First Gear

by Eve Langlais

  “Hello?”

  It said nothing.

  He stroked it and flinched as a rough edge tore open a wound, causing him to bleed anew.

  I can help her.

  The declaration had him asking quickly, “How?”

  The voice whispered.

  It took a bit of work, finding something he could grind metal with, reducing a small portion of it into a fine powder, and then blending it with the hot tea he’d made for Onaria.

  She grimaced as she drank it, but only for the first few sips. By the time she’d finished it, she’d relaxed, and her breathing eased.

  By late morning, she’d regained her smile, and for the next few days, not a single cough plagued her. At the first sign it started again, he ground up some more of the cog, giving himself only the tiniest dose to ease the tickle.

  He didn’t understand how or why it worked, but he felt better, as did Onaria. But as the cog dwindled in size, he realized it wouldn’t last forever.

  There was only one thing to do. The voice had already explained his next step.

  He announced it at breakfast. “I’m going on a trip.”

  “A trip?” She blinked. “To go where? The cities are just one big death trap.” The news coming out of them proved bleak.

  “I won’t find what I need in the cities. That’s where I’m traveling.” He pointed out the window to the mountains.

  “Not that again.” She sighed.

  “Being here has only reinforced my belief. The mountains hold the answer. And I need to find it.”

  “Find what? There’s nothing there. The mountains are impassable.”

  “I have to go. See for myself.”

  That brought a shake of her head. “I’m not leaving a house with plumbing and food to climb rocks and freeze.”

  “You’re not coming.”

  The statement snapped her mouth shut, and at the hurt in her expression, he realized she’d taken it as a rebuke. “What I mean to say is it is too dangerous for you. Especially in your condition. I’ll be going alone.”

  “To do what?”

  “There’s something in those mountains that can help you. Help a lot of people.”

  She sighed. “There is no miracle cure.”

  “Yes, there is.” He dangled his talisman in front of her.

  Her expression turned incredulous. “This is about that piece of junk you carry around?”

  “It’s more than junk. Whoever created this can help us.”

  “Whoever made it, if they existed, is long dead. Gone.” She slashed her hand through the air. “And even if they left behind some ruins, how is that supposed to help?”

  “How’s your breathing?” He changed the subject.

  “What?” she asked, brow creasing. “Fine. Better. The fresher air seems to be helping.”

  Except he knew the truth. “It’s not the air. I’ve been feeding you metal shavings from my artifact.”

  Her mouth opened and shut. “You did what?”

  “It told me to.” Words that made him sound even crazier so he spoke faster. “I’ve been giving you some in your tea every few days.”

  “Without telling me? Metal is a poison, Jool.”

  “Not this metal. It can cure.”

  “If it can cure, then why keep giving it to me?” She arched a brow.

  “Because there’s not enough, which is why I need to find more of the artifacts.”

  “This is insane. Your talisman isn’t capable of talking or fixing my cough.”

  The doubt, while expected, pinched his lips. “I can’t sit around and wait for the end to come, Onaria. I have to do something. Try, at the very least.” He grabbed her hands. “I know it’s hard to understand. I’m having difficulty myself, but this is something I have to do. And maybe I won’t find anything, but what if there is something out there? Something that can cure you? Fix me. The world.”

  Her expression softened. “I wish I could believe, but I think you’re allowing yourself false hope.”

  “Maybe. But can we afford for me to not even try?”

  She looked away for a moment, her shoulders rounded and frail. “When are you planning to leave?”

  “When we’re done with breakfast. I’ll pack a light bag and get going. The sooner, the better. I’ve left a bottle with shavings in the cupboard. When you feel the cough coming back, sprinkle a bit in your tea.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. Leaving me alone.”

  “I’m doing this so we can have a lifetime together instead of a short moment.”

  Onaria looked at the table and traced the scratches in the surface as she said softly, “I’ll miss you.”

  “You won’t have time to miss me. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  She kissed him suddenly, desperate and hot. “I love you,” she whispered against his mouth.

  “I will come back to you.” With a cure.

  His departure suffered a delay as she tore at his clothing. Their lovemaking a frantic meshing of bodies, a desperation to the act, as if they both feared it would be their last.

  He ended up leaving after lunch, packing the bare essentials: a canteen, a pistol, knife, and a knapsack with spare clothes. But other than a small container of jerky, no other food. He left it for Onaria. Because if he was right—which really meant if his talisman spoke true—he’d find what he needed amongst the peaks.

  She saw him off at the edge of the yard, a forlorn figure wrapped in a shawl. Seeing her alone and trying to be brave almost broke his resolve. How could he leave her to fend for herself? What if she needed him?

  What if she died because he did nothing?

  He would return. He had to.

  The recollection of his last climb meant he’d come better prepared. The thick gloves he’d chosen protected the flesh of his fingers. His lungs hurt the first few days, as did his legs, the strain of exercise showing the poor shape of his physique.

  But he toughened. He ignored the doubt in his mind for the soft susurration that encouraged him.

  The road is gone. He tried to destroy it. But we remember the path.

  Who was this he? What path? He saw no semblance of a road, just more rocks to climb. What he did find was plenty to drink, the water rolling down from melting peaks in a refreshing rivulet. Not big enough to be called a stream, but it quenched his thirst and filled his canteen.

  High up, close to the sources of water, hidden in cracks, sprouted plants, hardy things with fibrous stalks that took much chewing, and even if boiled overnight never quite achieved softness. But the acrid growth filled his belly. Cramped it at times, too. Yet what choice did he have?

  The climbing became a monotonous thing. Wedge a foot. Reach for a rocky grip. Heave his body. Climbing to the top of the first mountain range, teeth chattering and feet blocks of ice in the snowdrifts, he knew better than to cheer. For he now faced the daunting task of climbing down then crossing a barren valley so that he could then climb the next peak again.

  It wasn’t until he slept at the bottom, having lost his footing and rolled partway down the pebble-strewn slope, that he suspected he might not be alone.

  He’d practically curled himself around the fire he’d set, the snapped tree trunk he’d found dry enough that a flame caught and then smoldered within the remains all night long. Not quite as comfortable as a bed, but warm at least for the first time since he’d set out.

  Of concern, only a few paces from where he’d lain his head, he noticed a pile of feces.

  A fresh pile. Which translated to his hungry and tired mind as food. Not the poop of course, but what it signified. Life.

  Now it could belong to another traveler, although why defecate rather than say hello he couldn’t have said. More likely it came from an animal. It only served to reinforce his annoyance at the bureaucracy that refused to listen and send properly equipped explorers into the mountains.

  Why did they stubbornly refuse to try?

  Because o
f the gears he left. In the very ground. A warning to keep out the unwary.

  A warning from whom?

  But once more, the voice went silent. Its short bursts of mind speech came without rhyme or reason.

  Standing, he surveyed the barren landscape strewn with trees long fallen. New growth struggled, the limbs stunted, the leaves sparse. The boulders littering the valley floor could have hidden any number of beasts.

  The idea of meat made his mouth water. If only he knew how to catch another living creature. He knew it could be done. The library used to have books on the art of hunting. He’d skipped them. Jool was more a man of books than the outdoors. Given his current situation, he cursed his own short-sightedness.

  He left his tree burning, wondering if its plume of smoke would make it high enough for Onaria to see. To let her know he lived.

  Did she miss him? He ached for her. The smell of her, the sound of her laughter, the feel of her in his arms.

  For a moment, he wondered at his sanity. What am I doing? I should be with her.

  That voice chose to whisper once more, You do this to save her.

  Gathering his things, he set out across the valley, skirting broken trees, giving wide berths to the thrusts of rock. As if a once-thick forest had been pummeled by stone from underneath.

  A possibility, the scholar in him acknowledged. An earthquake could have done this, perhaps even a volcano, although there were none awake in recent history.

  But then again, little was ever said about the mountains, as if everyone was intentionally ignoring them.

  He chose to camp early that night, where he could start a fire for warmth rather than start his next grueling climb.

  The meat jerky took forever to chew, and he washed it down with the last of his water. Hopefully he’d find a source early in the day once he started to climb.

  With his pack as a pillow, and huddled close to his burning stump, he went to sleep.

  A noise woke him. He lay still, holding his breath, straining to hear. Had he dreamed it?

  It came again, the soft crunch of something stepping on the shale-strewn ground. He wasn’t alone. He opened his eyes in time to see, by the dim light of his fire, a pair of glowing red eyes charging him.

  “What is— Oomph.” The beast slammed into him with a snarl, and only an instinct for preservation had him flinging his hands out to keep it from biting off his face.

  His fingers dugs into knotted fur, and the fetid breath of the creature washed over his face. He could see nothing in the dark, just feel the strength of the monster as its smaller body tried to overpower him. He strained as it snarled, doing his best to hold those slavering teeth away from his flesh. He cursed his ineptness. Self-defense yet another skill he’d chosen not to learn.

  And now he would die for it.

  The beast began pushing against his shaking muscles, his arms weakening. Closer. Closer. The drool hit him hotly, tenderizing his terror.

  The thing roared in triumph, and he had a moment to regret leaving Onaria, to wish he could see her one more time before the monster crushed him.

  6

  The monster literally crushed him, as all its weight suddenly landed atop Jool, the beast no longer trying to eat him alive. Dead apparently, and yet still intent on killing him.

  Suffocating under the weight, he suffered the humiliation of knowing he’d not only failed at his goal but would die the most ignoble of deaths.

  The body atop him shifted, and Jool gasped for a breath of air.

  A male voice drawled, “A little far from home, city slicker.”

  Scrambling to his feet, Jool perused his rescuer by the faint light of his fire. A man of swarthy complexion, his hair dark, what could be seen of it, tufting from the bandanna he wore around his forehead. His beard thick. Goggles concealed his eyes, just like his clothing covered him neck to toe, the long coat thick and worn, the leather streaked but appearing warm.

  “Thank you for saving me,” Jool had enough manners to say.

  “Wasn’t trying to save you. I wanted the meat.” The fellow pointed to the hairy carcass.

  “It’s edible?”

  “Yup.” The male swept past Jool and knelt beside the body of the animal, a huge knife in hand.

  Questions brimmed on the tip of his tongue. Who was this stranger? What did he do in these mountains? Who taught him to hunt and carve?

  Because he obviously knew how. There existed an assured elegance in the way the stranger wielded his knife, first bleeding the kill and capturing the blood in a flexible pan. Then stripping the skin from the carcass and slicing the ribcage open to remove the two hearts and other organs.

  Only once he began threading the meat on sticks to set over the still smoldering stump did Jool venture to speak. “My name is Jool.”

  No reply.

  “I’m an explorer.”

  That earned him a snort.

  “I’ll admit I’m a better explorer of words and history than the wild.”

  “You don’t say.” Spoken with thick sarcasm. A dark gaze turned his way, and the man shoved the goggles atop his head to show brilliantly green eyes.

  “Do you live in the mountains?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “So you’ve explored them. Seen creatures. Perhaps other things.”

  “If you’re looking for a miracle, then you’ve come to the wrong place.” The stranger turned back to his cooking meat, turning the spits before preparing even more chunks to go on the flame.

  Rather than press about his meaning, Jool attempted a friendlier tactic. “What’s your name?”

  “Does it matter?” The man immediately sighed. “Niimmo.”

  “Why are you out here?”

  “Because it’s the only place left with food, thanks to the city slickers.” Niimmo pulled a chunk off a stick and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly, and Jool almost drooled.

  “May I?” he asked, waiting for a nod to reach and slide a piece of his own from the skewer.

  It was hot, moist, and smelled incredible. His hunger was so great that he burned his tongue popping the piece of meat into his mouth. But he didn’t care. Flavor filled his mouth, a tad gamy and yet juicy. Filling. Delicious.

  He had several pieces before he leaned back with a contented sigh. “I can’t believe the government thought everything was dead out here.”

  “They thought it because that’s what they were told.” Niimmo pulled the cooked pieces from the fire and set them to cool across another stump.

  “Told by who?” Jool asked.

  “Me. Other hunters sent by the cities in a last-ditch effort to feed them a few more years.”

  “Why would you lie?” he sputtered even as it burned to know that all the times he’d gone and begged for an expedition they made him out to be irrational. Why not just admit they’d tried and failed?

  “We lied because there’s not enough here to feed them all. Not to mention, it’s not the fault of the animals that we destroyed the world. It’s best for them if we die out. Maybe then this world stands a chance of regenerating itself.”

  “You want our people to die?”

  Niimmo turned to him with a serious mien. “This isn’t about wanting. It’s survival. Survival means doing ugly things.”

  “At what cost?” Jool asked.

  “Life,” was the reply. “Let me put it in terms you might understand. We slaughtered one dread rat.” He pointed to the remains of the creature he’d killed. “This could feed the pair of us for at least the next five or more days. Longer if we had to ration it. Which is perfect because you’re not guaranteed to catch something every day. Sometimes you have to trek for long distances to find a fresh hunting ground.”

  “You move around?”

  “You have to if you want to give an area a chance to replenish. Which goes back to your ‘let’s save the world, it’s the right thing to do.’” Spoken at a high pitch that mocked. “We have one dread rat. Dividing it in two, it’s five days of f
ood. Split among four people, let’s be nice and say three before we need to hunt again. Ten people, do the math.”

  Put in such stark terms he could see. It reminded him of his and Onaria’s choice to not let anyone know of the cellar of food they’d found. They didn’t keep any of it in the house. Watched to make sure no one saw them going into the hole in the ground. Because they knew there wasn’t enough to last.

  Jool sighed. “I understand. I just wish it could be different.”

  “Wishing won’t change reality.”

  Jool changed the subject. “You live out here?”

  “Yup.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yup.” Back to monosyllables.

  “Isn’t it lonely?” He missed talking to Onaria. Missed the comfort of his bed and at times wondered why he’d left. There was no salvation out here. And barely enough to eke out an existence. Why, it had taken him days before he’d encountered any signs of life.

  “I’m not a man who likes a lot of people around.” Niimmo stirred the fire and shifted the skewers of meat.

  A reminder of what he’d eaten. A dread rat? He could totally understand the name. Massive in size compared to the city rats, the hair on it long enough to twine itself into messy knots. It made him wonder. “Are animal attacks common?”

  “You’re in the mountains. Everything is trying to kill us.”

  Not the most reassuring thing to hear. “I’ve been traveling three days now, and this is the first time I’ve seen anything.”

  “Because you were in the outer ring. When the pollution began to sift past the rocky first layer, the smarter animals moved deeper.”

  “Yet you’re out here.”

  “Yeah.” Niimmo rubbed his neck. “Thought I’d take a gander and see how bad things had gotten.”

  “Bad.” Now Jool was the one to resort to a short word.

  “Which explains why a city slicker who doesn’t know that fire attracts the rats is out here.”

  Jool grimaced. “I don’t have a choice.” Onaria would die without more of the healing metal. And even if the cough didn’t get her, eventually starvation would.