I thought I knew what courage was. I was even arrogant enough to lecture Zombie about it. But I had no idea what true, undiluted courage was until this moment. That unidentifiable something I saw in her eyes is part of it, the root from which her courage sprang.
My finger hovers over the abort button. Would it be an act of courage to push it? Or the final failure of my human side—the part of me that hopes when there is no hope, believes when there is no reason to believe, trusts when all trust has been broken? Would pushing the button be Vosch’s ultimate victory over me? See, Marika, even you belong to us now. Even you.
It’s over in less than five minutes. An eternal five minutes; the universe took shape in less time.
The monitors go blank. Cassie goes limp. I approach her gingerly. I’m afraid to touch her. Afraid of what I might feel. I’m in fear for my own mind, my own sanity. Plunging into a single human consciousness is dangerous enough; I can’t fathom being immersed in thousands.
“Cassie?”
Her eyelids flutter. I see the white ceiling reflected in her green eyes. And something else. Something shocking. Not horror. Not sorrow. No confusion or pain or fear. None of the things she must have found in Wonderland.
Instead, her eyes, her face, her entire body has ignited with the opposite of all those things, there all along, unconquerable, undefeatable, immortal. The root of her courage. The foundation of all life, often obscured, never lost.
Joy.
She takes a long, shuddering breath and says, “We’re here.”
93
HER FACE GLOWS. Her eyes shine. A smile plays on her lips.
“You wouldn’t believe . . . ,” she whispers. “You don’t know . . .”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t.”
“It’s so beautiful . . . so beautiful . . . I can’t. Oh God, Marika, I can’t . . .”
She’s sobbing. I take her face in my hands, begging the hub to keep me out. I don’t want to be where she is. I don’t think I could bear it.
“Sammy’s here,” she cries. “Sammy’s here.” And she strains against the frayed restraints as if she could somehow wrap her arms around him. “And Ben, he’s here, too. Oh God, oh Christ, I called him broken. Why did I do that? He’s strong . . . he’s so strong, no wonder they can’t kill him . . .”
Her eyes roam the featureless white. Her shoulders shake. “They’re all here. Dumbo and Teacup and Poundcake . . .”
I back away from her. I know what’s coming. It’s like watching a runaway train bearing down. I fight a nearly overwhelming urge to run.
“I’m sorry, Marika. About everything. I didn’t know. I didn’t understand.”
“We don’t have to go there, Cassie,” I mutter weakly. Please, don’t go there.
“He loved you. Razor . . . Alex. He couldn’t admit it to anyone. He couldn’t even admit it to himself. He knew before he did it that he would die for you.”
“Walker,” I say hoarsely. “What about Walker?”
She ignores me or she doesn’t hear the question. She is here and she is not. She is Cassie Sullivan and she is everyone else.
She has become the sum of us.
“Rainbow fingers,” she gasps, and I stop breathing. She’s seeing my father’s hand holding mine. She remembers the way that felt, the way it made me feel, my father’s hand in mine.
“We’re out of time,” I say, to pull her out of my memories. “Cassie, listen to me. Is Walker there?”
She nods. She starts to cry again. “He was telling the truth. There was music. And the music was beautiful . . . I see it, Marika. His planet. The ship. What he looked like . . . oh my God, that’s disgusting.” She shakes her head to clear the image. “Marika, he was telling the truth. It’s real . . . it’s real . . .”
“No, Cassie. Listen to me. Those memories aren’t real.”
She screams. She thrashes against the restraints. Thank God I haven’t untied her yet or she might tear out her own eyes.
I don’t have a choice now. I’ll have to risk it.
I grab her shoulders and force her back into the chair. A cacophonous blast of emotions explodes in my mind and for a second I’m afraid I’ll black out. How does she endure it? How can one mind bear the weight of ten thousand others? It defies comprehension. It’s like trying to define God.
Inside Cassie Sullivan is a horror so profound, there are no words. The people downloaded into Wonderland lost every person who mattered to them, and most of those downloaded people were children. Their pain is hers now. Their confusion and sorrow, their anger and hopelessness and fear. It’s too much. I can’t stay within her. I stumble backward until I smack against the counter.
“I know where he is,” she says, catching her breath. “Or at least where he might be, if they brought him back to the same place. Untie me, Marika.”
I pick up the rifle leaning against the wall.
“Marika.”
I walk to the door.
“Marika.”
“I’ll be back,” I manage to choke out.
She screams my name again and now I don’t have a choice. If he hasn’t heard us before, he’s certain to have heard her now.
Because I have heard him.