XLIV: Johnny Strikes Up the Band
They follow the truck's previous tracks through the forest, and despite the age of the vehicle, which Sayid figures is at least as old as he, it runs well and they stand to make good time. The truck has come from somewhere, and he takes a spare moment as he hits a straight stretch of trackway to take out his compass and set it next to him on the seat, his eyes on which way the needle twists. The magnets seem to lie in the exact direction he's headed, for the needle stays straight ahead.
He tries to keep a constant speed, but what with the curves and inclines in the road, it's a harder thing to do than he had anticipated. He keeps one eye on the compass, one eye on the road, and heads through the jungle as smoothly as he can. There are no shouts that anyone has fallen off, which he of course takes as a good sign.
Wait. What was that? He brakes as smoothly as he can, tapping on the brake a few times as the truck grinds to a halt, puts it into park. He stares at it for a moment, and then leans out of the window, turning around to talk with the others in the back. "Do you see it?" And he waves his hand towards the body.
They do. He can tell, because they don't answer him at first. Ana-Lucia tosses back a quick, "Yeah. Christ. Think that's S – "
"No," Kate cuts off Ana-Lucia. "No, it's not Sawyer. It's too small, and can you picture Sawyer with that gun?"
The word 'gun' makes Sayid glance that way, too. He spots the Thompson gun, stares at it. It matches the truck in age. These things are as old as the records in the hatch. Everything is from the Seventies. He wonders about this. Surely they haven't gone back in time. That is an impossibility. Why, then, do half of the belongings they've found stem from that time period? He shakes his head, switches gears to drive, and continues to do so.
He hears chatter from the back, surely discussion of the body, but does not want to know what they're saying. They've come this far, and he can't be a party to them convincing themselves to stop. However, he doesn't know where to drive. All around the clearing are trees, branches, confusion. He lets the truck idle, the engine running, and then shakes his head in disappointment, switching the key off.
By the time he has gotten out of the truck cab and rounded to the back of the vehicle, the others are descending from the back. They're confused, he can tell, and he doesn't like that. "Did you find anything?" he asks them, and receives blank stares. "In the back. Is there anything we can use? Anything – guns, knives, explosives?" They shake their heads. "All right. We will find a way to go from here. But we must stick together." All around them is a round wall of greenery, and he wonders exactly where he intends them to go. Still, they have to go somewhere. There has to be a method to it, however. What can he use?
The numbers. Hurley's numbers. 4-8-15-16-23-42. He isolates patterns from them as quickly as he can, tries to focus and find the number from them.
4 + 8 - 1 + 8 - 1 2 - 4.
4 + 8 - 1 + 8 - 1 2 - 4 32.
32-bit data on that computer, he remembers.
32 black squares in chess. 32 white squares in chess. 32 pieces on the board. And they're playing chess, aren't they? They must be.
32 is a space in computer text. A space for what?
Half of 32 is sixteen, and if it's not chess, it's backgammon. If the pieces are set up on their numbers to reverse one another on a backgammon board, 16 is the odd number out. Two sides, two colors, 2 16 32.
He eyes the body. Let that be zero. He fixes on a point a bit off to the side. Just enough for thirty-two degrees, he hopes. He wants to measure it, but they certainly haven't got the time to be exact.
"That way," he says, and points to where he's isolated.
"You're guessing," Ana-Lucia says, stalking up towards him. "You don't know anything. You're just guessing because you want to find the damn place."
"I do," Sayid replies, and then shakes his head a little. "But I promise you, I'm not guessing."
She snorts and shakes her head. "Yeah, right. I'm supposed to just believe you?"
"No. You are supposed to watch." He walks forward to where he's isolated, ensuring Ana-Lucia can watch him. He hears them following, and is relieved at that. Either they trust his judgment or they're worried about his sanity, and he does not care to find out which is which at the moment. He has more important concerns to figure out. He moves towards the brush at thirty-two degrees, pushes it aside like parting a green veil.
Success, he thinks, staring. He can see the pavement stretching out before them, dark and newly poured, the road freshly laid down, and the warehouse beyond looking old and jarringly decaying, but the weirdness of it doesn't enter his mind. All he sees in looking at it is a means to an end, no matter how strange that means is. As the rest of them cluster around him, though, he hears gasps, and turns to study them. Locke is the only one who does not look surprised; his face is closed-looking, as much of a straight and flat expression as he can make it, as if he's attempting to give away nothing. Sayid has seen the expression before, and knows it for what it is: A transparent attempt to hide what he knows.
"Do you recognize this, John?" His voice is quiet, but businesslike. He can hear it in his own tone. "From where? Have you been here before?"
Locke shakes his head. "No, I – I…" He trails off, shaking his head. His eyes are wide, and that closed expression opens up into shock and confusion. He raises a hand to rub at his head, hesitating. "My parents – they got this letter right before I went on walkabout. There was this photo in it, and I remember, because it said 'Jeannie' on the back."
"Jeannie, your sister?" Kate chimes in. Sayid wonders how she knows this, and she gives him an apologetic grin, telling him, "When we went after the boar with Sawyer, Sayid, he told us about her. She died when you were young, right? Fell off the monkey bars. And then your mom – she thought that the dog that you guys had afterwards was Jeannie."
Locke nods at that. "Yeah, uh, she did. But anyway, my parents figured this was just a prank." He points to the immense building at the end of the road. "That was in the photo, though."
Eko speaks up, sounding concerned as well. At least he asks a satisfyingly logical question. "Do you remember anything else about the photograph? Any landmarks, anything that would tell us where we are?"
Locke considers for a moment before shaking his head. Sighs all around the group at the lack of information. Sayid isn't disappointed, though. They have gotten more out of the guy than he would have expected. What is even better is that Locke appears to continue to think about this for the next moment. "There must have been a postal mark on it, because it had been mailed. But I don't remember. I'm sorry."
Sayid thinks over his own words, too. He has to ask the right questions or Locke will stop talking. "Is there a chance that your sister might still be alive?"
"I hadn't thought so," Locke allows, "until we got that postcard. I guess she could have been, because I was young – all I remember was them saying that she's broken her neck, watch out. But if she is, then that," he points towards the building, "has something to do with it." He starts for the building, striking out before the rest of them. He's surprisingly quick and agile when he wants to be, and though Sayid reaches for him, he misses.
I thought you did not want to go on this journey, John, he thinks dryly, and now you're more eager than any of us to continue with it. He knows better than to mention that to Locke, though. Instead, he keeps his peace, watching the bald man start off down the road.
Locke keeps on walking, and Sayid turns back towards the others, shrugging. "Ensure you have your weapons. We will follow John," he states the obvious, starting for the warehouse beyond. They file out, and they don't talk, again. This time, though, he's sure it's not out of lack of anything to say, as it was on the arduous first part of their trek. Instead, they all have too much to say about things, and none of them wants to be the first to talk. He allows them their silence, their thoughts, doubts, questions. He can do nothing to answer any of the questions, but he suspects that they are about to get answers very soon.
"I can't believe we're following this guy. He's a nut," Ana-Lucia mutters beneath her breath, but not even she stops walking. Either she is speaking with sufficient quietness or Locke is distracted, because he does not turn around to confront her. "He's got problems, that guy." When Eko shushes her, surprisingly, she actually listens.
We are going to walk right up to their door and ask for Sawyer back, at this rate, Sayid thinks. I doubt that they will listen. Why they volunteered to deal with him, I have no idea, but they wanted him for some reason, and I doubt that they will let him go easily at all. He wishes he had more weapons than just a few pistols and a rifle or two. He wishes they had a better plan. But he has been out of his element in the jungle, and he is not going to recommend a siege now, which would be the wisest course. Time is of the essence, and they must directly attack. A siege would be useless if they are being watched, as well. The element of them having the upper hand, time to plan, is gone. All they can do is to rush in and try to surprise the people in there, whomever they are.
He watches Locke's movements, and is surprised by their freeness. It is almost as if the idea of seeing his sister here has loosened him up, and Sayid has to suppress a grin at that. He will find his little sister, and I will find Nadia. If he forgets that, too, he has the dog-tag in his pocket to remind him. They will get Sawyer out, too. Of that, he has no doubt, although he worries that Locke's eagerness to find his sister might make them lose focus, worries that Nadia herself, the dreams he'd had, might distract him.
They must not be distracted. They have done well so far. They have made it through the jungle to this, whatever it is, and they will continue to do well. God is smiling on them in the mid-sky sun, or their pursuers are casting a wider net than he has suspected. He chooses to err on the side of caution, and silently runs over the lines of noon prayer in his head even as he tests his reach for his pistol.