The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [232]
Travis recoiled; he had made a terrible mistake. He had allowed himself to think they were using Carson, taking advantage of his blind faith to mislead him, that if he knew the truth about what was happening to his followers, he would help Travis. Only the preacher knew exactly what they were doing.
“You're one of them,” Travis croaked. “Duratek.”
A new emotion seeped through the thick layer of pancake on Carson's face: anger. “You're wrong. They need me, that's all. I give them things they cannot get for themselves.”
Travis fought for understanding. “What things?”
However, Carson only shook his head, his eyes distant.
They were running out of time. Travis tried a different tactic. “Why? Why are you giving them whatever it is they need from you?”
“For this, Mr. Wilder. I wanted a great house of worship for my flock.” He looked up, his expression sorrowful, fond. “I love it so much, my Steel Cathedral. It's everything I've ever dreamed of.” He lowered his gaze. “And when I am no longer of use to them, they'll take it all away and dispose of me.”
Travis's mind raced. He didn't understand everything Carson was saying, but there was something strange about Carson—a sadness, a resignation. And a power. Why hadn't he called the guards? It was as if he was the one who was afflicted, the one who needed to be cured. And maybe Travis was the one person who could cure him.
“There's a way out,” Travis said, trying not to rush the words. He had to make every one of them count. “There's a way to stop Duratek. All you have to do is switch on the big screen onstage.”
Carson held a hand to his temple. “I don't understand.”
The voices of the choir rose into a final crescendo. Time was almost up.
“The big-screen television,” Travis said, his words urgent now. “I can't get to the panel that controls it—the guards will never let me near it. All you have to do is turn it on and watch it. Then you'll understand everything. Duratek will be finished for good. They'll—”
The woman with the clipboard hurried over. “Thirty seconds, Mr. Carson. Have you talked to all the sufferers?”
Carson was silent for a moment, then he looked at her. “The healing segment is canceled for today.”
The woman's eyes turned into circles of shock. “But Mr. Carson, it's in the script.”
“Not anymore. It's been replaced with another segment.” He glanced at Travis. “It's a surprise for my congregation, and all my viewers at home. Now run along, Karen.”
The woman looked as if she wanted to protest, then she clamped her jaw, gripped her clipboard, and scurried away.
“You'll be looking for the gate, I imagine,” the preacher said to Travis. “Keep going down until you can go no farther. You'll find it there. But it will be protected.”
Travis searched for words to speak but found none. Was Carson really going to help him?
The preacher cocked his head. It was as if he was listening to something. Then a shudder passed through him, and he looked at Travis.
“Perhaps it would have been better if you had come here to kill me after all, Mr. Wilder.” His hand crept up to his chest, and his eyes seemed to peer into some other space. “But the end will come soon, and perhaps this will be enough. Perhaps it will make amends for what I've done.”
Travis didn't know what these words meant. Was Carson seeking salvation? Or merely death?
The preacher started toward the curtain.
Travis held out a hand. “Can I trust you?”
Carson hesitated, then glanced over his shoulder. His eyes were unreadable in the dimness. “I don't know, Mr. Wilder,” he said. “I honestly don't know.”
The preacher stepped beyond the curtain, and the thunder of applause shook the air.
52.
Travis raced down the stairwell, hurling himself around the corner at each landing, every flight taking him deeper beneath the Steel Cathedral. He pulled the radio out of his pocket and mashed the button with his thumb.
“Deirdre, are you there?”
It was Anders's gravelly voice that crackled through