Anthem's Fall

Chapter Seventy Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Kristen

For some time Kristen's gaze lingered blankly on the empty row of windows from which Vengelis had so casually flown out. A feeble portion of her mind held on to the wish that she was dreaming, and would soon wake up in her warm bed. But that collapsing enclave of a notion was rapidly giving in to the certainty that all of this was very real.

Kristen wearily approached the rigid and bent body of Professor Vatruvia and leaned down to check his pulse again. His neck felt stiff against her fingers, and she could find no trace of a beating heart. Beside him on the stage floor, his glasses were broken, both of the lenses cracked down the middle. It was hard to recognize him without the glasses on his face. Kristen wordlessly pushed them into the front pocket of his blazer. She was still in shock. All of this was too much to take in, and Kristen would have thought herself drugged were it not for the anchoring sobriety in her mind.

The strange plane crash in Albany, the heightened national security level before the attack of Chicago, the glimpse of dread upon General Redford's face as he had been informed of flying men moving across the country: all of the pieces fit into place. It was a War of the Worlds in true H. G. Wells fashion, with mighty men and their fists instead of towering tripods and their technology. Kristen could not decide which destructor was more unsettling. Of one thing she was certain. Despite the seeming familiarity of Vengelis Epsilon's face and language, he was as unrecognizably cruel as any nemesis of fiction.

For the moment Kristen allowed herself to languish in self-pity as she pushed her palms against her closed eyelids, half sitting, half collapsing onto the end of the stage and letting her sneakers dangle off the edge. She searched the faces of the audience for Ryan, but could not see him. Had he not been in the ballroom when Vengelis barred the doors? A desire to cry rose like a bubble in her throat as she looked in vain for him, but Kristen held it back sternly.

She had to hold on to courage, to logic.

Now with no treacherous otherworldly fiend forcing them into the corner, the audience of professors and researchers began to grow louder and bolder with each passing moment. Yet despite their prestigious educations, their panicked questions of how or assertions of impossible were no more intelligible than the rising screams in the streets beyond the broken windows. A macabre live news broadcast was still playing on the large projection display above the stage. The program had now split in two, with half of the screen showing an ash-covered news reporter stumbling through the devastation of downtown Chicago, and the other half depicting an aerial shot of the East River littered with floating detritus of bridge remnants and half-sunken windshields.

Madison joined Kristen's isolation at the end of the stage and sat down beside her. Kristen wanted to ask Madison why she had been with Vengelis when he entered the Lutvak ballroom, but she could not stir up the words.

"Do you think he's telling us the truth?" Madison asked her after some time.

Kristen shrugged and cleared her throat, her voice cracking. "We have no way of knowing."

"Yeah."

"Although." Kristen ran her hands over the knees of her jeans, "If Vengelis's true intention is to conquer the world—and based on what we've seen, I do believe it's within his capability—all of these theatrics and specific demands seem rather pointless."

Madison nodded. "That's what I was thinking."

"So, I guess I'm not sure. His actions lead me to believe he really does need our help. That said, I do think he's partly lying, or at the very least not giving us a full picture of his intentions."