False Sight by Dan Krokos Read Free Book Online

can’t biologically experience. I remember watch- ing a news special after the attack on downtown. They interviewed people who said things like, “I can’t remember what I was afraid of, I was just afraid. It was beyond fear. I really
can’t say what it was.” I can—it was us.
I squeeze the steering wheel, unclench my aching jaw. Peter takes my hands off the wheel and puts them in my
lap, then lays his hand on top. His is cool and dry and sure.
Steady.
“Relax,” he says, then points through the windshield. “Here
they come.”
I follow his gaze to the main entrance. Two cops and two
paramedics wheel a gurney down the sidewalk, through pools
of brightness and shadow. A white sheet covers the outline of
Noah on his back. We’re far away, but I can still make out the
red blotch where the sheet touches his neck.
I wonder if I’m going to cry again, but I don’t feel anything.
Just hollow. It’s nice.
“Want me to drive?” Peter says.
“I got it.”
“Want me to drive?” Rhys says.
“I said I got it.” If I’m not okay enough to drive, we have
a problem.
I watch them load the bag into the back of the ambulance.
The doors slam, like sealing a tomb. The ambulance pulls away,
no lights, no siren.
I put the van into gear and follow it.
    The ambulance goes straight to the Cuyahoga County Coro - ner’s Office. No one spoke during the ride because there is nothing to say. I park on the side. The building is white, four stories, and lacking anything sinister. It doesn’t look like it houses the bodies of those who’ve died suspiciously.
    I watch the paramedics pull Noah from the ambulance and wheel his gurney through double doors.
I check the clock above the radio. 12:39. I lost Nina almost three hours ago now.
“They’ll put him in the cooler and do an autopsy later,” I say. The phrase put him in the cooler makes me sick. I can’t believe I said it like that.
“The cooler will slow his decomp,” Rhys says.
“Thank you, Dr. Rhys,” Peter says.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “We’ll give the paramedics ten minutes to put him there, then we go in.” I look to Peter, then Rhys. “Good plan?”
“Decent enough,” Rhys says.
Peter nods. He closes his eyes and settles into the seat, meditating.
Enough time passes and we get out of the Caravan, look- ing less than surreptitious in our scaly armor. None of us thought to bring over-clothes, but I guess we had our minds on other things. Rhys passes me the duffel bag that contains the machine. I try to take it, but he holds on to the strap.
“You sure you want Noah’s memories swimming around in your head?” he says.
Not when he says it like that. But we need a clue, and there are none. The way he says it, I know he must be thinking the same thing. Noah knew Sequel, not Nina, and there may be no clues present in his memories. But I don’t know where else to look.
And Noah’s words Don ’ t forget me still ring in my ears. I don’t want to forget him. If someone has to sift through his memories, it’s going to be me. Not that I could say that without feeling stupid. I can already hear Rhys’s retort— I don ’ t think he meant remember him literally, Mir. And he’d be right.
We go through the doors like we own the place, which, in a way, we do. No one here can stop us. The hallways are white and bright and sterile. Cold. We march down them in a loose triangle, Peter leading the way.
Someone shouts behind us, “Hey. Hey!”
I spin around, hands reaching for my weapons. A stout man in a blue uniform with a shiny silver badge stands in a doorway, hand on the doorknob, other hand on his holstered pistol. Just a few strides away.
His revolver is halfway off my leg when I do what Alpha team swore never to do, if we could help it. I release some of the tension that’s always present in my brain, letting some of my energy escape in the smallest wave, just enough to get his hand off the gun. It hurts and feels good at the same time. His eyes widen and his