Long ago, the Founders built the sanctuary city called Welltower to save mankind from a global inferno of poisonous gases and mutated beasts. Now over two miles high, the fortifi ed structure stands over the burning landscape like a colossus: unbrea...
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Kaehl stumbled into a lushly carpeted room lit by dim lamps. The room was lined with bookshelves and thick cases. A heavy desk stood against the far wall behind which sat a large figure, cloaked in shadows.
"Ah, Mr. Charity," said the figure. "You're back. Please come in."
Kaehl glanced around the room. He startled as the door clicked shut behind him.
"It does that," the figure chuckled. "Locks. Security feature. Did you say hello to my guard? Or was he off drinking someplace? From the looks of your knife I'd say the two of you must have met. And you have his keys, too. Well done."
Kaehl held up the knife. It was dripping. He scanned his surroundings. Seeing no one else in the room he moved forward, extending the cleaver. His hand shook. He brought up the other hand to steady it, flinging away the keys. The figure grew clearer as he approached the desk.
"You're one of the people from breakfast this morning," Kaehl stated.
"Yes, very good," the man responded. "I'm Mr. Jolley."
"Yes, Jolley, yes." He gripped the knife tighter. "I need to find Mr. Welswept. Where is he?"
"Not here. Not anywhere you are going," he said. "By the way, you're dripping on my carpet." He stretched his mouth in an ugly smile, the lips thin and crooked.
Kaehl tightened his grip on the knife. "Where's my sister?"
"Your sister? Sister? Ah, you mean that tiny slip of a girl my guards brought to me when you were dragged in? She's your sister, eh? Is that what you're here for?" He picked up a huge cigar, lit it, and regarded him. "She's dead."
The knife dropped to the floor. Kaehl stooped to pick it up but his knees buckled and gave way. He shook his head and levered himself back to his feet, swaying. He brought his eyes up to focus on Jolley, who was watching him with steely, slightly amused eyes.
"Yes, dead," Jolley intoned. "So you don't need to worry about her any more. Relax."
Kaehl dropped into a nearby chair. "How do you know?" he rasped.
"One of our guards brought her to a doctor. She was barely alive then; I don't think she made it much farther. She's in one of our morgues."
"Morgue?"
"Yes. A place where they store dead people. Or experiment on them. Or whatever."
Kaehl gasped and sobbed. "I was trying to save her, to heal her. That's why I brought her here. Selda..."
"That was her name, Selda?" Jolley pulled another puff of smoke from the cigar. His jowls rolled as he chewed on it. "Too bad." He gestured toward Kaehl. "You going to get rid of the knife? You don't need it, now."
The weapon drooped in Kaehl's limp hand. He looked down at it, then up at Jolley, his eyes vacant.
"Here, I'll take care of it for you." Jolley stood and moved toward the boy, his hands outstretched. Kaehl blinked and pulled the knife away.
