"Allen, were you watching? He had me, would have killed me if Julia hadn't chased him off. He is faster, smarter, stronger than any man I've sparred with. He moved like he knew everything I was going to do and responded to it as though he'd had weeks to think it over."
"But we got away."
Stephen said nothing.
"You seemed . . ." Julia paused, thinking about her words.
When Stephen didn't respond, Allen said, "He's a pacifist."
Stephen shook his head. "C. S. Lewis said that unless you can show him that a Nazified Europe would be better than the war that stopped it, he could not be a pacifist. That's how I feel."
"I've never seen a pacifist fight like that," Julia said.
Allen said, "I'm surprised you fought at all, after what happened.'"
"What happened?" Julia looked between brothers, getting nothing back.
Allen said, "He—"
"I just swore off . . . being like that. That's all."
Allen bit his tongue. He leaned back on his haunches, inspecting his work and the work yet to do.
Despite the brief tension, a peace settled over them then—the tranquility that comes from being at ease with the people around you. The shared experience of fighting for survival had connected them in a way Allen didn't understand. He felt it, nonetheless, and apparently the others did too.
Julia was slouched in a chair, seeming to assess both brothers. A smile quivered against her lips like an incomplete thought.
Memory has a tendency to seize upon moments that seem to an outsider mundane and unremarkable. The occasion is special only to participants, and even they often don't recognize it as memorable. This moment would prove to be like that. They would remember the stillness in the midst of chaos, their casual postures in the shadowy room, the sense of camaraderie.
The calm before the storm.
forty-eight
The gauntlet came down hard on the tabletop. It sat there, empty and cold and very frightening.
"It's the Warrior's arm," Stephen said, quietly awed.
Julia nodded.
Allen hopped off the bed for a closer look. Sure enough, the black, spike-knuckled gauntlet he'd seen shatter through the bank window lay motionless on the dresser. Somehow it seemed more sinister now. Before, he had not seen it in its entirety, bulging with artificial muscles, curled into a taloned claw. He reached for it, hesitated, then gripped its forearm. It was warm, like flesh, but firm as bone. He lifted it, surprised by its lightness.
"It can't weigh more than a
He jumped back a step, letting the gauntlet slip from his grasp. Both Julia and Stephen jumped as well, thinking the thing had snapped at Allen or done something equally startling.
"That's the sound I heard last night in the cemetery," Allen said, staring at the gauntlet, now palm-up on the carpet. "While the Warrior was searching for me:
"Clenching and unclenching his fist," Julia said.
Allen nodded, watching the gauntlet as if he expected it to scurry toward him.
Stephen picked it up. He pushed his hand into it, reaching straight out. The gauntlet instantly took on the appearance of black skin, buckling a bit the way skin would when Stephen turned his palm up, bulging in the forearm when he squeezed his fist. "Incredible. Where'd this one come from, Wal-Mart?"
"It was left in my car by the Warrior, the one who got blown away last night," Julia said, holding out her hand.
Stephen slipped it off—reluctantly, Allen thought—and presented it to her.
Julia returned it to the gym bag. "Just another mystery, I guess. I don't know how much good it'll do us, but it is evidence . . . of some kind." She tossed a folded newspaper at Allen. "Find us something to drive. Private party. Not too expensive. Something we can sleep in, if necessary."
"We can sleep in anything."
"Comfortably, I mean. A van or station wagon."
"I guess I can handle that." He snapped the paper open.
Julia said, "Whatever you find, make a big deal about looking it over, then tell the seller you prefer paying in cash. I doubt he'll object. Have him drive you to that FirstBank we passed on the way in. While Stephen keeps him occupied, go ask the teller to break a hundred, and make sure you get one of those little cash envelopes. Before you leave, put the whole purchase price in the envelope. Then hand it to the seller."
"Why the big production?" Allen asked.
"The alternative is to whip out a few grand in hundred-dollar bills. Just a bit suspicious. The cabbie thought there was a bank robbery in Knoxville. The media coverage might mention us, might not. In any case, we need to deflect suspicion as much as possible."
Allen smirked at her. "You ever get tired of thinking?"
"Not when my life depends on it."
Stephen picked up the drugstore bag and headed for the bath-room. At the door, he turned back toward Julia. "Seems like you're gaining momentum. Feeling better?"
