Dead and Alive

rain while the synchronistic Harker mutant had killed Chameleon, Victor was disheveled as no one had ever seen him. On any otherday, he might have been keenly annoyed to be seen in a sodden and rumpled suit with his hair disarranged. But in this hour of his transcendence, the condition of his wardrobe and hair did not matter, because his elevation to immortality was clearly evident to this audience, his radiance undiminished.
    How they goggled at him, abashed by his wisdom and knowledge, mortified by their ignorance, overawed by his godlike power.
    Raising his arms and spreading them wide, Victor said, “I understand the awe in which you hold your maker, but always remember that the best way to honor him is to bend more diligently to his work, give of yourselves as never before, commit every fiber of your being to the fulfillment of his vision.”
    As they came forward, Victor realized that they intended to lift him high and bear him to his office, as throughout history so many enraptured crowds had borne returning heroes through streets to halls of honor. Previously, he would have chastised them for wasting his time and their own. But perhaps this once, considering the momentous nature of the day’s events and of his ascendance to the company of the immortals, he would indulge them, because allowing them to attend him in this way, he would surely be inspiring them to greater efforts on his behalf.

CHAPTER 68
    JOCKO IN DESPAIR. Rain-soaked. Feet pulled up on the passenger seat. Thin arms around his legs. Baseball cap turned backward.
    Erika behind the wheel. Not driving. Staring at the night.
    Victor not dead. Should be but not.
    Jocko not dead. Should be but not. Total screwup.
    “Jocko is never gonna eat another bug,” Jocko said.
    She just stared at the night. Said nothing.
    Jocko wished she would say something.
    Maybe she would do the right thing. Beat Jocko to death. He deserved it. But no. She was too nice. Typical Jocko luck.
    There were things he could do. Put down the power window. Stick his head out. Power the window up. Cut off his head.
    Erika said, “I’m programmed for obedience. I’vedone things I knew he wouldn’t approve of—but I haven’t actively disobeyed him.”
    Jocko could take off his T-shirt. Tear it in strips. Pack strips in his nose. Roll up his cap. Stuff it down his throat. Suffocate.
    “Something’s happened to me tonight,” she said. “I don’t know. Maybe I could drive right by the farm, maybe just drive and drive forever.”
    Jocko could go into woods. Prick a thumb. Wait for wild pigs to smell blood, come and eat him.
    “But I’m afraid to pop the parking brake and drive. What if I can’t pass the place? What if I pull in there? What if I’m not even able to let you go free on your own?”
    Jocko raised one hand. “May I say?”
    “What is it?”
    “Jocko wonders if you have an ice pick.”
    “Why do you need an ice pick?”
    “Do you have one?”
    “No.”
    “Never mind.”
    She leaned forward. Forehead on steering wheel. Closed her eyes. Made a thin, sad sound.
    Should be possible to commit suicide with a tire jack. Think about it. Think. Think.
    “May I say?”
    “Say what?”
    “See Jocko’s ear?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is ear hole big enough, he could fit in the end of your tire jack?”
    “What in the world are you talking about?”
    “Never mind.”
    With sudden determination, she released the parking brake. Put the 550 in gear, drove out of the rest area.
    “Are we going somewhere?” Jocko asked.
    “Somewhere.”
    “Will we go past a high cliff?”
    “No. Not on this road.”
    “Will we cross any train tracks?”
    “I’m not sure. Why?”
    “Never mind.”

CHAPTER 69
    AS VICTOR CONSENTED to the attentions of the adoring crowd, he realized that in addition to the staff of the tank farm, Deucalion was also present, and Detectives O’Connor and Maddison, as well.
    How brilliant he had been to foresee that very soon synchronicity would restore balance to his world, correct all errors by the mechanism of astonishing coincidence. The very presence of his first-made and the detectives confirmed his elevation to the status of an immortal, and he looked forward to seeing by what meaningful coincidence they would be killed.
    He still carried a pistol in a shoulder rig, under his suit coat, but it would be beneath him to shoot the trio himself, for he was now not merely the singular genius he had always been, but also such a paragon of reason and