Everything down there looks the same. She points, and as she does, we angle our trajectory and begin to descend, closing in on a deformed mountain range. My stomach sinks. She's taking me back...where I left them all to die. Why?
I try to pull away from her, but she tightens her grip on my hand, and we plunge toward the foothills.
"Why here?" my voice cracks.
Her face shield turns toward me. "You'll see."
"I don't want to."
"You can't keep running away, Milton."
What's she talking about? How's she even talking? I left her body wrapped in a tarp back in the bunker storeroom. With all the others. At All-Clear, I shut that giant door behind me and never looked back. I couldn't.
The earth looms before us now and we shift our postures, rotating backward so the ground meets our boots as we land. Julia does so with practiced ease. I hit the gravel and sprawl forward, rolling a few times before I'm able to stagger to my feet, covered in dust.
"You okay?" She jogs my way.
"Yeah," I manage, stretching my sore back. "I'll have to practice that."
"You're doing better each time."
I've flown before? Why can't I remember? Something like that should stand out.
I glance around us. Then I stare. This is it, where the mutants came en masse with all their jeeps and rifles and rocket launchers. Where I ran past them and left the survivors to their fate up in the caves. Where I paused to turn a few of the mutants' weapons on each other before I raced off.
I remember running away like it was yesterday. But I remember something else, too: the voice in my head telling me what to do, where to go. Why did I listen, obeying without question? Was it controlling me?
"Does this look familiar?" she asks quietly.
I nod. But there are some things here I don't remember from before—mounds of different shapes and sizes in the sand. Of course the vehicles and hungry cannibals are gone. That battle's been over for who knows how long. But what are these strange sand formations?
I point out the closest one and step toward it. "They weren't here before."
She walks beside me as I approach the mound protruding a meter from the earth. I poke it with my gloved finger. It gives slightly, soft like a hydropack, the ashen sand on the surface shifting, sliding to the ground. Whatever's underneath is covered in a thick layer of the stuff. I stare at it for a moment like I'm waiting for it to reveal itself to me. Then I wipe with both hands, shoving the sand aside.
What emerges is the head of a mutant, buried waist-deep and frozen, jaw locked open in horror.
"Okay then." I drop back a step, my adrenaline surging. "Didn't expect that."
"It's dead."
"Right."
"They all are." She gestures at the sand sculptures around us. "He buried them."
"Who?"
"Once they did what he wanted them to, he drowned them in the dust of the earth. He didn't need them anymore. He'll do the same to you, if you do as he asks."
"Hold on now." I raise both hands. "Who the hell are you talking about?"
She grasps my arm, squeezing it as she implores me, "He'll try to use your past against you, make you think you're something you're not. You can't listen to him. You've got to let go of the past—"
"Right. I get it. Forgive myself, warm fuzzies and all that." I take her by the shoulders. "But who are you talking about?"
"You already know."
The gravel shifts next to us as the dust begins to swirl upward and outward, seeming to come alive. At the same time, the dry earth gives a low rumble and breaks open, the clay below spreading apart to release the figure of a man who erupts headfirst from the ground. He leaps to stand before us, his jumpsuit and face shield covered in dirt.
"How was your flight?" Jackson's voice emerges as he brushes himself off with his gloved hands.
"Exhilarating." Julia crosses her arms. "You should try it."
"No thanks."
"What are you doing here?" I blurt out.
His face shield tilts toward me. "Now that's a multifaceted question, to be sure. Were you enjoying your one-on-one time with her, and my presence here is both unexpected and unwelcome? Or do you think I'm dead, and I should be back in that bunker where you left me, a corpse festering in my own blood? Or could it be that you know none of this is real—we're not really here—but you're okay with it, as long as it's her you see and not me?"
"I thought we left you at the Preserve—or wherever we were."
"Oh." He returns to dusting himself off. "Well, you're gonna find you can't leave me behind anywhere, not anymore. Not for long. I'm with you for the long haul, Milton ol' buddy."
"We were just admiring your handiwork." Julia glances back at the uncovered cannibal.
"Not bad, eh? They never saw it coming." He slaps at his pant legs and returns to his full height, as tall as ever. "So you haven't been up into the caves yet?"
Why would I want to? "I have a pretty good idea what's in there."
"Probably looks a lot like what you'd find in the Sector 43 bunker. Only these corpses are a bit fresher. What's left of 'em, anyway." He chuckles and clears his throat. "But let's take a look-see. You never know. One or two might've made it. And you could redeem yourself, be the big hero come to the rescue!"
I turn to Julia. "Did any of them make it?"
She shakes her head. Her shoulders rise and fall. "I don't know, Milton."
"Of course she does!" Jackson guffaws. "Why else would she bring you way out here? She wants you to let go of the past, right? Isn't that her mantra? Well, what better way than to make up for what you did?" He backs away, beckoning me to follow. "C'mon, let's go take a look around."
Julia stands rooted, her posture unchanged as I take a step after him.
"Aren't you coming?"
"You don't have to go with him, Milton. You have a choice." Then she's quiet, subdued like she used to get in the bunker when she thought about home and her family.
"I have to know." If there's even one who's made it, who's still alive up there—
"You're not going to like what you see. He'll use it against you."
"Let's cut the melodrama. I don't have all day, and I'm pretty sure they don't, either." Jackson starts climbing the steep grade. "How long is a human able to go without water?"
I feel my pocket. There's a hydropack in it, maybe two.
"You'll...still be here." I watch Julia as I follow Jackson.
"I'm not going anywhere, Milton. You're stuck with me, too."
I look back at her as I trudge away. She watches me go. But as the climb becomes more arduous, I have to focus on the shifting gravel beneath me.
"If you want to fly on up, I'll meet you there," Jackson tosses over his shoulder.
"I'm fine."
He chuckles. "Avoid doing it whenever you can. Next thing you know, she'll be giving you a harp and a halo. And we both know they wouldn't suit you."
"Am I dead?"
He glances back, his face shield glinting in the sun. "Are you?"
"You are."
"True enough. You laid me out straight and cut me open real good, from what I recall. A little overkill, but I'll chalk that up to years of repressed emotions." He pauses. "If I'm dead, how the hell am I here now?"
"You're not." I nearly slip but catch myself with one hand. "I'm imagining you."
He laughs out loud. "Then you've sure got one hell of an imagination! Wow, I'm just a hallucination, huh?" His laughter subsides. "You're okay with that?"
"With what?"
"Being out of your freakin' mind!"
I hate him. I killed him once, and I'll do it again. Then it'll be just Julia and me, and we'll do whatever we want without his interference. He'll never come between us again.
"Sorry, Milton." He regains his composure. "It's just ironic, that's all. You spent all those months after All-Clear afraid you were going crazy. And now, despite your best efforts, you're completely insane. Spending your
last days with a couple of dead ol' pals!"
"We were never friends. Not you and me."
"Oh yeah? Who was it that kept you alive? All those years in the bunker, who kept your name out of the lottery?"
I clench my teeth together. "There was never a food shortage. You lied to us. You made me kill them!"
"Don't kid yourself, Milton. You knew what you were doing. You liked the fact that you were making it to the very end with more than enough to keep your belly full—before and after All-Clear. Nobody forced you to do anything. You did it because you knew it had to be done. And you never had a problem with it—not until Julia."
"You knew I loved her. You couldn't stand it."
"She makes you weak, Milton. She'll lead you to your own ruin."
I shouldn't be talking to him. I need to think, to figure out a way to kill him. But what is he?
I keep quiet for the rest of our climb, and he does the same. Eventually, we reach the open mouth to the caves, a rock ledge with foul-smelling darkness beyond. Bodies everywhere. Some of them partially intact. Most have limbs missing and half-devoured entrails spilling from their open bellies. A layer of dust covers them all.
I can't go in there.
Jackson navigates his course around the bloody remains, careful not to step on anything but blood and rock. He stops and half-turns toward me, the sunlight still on him for the moment, shining from his face shield.
"You owe it to them," he says.
I could have saved them all. There are mutant corpses here too, gutted and skewered on spears. I wouldn't have saved them. Only the friends of Daiyna, Luther...and Samson. But Samson was Jackson, wasn't he? And wasn't Daiyna really Julia? Maybe I got confused. Maybe nobody's who they say they are. Or no one's who I think they are, because I hear voices and see ghosts.
I should stop trying to figure things out and just accept that I'm messed up.
"I could've stopped them." The mutant cannibals, the demons.
"But you wanted these people to die, didn't you?"
That voice in my head—it wanted me to leave them, not interfere, not intervene.
"We should split up, cover more ground." The caves are extensive through these mountains. I was left here in the dark once, lost and alone. "If there are any survivors…"
"We stay together." His tone leaves no room for debate. "Got a glowstick? Pitch black up ahead."
I pull the last stick out of my cargo pocket and toss it to him. He cracks it in one of his big hands. Instantly, the darkness is chased away by a sickening green light that illuminates more bodies to sidestep...so many. Men, women, mutants. A hideous massacre.
"What a mess," he mutters, cursing.
No one could have survived this. What was it—two days ago? A week? They said I was in a coma, that I'd been shot. My hand drifts to my chest. I feel fine now. Maybe I do heal faster now with my superspeed.
I unfasten my face shield and pocket it once I'm out of the sun's reach. Jackson does the same, covering his nose and mouth by reflex. It's bad in here, but I deserve to smell it. I should have to suffer for this.
"Which way?" He glances at me.
"Straight. There's another cavern, larger. Through that passage." Where they slept, where I woke up when they were under attack. When Plato thought I'd help defend their home. "I thought there was an avalanche, that there was no way in or out."
"There was." Jackson winks at me. "I have a way with rocks."
We pass beneath the earthen archway and into the large cavern strewn with bloodstained mattresses and more bodies, too many to count. They must have dragged their dying in here. But from the looks of things, they were feasted upon shortly after.
I choke down the bile in my throat.
"Recognize any of 'em?"
I shake my head. I can't identify the remains. I didn't know them. But I could have... They wanted me to help them, to use my gift for good. But I used it to run away instead.
Have I mentioned that I hate myself?
"Any other passages?" He pans the glowstick around and the light sweeps away the shadows. I'm sure there are, but I don't know how to find them.
"Nobody's in here. They're all dead." I turn away to face the black, to find my way out. "I'm done."
"Giving up so soon? Now that's not like you at all. I seem to remember you walking endless kilometers after All-Clear, hoping to find another living soul. You didn't give up then. Why should you now?"
"I don't want—I don't need to be here. There's nothing I can do. They're—"
"Dead. Right. I can see that. But why are you so sure there isn't even one sole survivor?"
I stare at his green-lit face. "Is there?" I step toward him and stop. "Is somebody still alive in here?"
He regards me for a moment. "What if there was? Would you be so hasty to leave?"
"If you know something I don't—"
He chuckles. "Don't get me started, Milton."
I curse him, my mind suddenly filled with images of his murder and my blood-covered hands. "Just tell me! Is someone here?"
"Yes."
My heart skips a beat. "Where?"
Without a word, he swings the light toward a cleft a meter up the earthen wall. I take off running and leap into the gap, just as he tosses the glowstick to me. I duck my head and crawl deep inside the crevice.
"Hello?" My voice doesn't echo in the stale air of this confined space. "Is anyone there?"
Silence answers me, interrupted only by the sounds of my shuffling boots. The green light of the glowstick extends a few meters before darkness overwhelms it. I wait, listening. If anyone's in here, I should be able to hear them breathing.
Was Jackson just screwing with me? I curse him under my breath and keep crawling, refusing to turn back until I see how far this passage goes.
Maybe I'll stay in here. If Jackson gets curious, he can join me, and I'll wring his thick neck. But I don't think he'd fit. I barely do, shoulders sliding across unyielding rock cool to the touch. Regardless, I finally have some breathing room. No voice in my head, no ghosts to haunt me. Too bad the air's so unsavory. Otherwise, I'd consider living out the rest of my days in here until I starve to death.
Fitting. I'd die among the remains of the people I killed. Will they call it the Milton Massacre someday? Probably not. Nobody survived to tell the tale. I can write history the way I like it: The mutants outnumbered them ten to one. They never had a chance. It was fate, survival of the fittest. The mutants were stronger, and they easily dominated the humans with superior weapons of warfare.
It wasn't fair, but that's life. It wasn't fair before D-Day, and it wasn't fair in the bunker. Why should it be any different now?
A dry cough barks ahead of me. I freeze for a second, then double my pace on hands and knees.
"Are you all right?" Stupid question.
Another cough replies, louder, as I draw near. The crawlspace opens into a cave the size of a small storeroom, every corner illuminated in green—including the one where a man's body lies curled on his side, facing away from me.
"Don't be afraid." I drop inside and reach for the hydropack in my pocket. "I'm not—"
"A killer?" Jackson rolls over and grins up at me.
I jump backward, my heart lurching.
"Milton, save me..." he whimpers. "Please Milton, use your gift. Help me!" He kicks his feet like an infant. Then he curses, sneering, "You're no hero. Only one thing you're good at: killing. Face it. The sooner you do, the sooner you'll realize your true purpose in this world. You're the Grim Reaper!"
"How the hell did you get in here?"
"I'm your imaginary friend, Milton. You tell me." He laughs and rolls over, raising an eyebrow at my silence. "What? Did you really think anybody survived that mess out there? Not a chance. I mean, they could have, if...you know. But that's not what you do. You don't save lives. You take them. That's how it was in the bunker, and that's how it was here." He rises to his feet, his dark eyes fixed on me. "That's how it's going to
be in Eden."
She warned me, told me I had to let go of the past. She told me something else, too... Something about those mounds of sand outside.
"What happened to the mutants out there, at the bottom of the grade?"
A grin spreads across his bearded face. "You like it?"
She said he didn't need them anymore. "How'd you pull that off?"
"It's amazing what a freak sandstorm can do."
That's when it hits me, a sudden realization that would have come sooner if I was thinking clearly. "You're not Jackson." He's not a figment of my imagination, either. He chuckles and then stares as if he's waiting for me to think things through—or as far as I can take them. "You're something else."
"Thank you." He nods graciously. "And you are very astute, albeit excruciatingly slow."
"You covered those mutants out there in the sand, after they had their fill of these people." How did she say it? "You drowned them in it."
"Guilty as charged." He folds his arms and keeps grinning, patiently watching me. "Go on. You're doing great."
"You—" Was it possible? "You made it chase after me, the rocks and sand—when I ran toward these mountains."
"You're finally catching on."
"You wanted to kill me."
"Not exactly. We wanted to see how fast you were. Think of it as your first test—one you passed with flying colors. We had to know the ability she gave you was just what we needed in order to deal with Eden."
I don't know what he's talking about. "So what are you?"
"We are many things, Milton. And we were once much more than we are now. We were the voice that was in your head for a while, if that's any help." He leans in, his tone dropping near a whisper. "We're still in your head, by the way. If anybody came in on us right now, they'd see you talking to yourself in here."
So I really am crazy. I'm not just hearing things, but I'm seeing them as well. And who knows where I am, really? I'm probably not even in this alcove of rock and earth, not standing here holding this glowstick. I could be lying somewhere, out cold for all I know, dreaming all this.
"Do you control me?" Am I possessed?
"I wish," he mutters. "It would've made things a whole lot easier. We got close, but then they—she—had to go and muck things up. We thought we could take over the one she was working with too, use you to get to her." He shakes his head. "No dice. You've got that vestigial reminder of the creator's adoration: free will. It's a curse on your kind, really. You all used it to the fullest degree, destroying everything he made. Nearly annihilating yourselves in the process."
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 31
