie was right: He was clever. Extremely clever.
At the heart of the deadspot, they had already begun deconstructing the piles and moving furniture to create open-air living spaces for the hundreds of children under Mary’s protection. A special dormitory area was set for the Artesia Interlights, and they were set on comfortable beds made with military precision, making it clear to everyone how important these new skinjackers would be once they woke up.
Mary had set up her own personal parlor right in the middle of everything, with the bomb as a centerpiece like a piece of modern art. Meanwhile, her five remaining skinjackers formed a think tank, planning trips to Washington, the Middle East, Russia, and everywhere else they were likely to find the keys to Armageddon. The real work, though, would come once they left Ground Zero, and truly educated themselves on the many twisting paths of this journey of death. Certainly, even with arms treaties, there were more than enough nukes to kill the living world.
“I like what you’ve done with the space,” Speedo said, as he walked into Mary’s parlor, “and I’ve found just the thing to make it complete.”
“What did you find?” Mary asked.
