Free The Crooked Letter by Sean Williams Page A

could bear to think about. The macabre relic encouraged him to fight the impulse to hide and let the world sort itself out without him.

    What would Seth do in his place now? Hadrian didn’t know for sure. Make light of the situation, possibly, by suggesting they break into a bar and steal warm beer and cigarettes. He would light a bonfire on one of the major intersections and wait for rescue. They’d be joined by other survivors who would laugh at Seth’s jokes and put him in charge. He’d probably get a commendation from the head of the rescue operation and have his picture on the TV news that night. Their parents would hear about it and call each other up to say how proud they were of him: Seth, the oldest and best of their two sons.

    Stop it. Hadrian bit his lip. Seth was dead. Their old grievances were irrelevant. Unless he found a working phone or someone in a position of authority, the chances of hearing from either of his parents any time soon were small. He was sure they would be just as relieved to hear from him as they would have been from Seth — until he told them the terrible news, anyway, and then grief would consume them, as was only understandable. Seth was dead. Someone called Locyta had killed him. The local police force — or someone masquerading as them — was trying to cover it up. Hadrian had managed to get away from them, and had spent a nervous few hours wandering aimlessly around, looking for rescue, while the nuclear accident or terrorist situation or whatever it was had unfolded without his knowledge. He would feel like a dummy, but everything would be all right.

    Sure, he thought. That’s how it would end. And Pukje would be locked up and no one would have to listen to his crazy nonsense again.

    The bone seemed to grow heavier as the day wore on. He told himself to be grateful for one thing: there was no sign of Lascowicz or Bechard. That was something he had accomplished on his own, more or less, and he tried to be proud of himself. He had to take what encouragement he could from the situation, because there was no going back. There was no Seth to fall back on any more. There was just him.

    * * * *

    A clock tower, time stopped, cast a sullen exclamation point over a restaurant entrance when his companion finally brought him to a halt.

    ‘Have you worked it out yet?’

    ‘Worked what out?’

    ‘Where everyone has got to.’

    ‘You mean you know?’

    ‘I’m pretty sure.’

    ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

    ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I tried and you asked me not to say anything.’

    Hadrian ignored the smile on the little man’s ugly face. ‘I knew it couldn’t last.’

    ‘My feet are getting tired. If you plan to walk around forever, I can save you the trouble. You’re looking in completely the wrong spot.’

    ‘Where should I be looking, then? We’ve tried police stations, fire stations, TV stations — what else have you got?’

    Pukje glanced around, and pointed at the building next to them. ‘In there.’

    Hadrian didn’t see anything more unusual than an empty Indian restaurant. The dark windows and empty doorway looked no different to any other shop they had passed.

    ‘What’s so special about here?’ he asked.

    ‘There’s something you have to see — assuming I’m right, of course. If I’m wrong, there’ll be nothing and we can talk about your theories instead. Coming?’

    Hadrian shrugged, although an instinct already told him he didn’t want to go inside. Sometimes it was better not to know.

    Pukje led him through the front door. The restaurant was deserted. The smell of spices was strong. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food, or out of nervousness — or both.

    The little man walked unerringly through the darkness, picking his way between the tables to a Staff Only door at the rear. He pushed it open. Beyond, Hadrian could make out only faint outlines of various things in the darkness. Pukje avoided a stack of milk