by Riley Flynn
There were no easy answers to this question. Was he immune? How? What was special about him? There seemed to be others who weren’t worried about the Eko virus, either. Even those without one of their eyes turned gray. Agents. Gang members. Either they seemed to be sick and not care, like Roque’s men, or they perhaps had access to better medicine and care. What did Alex have in common with them? When the question did not have a satisfying answer, best not to ask it in the first place.
Something moved.
Down on the road.
The movement snapped him back to the world, banishing the questions from his mind. Stepping behind a tree, he looked down into the valley.
Rabbits. Two of them. Together, their movement rustled leaves. Perhaps all these strange noises from the forest were nothing more than rabbits. It’s so easy to get paranoid, he told himself. Too easy. This was a relief, if anything. Perhaps being paranoid was a positive. A reassurance.
Alex raised his rifle. He stared through the scope. They weren’t far away. He knelt. Finger on the trigger. It would be so easy. At least one of them. Dinner? The other would run.
The sound of the gun would be deafening. The others might hear it. They’d worry. They’d eat well tonight, though.
One of the rabbits hopped into the road. Isolated.
The crosshairs followed.
Breathe in. Alex felt the oxygen moving around his body, allowing his muscles to relax.
Breathe out. Keep the target in sight. Don’t let it move too far.
Why wasn’t he sick? The rabbit stopped. Froze. A low rumbling sound. So easy.
The trigger was cold. Familiar. Shoot?
A hand touched his shoulder. Gripped hard. Alex didn’t turn. Not this time. He watched the rabbit.
“Joan. Very funny. I’m about to catch our dinner.”
The hand stayed in place. Squeezed.
Silence.
Alex turned.
“I said-”
An unfamiliar face stared back. Not Joan.
A stranger.
Chapter 9
For a second – just a second – Alex could only stare. Everything stopped. The stranger stood at six feet two inches, roundabouts. His hair was tatty and tangled, drooping over his forehead. A beard half a hand thick wrapped around a pair of dark lips. His skin was dirty, coated in mud and grime. Two eyes, sunken and shining, watched and watched and watched.
Alex snapped back to reality. He leapt backwards. Raising the gun, he aimed it at the man’s chest.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Instead of cowering or ducking, the man stood still. Alex could see all of him now. Camo trousers and work boots. All a khaki color. A long, heavy brown coat worn over two sweaters. He was in shape beneath all the clothes. There was a lithe, coiled energy about him. But he stood still.
“Who the hell are you?” Alex’s voice dropped down lower, his surprise and fear seeping out. “Who-”
The man reached out. He caught the wavering barrel of the rifle in one hand and held it tight. He raised a free finger to his lips. Pursed. Asking for quiet.
The actions were so slow, so deliberate, Alex felt mesmerized. Curiosity outpaced terror as the anxiety and the adrenaline diluted in the blood.
The man did not, Alex noticed, move the gun. The rifle was still pointed right at his chest, right over a hole in his wine-red wool sweater. But while the hand held the barrel steady, the finger begged for silence.
Once he was satisfied, the man turned his finger to point down at the road, right to the spot where the rabbits had been thirty seconds ago. They were gone. Alex watched the space, desperately trying to understand what he was being shown.
The man crouched. Alex mirrored the action.
The road was empty. Nothing there. But then there was that sound. Not the kicking of the leaves or the rustle of branches. Not a forest sound. A city sound. That low, droning rumble. Familiar somehow.
Together, rifle still pointing unnoticed at the stranger, they watched the road. From up high, they might have been invisible overseers. Kestrels hovering over a freeway.
Alex stole a glance to the side. He expected the man to be observing him, to be running those sunken eyes over him. But the stranger was focused only on the road. To him, this man with the rifle was an afterthought, a secondary issue. The real problem was down below.
Even seen from the side, Alex couldn’t help but notice an innate honesty in the man’s sunken eyes. But it was not alone. There was something else hidden beneath the surface. A pain. A hurt. A regret which lent credence to the trustworthiness. Those eyes had seen a lot. Too much.
The rumbling sound was rising, louder and louder. The stranger crouched lower and lower, almost flat against the forest floor. Alex followed. They watched the road together.
Around the bend, emerging right into the place where the rabbits had been, the sound broke through from the edge of hearing. Two tires, bull bars, and the hood of a Humvee came hurtling around the corner, covering ground at a rapid pace.
The vehicle was huge. Even from up on the slope, Alex could see the size of it. Far larger than a regular car, built for military use. The Humvee was painted a desert pale, the color of sand and mud, and splashed with irregular patterns. There were others.
As they approached, Alex counted seven vehicles. Their monstrous tires ate up the road, each vehicle stretched from asphalt edge to asphalt edge. Driving with hardly five feet between them, the Humvees formed a tightly forged chain, emerging from behind the bend and driving below the two hidden men.
The windows were not tinted. Alex could see right in. But the distance was too great. Laying down flat on his belly, he brought the rifle round to his shoulder and stole a glimpse through the lens.
Through each window, he could see the men inside. Dressed in fatigues. Sitting up sharp and straight. All of them exactly the same. As they passed, Alex tried to study the soldiers, tried to gather as much information as possible. But each was a blank canvas, divulging nothing.
In the third vehicle, watching through the scope, he could see a soldier. The man was young, around the same age as Alex. Clean shaven. Hair completely clipped below the brown of a thin, lightweight helmet. His uniform matched the color of t
“|?}he car.
Stoically, the young man held on to the frame of the vehicle and watched the rear of the Humvee in front. His eyes didn’t flinch. He hardly blinked.
None of the men were talking, not that Alex would be able to hear them over the sounds from the engine and the wheels.
Then everything went dark.
Pulling back his eye from the lens, Alex felt his heart skip. But nothing had changed. The forest way still there. The pale light still trickling down from the sky.
The stranger had placed his palm across the other end of the scope, had blocked out the light and plunged the world into darkness.
As Alex moved his gaze from the blocking hand up the arm and all the way to the man’s unkempt face, he understood. The man pointed to the sky, to the gun.
The sun, opposite them, would reflect against the glass. It would shine, signaling their position to the cars below.
It had only been a second. Only a moment. But it might have given everything away.
Alex placed the rifle carefully on the ground. There had been a cap. A rubber fitted piece which covered the glass. But he’d left it back at the cabin. He hadn’t even thought about it. But the stranger had acted, had made sure they remained invisible.
Down on the road, the last of the Humvees passed by. The first had already reached a bend and had vanished behind a bank of earth. The sound went with them, the rumbling turning of the tires fading and fading and fading.
Finally, it was barely audible at all and the forest returned to its natural state.
“You’re not with them?” Alex whispered, a hundred emotions competing to make themselves felt.
No answer. The man raised himself up to his full height, stretched out his arm
s and legs, turned, and began to walk away. Grabbing his rifle from the ground, curiosity raging like a bonfire, Alex chased after him, jogging to catch up.
“Hey. Don’t walk away,” Alex said to the back of the man’s head. “What the hell was that?”
Trying to keep his voice low, trying to keep quiet while still being heard, Alex was competing against the sound of his own hurried footsteps. But the man was ignoring him.
“I was talking to you. Stop. Stop there. Who are you?”
The man didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn around. He just kept walking. The heavy coat hanging around his shoulders cracked and creased as he went, the material suffering from exposure to the elements.
Alex stumbled slightly, tripping over a tree root buried beneath the leaves. Righting himself, looking up, he saw that the stranger had not deviated from his path.
Now, looking farther into the forest, catching sight of it all, Alex realized. They were heading back to the cabin. Up the same slight incline, up through the trees towards the place Timmy and Joan were hiding, resting.
Alex stopped and raised the rifle. He pulled back on the bolt, more for the sound than the function. The snatch of metal on metal, the cartridge in place: words of warning.
“I said stop,” said Alex, “stop there or I’ll shoot.”
The stranger stopped.
He turned.
He watched the barrel of the gun, trained on him again. This time, he was out of reach.
“I’ll answer your questions,” he said, his voice a dry rattle. “But not here.”
Alex opened his mouth, about to shout. Once again, the man put his finger to his lips.
“You never know who’s watching,” he said, deep and arid, “or who’s listening. Trust me, my friend.”
The forest sat still. No breeze, no branches creaking under a landing bird, no rustle of feathers or fur. Just Alex, alone, with his gun raised at the stranger, who smiled. He pointed up at the empty sky.
“They’re on a mission from God,” said the stranger. “Watching over all of us. Let’s go home.”
Chapter 10
They walked through the forest, Alex prodding the rifle into the stranger’s back. The man hardly flinched, the thick coat cushioning the barrel.
“I know you don’t want to talk, but you’re going to have to say something soon.”
Alex stared at the back of the man’s head, the thick tangle of dirty locks swaying with each step. Even though he couldn’t see the man’s face, he knew there was a smile breaking out. Not a particularly pleased, happy smile, but a satisfied grin.
This enraged Alex and worried him in equal measure. He had a gun to the man’s back, marching him through an empty forest. The man had no right to smile. He should be scared.
Eventually, they arrived at the cabin. With the stranger in front, Alex marched them right up on to the porch, reached around the man and knocked three times. The dog barked. The muffled chatter from inside stopped.
“It’s me,” Alex called out through the walls. “I’m coming in.”
Timmy was trigger happy at the best of times, even if he was still too weak to be holding one of the heavier weapons. Best to warn him anyway.
Pushing the stranger to the side, keeping the rifle pointed at his back, Alex leaned forward and opened the door. The dog barked again, rolling around on the floor with Timmy. They’d been training.
“Hey, man, settle a bet,” Timmy said. “What do you-”
* * *
His voice faltered.
* * *
“Who the hell is that?”
Standing in the door frame, Alex pushed the man through into the kitchen. He didn’t resist.
“That’s what I want to know,” said Alex. “I found him out in the woods.”
“He attacked you?” asked Joan. “How did you capture him?”
“Funny story,” Alex began before trailing off.
The man stood in the center of the room, watching everyone. Alex grabbed a chair, placed it behind the man’s knees and, with a hand on his shoulder, encouraged him to sit.
Finn sniffed around the man’s hands, smelling something interesting. Timmy and Joan sat at the table in the corner of the room. As Timmy edged closer and closer to the stranger, getting a good look at every inch of him, Joan sat back.
“Does he have a name?”
She chose her words carefully, asking the question to Alex but allowing her eyes to linger over the man as he grew comfortable in his chair.
Now, with the light entering through the kitchen window, Alex could focus on the smaller details. The man’s nails, he could see, were dirty but not overgrown. In the recent past, they’d been cut and trimmed. The same could not be said about the hair.
At first, it had seemed tangled and chaotic. But there existed a semblance of order. The man tucked back the locks in a familiar fashion every few minutes, finding his fingers getting tangled every time. This was a man, Alex believed, who seemed unfamiliar with longer hair.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Alex said. “I’ve been trying and got absolutely nothing to show for myself.”
Alex walked to the side of the room, laying the rifle along the kitchen counter and leaning against a wall. The man was sitting in the chair with his back straight, his shoulders set, staring out of the window. As the others had formed an arc around him, he had not flinched.
“Do you have a name, Mr. Stranger?”
“Why yes, ma’am. Yes, I do.”
Joan looked across to Alex, a mixture of pride and surprise in her face. Suddenly, the stranger was talkative. Let her try to get him speaking. It was all he could do to cede the floor to her with a wave of his hand. The man was clearly happier to talk to her. Let him talk.
“And will you tell us your name?” she continued. “I really do prefer to know people’s names.”
“Private John Alo Cameron, ma’am. But most folks just call me Cam.”
“I see, Mr. Cameron. And will you be joining us for lunch today?”
“Woah, now. Slow down,” said Timmy, turning his body toward Joan but refusing to take his eyes away from the man in the chair. “Lunch? You think we’ve got enough to share?”
“Baby steps, Timothy, baby steps. We’re the hosts here.”
“Yeah, but, I mean – who even is this guy?”
Carefully, Joan reached across the table. In the middle, one of the unopened packets from a lunch time ready meal was waiting to be eaten. She picked it up and examined the packet.
“Nutrient bar. Not one of the better ones, I’m afraid. Would you like this, Mr. Cameron?”
“Sure,” he began, sitting still. “But only so long as I’m not taking food out of your mouths.”
He looked around, from Timmy to Alex. Finn, still sniffing at the man’s feet, accepted a pat on the head from the stranger and then sidled back to Timmy.
“If you want to eat, eat,” said Alex.
“Yeah, but – that’s ours,” said Timmy. “We’re just going to give it away?”
“I think so,” said Joan, tossing the bar to the seated man. “Eat up.”
The man unwrapped the bar and began to eat. Hardly chewing, he worked through the bar in a few ravenous bites. Still keeping his eyes on the new arrival, Alex began to tell his story.
“I was exploring, getting used to the area. I came to a road, stopped, and began to examine the area. Before I knew it, Cam here came out of nowhere.”
“He attacked you?” asked Timmy.
“No.” Alex shook his head. “Just approached me. He moves quietly, I’ll give him that.”
“And then what happened? You attacked him?” Timmy leaned forward in his seat, watching the man dust off his fingers. The wrapper fell to the floor.
“He showed me something. We saw a group of men. Military. Army maybe. All driving through the area. About a mile and a half west of here.”
“They’re looking for us?” asked Joan.
“I don’t know. They were just
driving through.”
“Bet they’re after us, man. After what we did to their friends? They gotta be after us.”
“They’re not here for you.”
It was Cam. He licked his fingers clean. “Y’all got anything else to eat?”
His voice was a deep rumble, Alex noticed, prickled with age and experience. A travelled voice, belonging to someone who had moved around. An unspecific sudden drawl draped across the syllables; not seemingly from any one place, but more of a general, forgotten kind of nostalgia. Alex knew the accent at once, felt it was eerily familiar. But it was still strange to hear it.
Timmy looked to Joan. Joan looked to Alex. Alex checked the cupboards in the kitchen, wondering whether anything had been stored inside while he had been away. Another power bar sat on the table. It would do.
“Sure,” Alex said. “I can give you this. But we’re going to need a bit of information.”
“I’m an open book, my friend,” said Cam. “But a hungry one.”
“A hungry book?” Timmy snorted. “Doesn’t make much sense.”
“Makes about as much sense as anything else, I can tell you.” Cam shrugged. “What do you want to know?”
As Alex opened his mouth to ask a question, Joan cut across him.
“Why are you wandering around in the woods?”
“Well, ma’am, that’s a good question. I’ve been out in these woods for a while now. Must be three weeks, I reckon.”
“Three weeks is a long time,” Joan admitted. “But I asked why? Why were you near our cabin?”
“Your cabin? Ma’am, I been out here three weeks and this was my cabin for most of those. Knew the guy who had it before that, too. Going back decades. This ain’t your cabin.”
“You’ve been staying here?” said Alex. “We didn’t see any signs of life.”
“I cover my tracks pretty well. Not like you. Heard you coming from a mile away. Slipped out the back. Been waiting to see who you are for a while now.”
