8. To the Source

A wilderness like Eden.He is chasing the hyphae, filament thin, down corridors, losing sight of them then finding them again, bursting from a window frame or weaving themselves through carpet like ghostly threads. An alarm is ringing, but he is doing his best to ignore it. He is sure that the creature—his Eve—and the threads are connected. He saw her on the train, in the storm, and then again on the outside, and now all these signs, this life bursting from the train… She was the harbinger, pointing out the truth to whoever would read it.

"Sir, you must return to your cabin." A young steward has the gall to take him by the arm, and he shakes him off.

"Can't you see that I am at work? I asked not to be disturbed!" he roars, and the boy cowers backward, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to be away.

Grey rubs his face. Where was he? Yes, following the growth to its source. He has done it many times before, striding over moors, his head down, in search of the signs that will lead him to its budding, its birth. To her. He is prepared. He pats his jacket, feels the weight of the tranquilizer gun, the syringes. He has done well to keep them hidden and safe. He has lost her twice already, he will not do so again.

The dining car is empty. He has a feeling it should be lunchtime but the clock on the wall is stopped, and he cannot remember when he last ate. He feels rather light-headed and has to stop for a moment to lean on one of the tables while the darkness at the edges of his eyes recedes.

Third Class. Here, all is chaos and noise. There are stewards at the carriage doors, but they are trying to stop people from moving into First, not the other way around, so he slips through before anyone notices.

He pushes on, into the part of the train where passengers are not meant to go. He is struck by a thought: Are they hiding her here? Have they known, all along? Impossible. He dismisses it from his mind, but he is finding it hard to keep his thoughts in order. Think of the great glass palace, he tells himself. Think of the exhibits, safe and labeled, held behind glass. Think of the name Henry Grey in the history books.

Into the Captain's carriage. He has been here before, he is sure, but it feels like a long time ago now. The hyphae are easier to see, here, without the thick carpet or polished wood to obscure them. There are crew members trying to pull them out and he shouts at them to cease but they just stare at him blankly, and they try to manhandle him when he demands to see the Captain, and he has never experienced such rudeness. Up ahead he sees the train girl, together with the engineer (he will ignore him, of course—how dare he call him a liar, question his integrity?) and the Cartographer. "My dear!" he calls to her. How young she is, can she possibly understand the importance of his mission? And Chinese after all, what can she know of Eden? But isn't this what he will achieve—to spread the word to all people?

"Dr. Grey?" She is saying something to him, but he doesn't listen, because this is when he sees her, at the other end of the corridor, framed by the carriage door. Behind her, for some reason, are the young widow and an old man he doesn't recognize. Her dress is torn and her hair tangled, but it is her—the Wastelands creature, the white threads have brought him to her, just as he had theorized.

Something moves in her hair, as if she has brought a Wastelands wind with her, then he realizes that they are insects—moths. The kind that mimic the face of a predator, two wide eyes on their wings, ringed with gold.

And he realizes that it is not just the moths; she is mimicking. He doesn't see a ragged girl in a dirty dress, with moths in her hair, he sees a young woman, a lace shawl over her head, in the style of pious women in his village church. Then he sees nothing at all, she has vanished, she has made herself part of the background, like a predator by a lake, waiting for its chance to pounce. She is still here, he tells himself. He just needs to look, in the same way that she does. He is not easy prey. He sees beneath the surface. Yes, there…

People are shouting, the engineer is tugging him backward, the stewards are grabbing the widow and the old man, pulling them away, as if they should be afraid of her, as if she will taint them, but look—she is perfect, she is emerging into the light…

He raises the gun.