‘And that’s what you are now? An experiment?’
Jayne smiled, and for the first time in days it did not hurt her face. ‘Sean, I owe you everything. Everything. And because I owe you, then I want a lot more people to owe you, too. I’m immune, and if Marc can make anything of that – a cure, a vaccine – you’ll be the one who helped save the world.’
‘Huh!’ Sean shook his head.
‘You’re so sweet,’ she said.
He didn’t look at her, and Jayne knew why. She could see his daughter in his eyes, sometimes even when he was looking right at Jayne herself. She wasn’t a replacement, not even an equal. Maybe they’d talk about it one day.
‘I have to do what I can,’ Jayne said. ‘I’ll take whatever Marc gives me, and give what he needs to take.’
‘Even if it means you’ll die?’ Sean asked.
‘Everyone dies.’
4
Jonah had never been to Italy. Wendy had always wanted to go, but for some reason something always got in the way. Usually his work. Now he was there, Roman sun warming his skin and the layer of matter that had been sprayed there through the doorway. If he looked up at the sky, with its wispy clouds and light blue depths, everything could almost be all right.
He was in line with his Inquisitor, and close-up he felt distant from all those other naked people. Some were distinctly human, others less so – higher-browed, taller, more heavily muscled. On distant Earths, along the string of universes, evolution had taken different tracks. As well as making them all appear vulnerable, the nakedness was also a barrier of sorts, making them ironically less than human in Jonah’s eyes.
Perhaps part of it was that he knew he would be killing them all – soon. All these people brought from their Earths and their Coldbrooks, perhaps the last of their lines, chosen by their Inquisitors to oversee the infection of a new world, and he would turn them all into zombies. He would be wiping out so much intelligence, so much rich ambition and original thought and probing philosophy.
So it was easier to look at the ground or the sky, or the looming, grand buildings that would witness the culmination of his and Drake’s plan.
The curved walls and grand columns around St Peter’s Square had been covered with small writing, and he was too far away to read it. Perhaps it was scripture, or this world’s perverted version of what scripture should be. Higher up he saw planes’ contrails crossing the sky, the aircraft themselves moving incredibly quickly. Objects that he’d thought at first were birds hovered over the square, flitting here and there, and they glinted where they caught the sun. He guessed that they might be airborne cameras, and he averted his stare in case someone perceived his intent.