I played out the rest of the cable. It was sinking now, but slowly. Balloons swayed on their strings, fancy colors dimmed to gray and silver in the darkness. Water slid like oil. It piled up, slow and lazy, then slackening and flowing away.
I said, “Let’s go.”
Silverman craned round, checking his direction. At the same time, the whole pond seemed to swell. We were slipping down the side of a great hill, smooth and liquid, shining like mercury. A trail of dead leaves slipped by and then plunged beneath the bow. A current spun us round, whirling us for maybe twenty seconds. Silverman swore. But he kept control. He dug the oars in and he pulled. I got to my knees in the bottom of the boat, grabbed the oars with him, pushing as he pulled, matching my strokes to his, trying to guide him.
We hit the jetty with a bump. I grabbed one of the big supporting timbers, pushing us along. It wasn’t easy. Then we were at the ladder. I shoved Silverman up it. Angel was there. I passed her the cable ends. She made to help me up but I yelled for her to go. There was no more secrecy, no more silence. The boat rocked. I got my feet onto the ladder and I practically crawled onto the boards. I felt like I could barely move.
And that was when the lights came on.
Chapter 35
The Threat of Violence
The glare sent shadows racing through the water. The back of the tent was open. We were public, now, whatever I’d been hoping. Cold spray lashed my cheek. I dragged myself over the gate, landed on my feet, and ran. She’d put the flask on shore, one side of the jetty. Habit made me stop, check the connections, the locale. She’d done well.
She was over to the left, four or five yards back, with the control box, mounted on a metal stand. A power lead trailed to the car.
This was the point I’d wanted to take over. Instead, I told her, “Go!”
She hit the perimeter.
A charge shot round the outer wires. I turned in time to see the whole pond rear up like a wall. It held for seconds—a wave, tumbling over and over on itself, foaming, bright. Light whirled through it, patterns like silver veins, and—no. I was looking at the cables. Cables we’d taken so much care to place, and mark.
“Angie—”
“I got it.”
I’d wanted the generator up and running for backup. There was no time now. Someone was shouting. I couldn’t see the revival tent. The water bulged, straining upwards, and the harsh white light set up a nimbus all around it, a glowing outline, flashing colors as this liquid mountain sloshed and slopped, broke up and reformed, blazing with electric power.
I was with her now. I reached for the control box.
Again, she said, “I got it,” and she slammed the next charge home.
There was a hiss like a steam whistle.
By then, it was too late to stop.
We were running blind, running on guesswork. “Now,” I told her, “now—” She hit the second of the inner wires, then the third. Her teeth were clamped over her lower lip. Her shoulders hunched. Was she too close? To the flask? To the pond? I wouldn’t have set up there. I’d have moved it all a few feet back. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter. Perhaps we’d be OK. I was going to tell her, “Next,” but again, she hit it. I saw Silverman, down on one knee, the camera on his shoulder. There was water everywhere. It sparkled in the air. Everything glittered. I saw someone running through the trees. Then Angel hit the inner loops.
A tower of fluid seemed to fall towards us, like somebody had tipped the world on edge. It poised, leaning, roiling, balloons waving and shivering across its surface. We were chasing the god out. We were driving it into the flask. She fired the next line. It was like a mine going off. Curtains of water blew into the air, and the lights sent rainbows shooting through them, colors flaring in the air.
I heard Silverman’s voice. I couldn’t catch the words but something in it made me turn. Someone was running, straight at Angel. I threw myself between them. He was big. He hurtled into me and sent me flying. I hit the ground and at the same time turned, flailing with my arms, and grabbed the guy’s leg, rolling into him. He went down too. Someone else was standing over me and I kicked at him. People were yelling. There was a flash, a crack like a gunshot—and silence. Stillness.
I stood up slowly. I took a few steps back, away from the crowd of strangers who had gathered at the pond’s edge. I heard sobbing, wailing. I looked around for Angel.
She was on the ground. She was ten feet from the control box, and my first thought was that she’d been thrown there, that there had been some kind of blast, which I had somehow missed. I ran across to her. She was conscious, but dazed. I helped her to her feet.
The big tent was still standing. It dominated the scene, flanked by the lights. One of the rowboats lay upon the grass, its stern up in the air. The pond was as calm as glass. About a dozen helium balloons still wobbled over it. As I watched, something shiny broke the surface. Then another, and another.
“Oh, shit.”
I hadn’t even thought about the fish.
There were dozens of them.
Dead fish.
I felt really, really bad about the fish.
“You OK?”