Battle Ground (The Dresden Files #17) - Jim Butcher Page 0,161
with the pair of them, and Etri’s sister, Evanna, had kept up the motif. Beside her, Lara Raith was as stunning in a white suit as she was in nothing at all, while Sarissa, the Summer Lady, had gone office casual in laconic defiance of the trend.
And the Archive stood there, slightly to one side, not quite part of the circle. She’d collected a number of cuts from flying bits of debris, probably, and her nose had been broken rather badly. Black rings had spread around the base of her eyes.
I walked around the circle to Mab’s right hand.
The Queen of Air and Darkness gave me a peeved look.
I stared back at her, willing her to get it.
And so help me, she just looked at me and did. Her expression became very serious, and she nodded firmly, once, twitching one finger and somehow conveying that I was to wait.
“Please pardon the disruption. Mistress Archive, continue the report.”
The Archive nodded once and flicked a hand at the air. There was a shimmer, and a television screen appeared there, a news report that I suppose had been inevitable, even if the ongoing loss of power meant that we hadn’t had the chance to see it yet.
It was helicopter footage, along Chicago’s waterfront. It showed the destruction in graphic detail. Basically the Bean reflected the lakeshore now, a wide swath of pulverized bits of former city. I could imagine the magazine covers. Or the thumbnail images. Whatever.
The chyron running at the bottom of the screen read: AFTERMATH OF MAJOR TERRORIST ATTACK IN CHICAGO. WIDESPREAD CHEMICAL WEAPONS AND POSSIBLE WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION USED. AS MANY AS 20,000 DEAD. PRESIDENT DECLARES STATE OF NATIONAL EMERGENCY.
Hell’s bells.
“In aggregate,” the Archive said, speaking with a little more Stallone than one would have expected out of a teenage girl, “the coverage of the event would strongly indicate that the mortal powers that be have decided to obfuscate.”
“Optimistic,” Vadderung murmured.
“Gaslighting eight million people?” Lara asked. “They’ve done that by breakfast each morning.” She glanced over at me and gave me a faintly quizzical look and a dip of her chin. “The military is controlling traffic in and out of the city. Power, communications, and humanitarian aid are funneled in through them. The official version of events will have a very large lead and a much louder voice than any truth tellers who may come along, and the disruptive effects of the Eye make it unlikely that any photographic or video evidence was obtained. Add in a fictional toxin which caused hallucinations, possibly long-term and recurring, in those exposed to it and they’ll be able to muddle things thoroughly.”
“Not within the city,” Marcone said. “They’re building a psychological wall around the place. That will unify those held prisoner by it in a way that would not otherwise be possible.”
“Meaning what, precisely?” Mab asked.
“Meaning that the human factor will be . . . greatly intensified, within the city,” Marcone said. “Uncertainty and insecurity will cause people to gravitate toward the security offered by group identity and support. People are, frankly, terrified. That’s going to cause them to cling to the veneer of normality. By day.” He shook his head. “By night, expect them to acquire arms. Expect them to become wiser and more dangerous. Expect some of them to make bargains with the powers they’ve been exposed to. And expect others to hunt anything they perceive as supernatural through the streets in packs. And that’s a best-case scenario.”
My stomach twisted.
I mean, he was right. Everything he was saying was exactly accurate.
And yet . . . also wrong.
Yeah, darkness could make things really, really bad. Frightened people in large groups rarely acted wisely.
But sometimes that foolishness came out as kindness and compassion, when there was every reason to look out only for yourself. Sometimes it came out as irrational courage in the face of overwhelming terror. Sometimes our madness leads us to choices that make us better and nobler and kinder than we were before.
People like Marcone made me think that everything is falling apart.
But people like Michael, like Murphy, like the brave men and women who had fought and died in defiance of what must have seemed like the world’s ending, make me think that maybe we’re falling forward. Like a child learning to walk. Sometimes we lurch and stumble. Sometimes we fall. And each time we learn. But each time we have to make up our minds to get up again, to take the next step.