Hearing a jubilant shout, she twisted at the waist.
“Yes. Yes!” Doogan was saying and squeezing something between his fingers. In haste, he tore open a box of syringes and walked over them. “Let’s hope it’ll work.” Inserting the needle into a vial, clear liquid filled the syringe.
“That’s it?” Jane asked while watching him stick Gus and dispensing the drug. “Now he’ll get better?”
“Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“Lots of things.” He appeared pensive and expelled a shooting breath. “Whether the penicillin still has the power to work or how far the infection has spread. A number of factors.”
***
Exuberantly galloping after the truck, the hooves of Zennith and Gingersnap clopped over the rock-strewn bank for a drink. The steed bowed his neck and lapped water, then tossed his chestnut mane.
“Zennith approves.” Fulvio removed his hat and flung it near the rubber wheel of the truck. Gingersnap nipped Zennith’s flank, and they frolicked like a couple of children out of sight.
“Throw me the soap.” Waist deep in the chilly lake, Smelt cupped his hands ready to catch a baseball.
“Leave some for the rest of us.” Ennis pitched a slab of soap and continued to remove his clothes. A cool draft pimpled his naked skin as he waded in and then dove head first, swimming underwater. Breaking the surface, he sputtered, “Not bad once you get in. C’mon, Fulvio.” Ennis observed the stoic man, his hand in a salute motion at his brow.
“My dear fellow,” Fulvio said, “I tend to procrastinate when it comes to emerging my body into pools of uncertainty.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Ennis swirled in the water looking for ominous signs of danger.
“Just a precautionary measure.” Fulvio stripped, and prolonging his entrance into the lake by guarding like a stalwart lifeguard. “It appears harmless.”
Smelt lathered his scalp and body then plunged into the water to rinse. “Ah-h...that feels good.” He tossed the soap into the waiting hands of Ennis.
Duplicating Smelt’s procedure, Ennis scrubbed luxuriating in the clean smell before diving to rinse. “There’s fish in here, can you feel them?” Ennis said, squeegeeing water from his hair.
“I hope so,” Fulvio remarked while lathering, “good eats my friends.”
“Did you feel that?” Treading water, Smelt spit a mouthful. “Lakes don’t have undertows, do they?”
“I felt it too.” Ennis’s toes dredged into the mired lake bottom. “Like a wave underwater.”
“I feel it—” Fulvio’s sentence cut to the quick as his body submerged.
“Where’d he go?” A concerned Ennis stared at the rippling water. “Is he looking underwater for something?”
“Don’t know and don’t like it.” Smelt began paddling toward shore. “Git out.”
“What about Fulvio?” Ennis swam to where he’d last seen him. “Can he hold his breath that long?”
“Jus’ git out!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As the thistly vine captured Keeyla, her rifle slipped from her hands. She hurriedly retrieved her blade and tried sawing the carnivorous vine. Already ten then twelve feet from the ground, her knife scarcely made a dent in the fibrous plant. The vine began its death coil. Winding her chest, constricting her lungs, and enclosing her body into submission.
She heard a round of gunfire and then she was falling. The hard ground met her with a wince-inducing crash, collapsing and rolling. Hands hooked under her arms and swiftly dragged her several yards before she had a chance to recover. “I’m good. I can run.”
“You sure, Keeyla?” Clayton kept running at topnotch speed with Garth neighboring her opposite side.
Like they had a mind of their own, her legs and body kept pace as the men released her.
“Here, you misplaced this.” Garth chucked the rifle; she snatched it in midair. “Let’s get out of this hellhole!”
It seemed like a lifetime, but only a mere fifteen minutes when they burst out of the demented forest into a clearing. Trotting onward, they didn’t stall until they’d caught up with an anxiety-ridden clan. Keeyla’s heart hammered out of control searching for her son. She sighted him atop of Tibbles. Their eyes met, he cried out as she ran to him.
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” she said breathlessly.
“I was so scared.” His fingers swiped at his wet washed cheeks and toppled into her arms. “I thought...I thought...”
Clutching Fabal, her chest heaving, they dropped to the ground. “I’m sorry.” Anguished tears trampled her face as she kissed the top of his head and held him tight. Their hazardous plight would not be forgotten, and sobbing reached her ears from those huddling together.
Succeeding in comforting her son, Keeyla searched for Trank’s father. He was absent from the group and found him alone, sitting in the weeds. His arms buttressed on his knees with his head drooping between them. Tentative, she lowered to the squishy soil and waited.
Feeling her presence, Drake’s shoulders tightened, apparently, wanting to wallow in misery in private. To see his son taken from him in such a grotesque manner was no doubt tearing him apart.
“Drake,” Keeyla said, soft as a soothing feather. “I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. Trank...he was...”
“My son. My only son.” Drake wouldn’t look at her. “Leave me alone.”
Death and hardship wore like a yoke on these mutants, Keeyla wanted to reach out and hold the despondent man in her arms. “I’m grieving with you. All of us are grieving together.”
Drake’s head bolted. His leathery mocha skin perverted in grief. “You lived in comfort, in Tallas. You don’t know what grieving is all about.”
Not the time or place to expound on her own miseries, she let the man relieve his despair.
“Did you give birth to mangled bodies that deteriorated before your eyes?” His grief-stricken expression was replenished with a scowl as growth-stunted fingers kneaded his baldhead. “And then...my wife...coughing up blood. I watched...”—wiping tears—“skin and bones. A skeleton. I prayed for her to die. Can you believe it?” Watering eyes stared at her. “I wanted her to die.”
Sucking in her lips and biting down, Keeyla’s heart cried for him, for Trank, Matty, and for Greenen, who died in the forest. Unsure, expecting to be rebuked, she shifted and rounded the man’s heaving shoulders with her arm; not speaking, offering condolences, and mutely wept.
The surviving fifteen souls traversed three additional miles, far from the demented forest. They set up camp in a semi-dry hollowed formation surrounded by conifers. Ten men with weapons at the ready guarded the site. They walked the perimeter checking for signs of anything extraordinary.
Tibbles stood patiently while Fabal eliminated the hindering yoke and then roughed his hands over the bears neck and shoulders. Tibbles grunted and muttered appreciatively. His beady eyes narrowing and his jawline appeared to curl into a gangling grin.
“There ya go, buddy. That feels good, huh?” He continued his kneading ministrations and in an unexpected turn, Tibbles gathered him in his paws. The bear rolled onto his back with Fabal straddling his belly. Fabal snickered and persisted in raking his fingers, unsettling his fur.
“Fabal,” said a croaky voice, “help gather wood for a fire.”
He looked to see Garth observing them from afar, a rifle perched in his arms. “Yes, sir.” Then he said to Tibbles, “I got to go.” He flipped a leg over the bear’s chest and slid off his side to the stony ground. Immediately the bear got to his feet and lumbered around the clearing, happy to be unburdened.
Keeyla noticed Tibbles barreling into the bordering forest, more than likely hunting for food. The children were playing a game along the bowls incline. She shouted to them, “Stay in the clearing so we can see you.”
Hot, sticky, and in need of bathing, she roped strawberry-blond hair behind her head and swabbed her face and neck. Startled by a quiet presence, she twitc
hed. “Oh, Tanya, it’s you.” Penitent eyes ringed in a tinge of gray gazed at her.
“I don’t blame you.”
“Blame me for what?” Keeyla said.
“For those people that got killed. I don’t blame you.”
“I...I...it wasn’t my fault.” Feeling flustered and accountable, she curbed the sting behind her eyes.
“I know.” Tanya’s head swiveled to look at a woman named, Barantha. “We all agreed to come on this journey with you. It’s not your fault, remember that.”
“Is Barantha blaming me for those people getting killed?” She stared at the woman bending near the fire. “I didn’t know those woods were demented.”
“No one did. Strange things since the final days, huh?”
“I never should’ve listened to Garth and Clayton.” Keeyla couldn’t stop the montage of images rushing through her. “We should’ve stuck to Fulvio’s map.”
Tanya hiked up her grungy shirt, exposing her gaunt chest and scoured her face. “Poor Drake, though. His kid was a real puss. Scared of his own shadow. I was surprised when they came along.”
Keeyla’s legs were suddenly feeble. Kneeling to the ground she ballooned her shirt, letting air cool her body. “Tanya, I wondered why there weren’t any more children among your people. Is it because you didn’t have a physician or because the children were horribly...” her words trailed.
“Deformed. Yes. Swan is the youngest in these parts that I know of. Babies just keep dying. Fifteen years ago when Fulvio appeared, he once said it might be due to the contaminated meat and vegetables. And since Swan, no one’s birthed a baby that lived. Weird, huh?”
Keeyla nodded, reflexively smoothing her palm over her stomach.
***
Taking a deep breath, Ennis immersed himself in murky water, eyes open. Dark, gritty specks floated by and schools of abnormally large fish, but no Fulvio. He resurfaced scanning the water, which mirrored blue skies and marshmallow clouds. An inconsequential current caught the edge of his eye, and then a significant surge. Fulvio materialized, gasping for air and flailing hands like a drowning man.
Arm over arm, Ennis swam as fast as possible.
“No—back,” Fulvio coughed out, trying to wave him off.
Then an underwater rush and Ennis felt something wind his hips. “What the fu—” his sentence severed with a terse breath.
Towed beneath the surface, his hands struggled to disband slimy tentacles that adhered to his body. Sinking lower and lower, flogging for release, his future looked bleak as his lungs screamed for oxygen.
In the bowels of gloomy water, he didn’t see a monster, only elongated tentacles like irrepressible limbs. The temptation to inhale overpowered his senses. He was drowning. His innards ready to implode and feeling hopeless surrendered to his watery grave.
Constricting tentacles abruptly relaxed, providing him ample opportunity to glide upward. He wasn’t going to make it, needing to breathe. His mouth automatically cracked seeking air. A watery deluge trampled his throat.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Help!” Fulvio had Ennis in a lifesaving headlock, sculling toward the bank. “Smelt, help.” Reaching shallow water and plowing toes into the sludgy lakebed, he called again, “Smelt, where the hell are you?”
A fully dressed Smelt ran from around the truck and sloshed into the water enabling them to hoist the young man beneath his armpits, dragging him over the rocky bank onto the semi-soft grass. “He dead?” Smelt scrutinized Ennis’s purplish-blue lips.
Fulvio began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and chest manipulations. Over and over, pounding and breathing.
“God. He’s dead.” Smelt whimpered. “You better stop. You gonna break his ribs.”
“Does it matter?” Fulvio administered another blow to his chest. “Really?!” The Mediator had saved Doogan’s life and his as well. He wasn’t about to give up, not yet.
Hearing a gurgle and educing a glimmer of hope, bubbling water swilled from Ennis’s mouth. Fulvio and Smelt quickly spun the man onto his side, spewing lake water.
“Looks like he’s yakking up the entire lake,” snorted an anxious Smelt.
Ennis coughed, sputtered, and puked, his lungs burning and chest ached. An intake of breath scorched his throat like fire, though, gorged his oxygen-deprived lungs to the max and ever so slowly life returned. Repressing the impulse to up-chuck and feeling pathetic, he groaned rolling onto his back. “What...?” He swallowed against a needly throat.
“We thought we lost you, my friend.”
“Me too.” Ennis’s voice sounded gravelly.
“Swimming in the lake is ill-advised.” Fulvio’s chest grumbled in mirthless irony. Shivering, he rubbed the length of his arms. “I’ll post a danger sign.”
“Looky there.” Smelt’s arm winged toward the water.
A vast disturbance affected the center of the lake; the appearance of phosphorescent tentacles and an arcing form took their breath away. Rippling waves splashed over rocky banks, and then the water calmed to its original reflective shine.
Alleviating tension, Smelt said, “Draw a picture of a squiggly monster.”
“Hmph,” Fulvio grumped, “another idiosyncrasy to deal with.”
Ennis braced himself up as Smelt and Fulvio lent a hand, getting him to his feet. “Uck, I’ve felt worse.”
Since Fulvio’s extensive chest blocked his view, he inadvertently gaped at spherical reddish welts belting the big man’s waistline. “What the heck are those?” Then checked his own skin, he fingered protruding welts.
“Looks like that monster thingy is a freaky of bloodsucker,” Smelt said, eyeing their sores with interest. “Cripes, does it hurt?”
“Not much.” Fulvio frowned while climbing into his pants and shirt. “Only when I breathe.”
“Fulvio,” Ennis said getting into his clothes, “I wonder why it let you go to grab me?”
“Probably couldn’t handle anything this meaty.” His belly jiggled in amusement with the return of his humor. “Seriously, I don’t know. Perhaps the creature only has an appetite for fishy entrails.”
“And it didn’t like the flavor of your blood.” Smelt hooted, slapping a hand on his thigh evidently taken by his witty comeback.
“We can still eat the fish, though?” Ennis inquired tucking his shirttails into his waistband.
“I imagine propagating fish keep that creature well fed. I see no restrictions in helping ourselves to tasty fish as well.” Fulvio righted his damp hair over his forehead and stuck his signature hat on his head. “We should get these sores examined. A salve should be applied to draw out infection, just in case.”
“Hey, we should grab us a couple of buckets of water.” Smelt clambered onto the flatbed truck and tossed some plastic containers overboard. “These’ll do.”
Afterward, the three men mounted into the truck, and Smelt asked, “Are you gonna let them others wash in the lake?”
“They’ll be warned. I don’t see the harm as long as they stay in shallow water.”
***
Subsequent to yesterday’s daunting mishaps, the band of nomads had made considerable headway, and the overcast morning segued into an afternoon shine upping temps considerably.
Riding the bear, a drowsy Fabal, Swan, and Knox swayed to his rhythmic waltzing feet, side to side in unison. A contagious yawn spread from face to face and Swan laid her head on her brothers hunched back for a rest.
Garth abandoned his moleskin tunic and unbuttoned his shirt. “Man, it’s hot. I’m almost missing the snow.” He billowed his shirt hoping to cool his clammy skin and then disposed of the shirt altogether by balling it into his knapsack.
Keeping stride with Tibbles, he repositioned his rifle to cradle his arms, finger on the trigger. As was his routine, Garth made a quick study of the motley crew, glancing over his shoulder, counting heads. All accounted for; he observed a bleary-eyed Keeyla blotting her slender throat. Rumors abounded around nightly campfires in regards to the
young lady with stamina and guts. He’d personally detected a scarred gunshot wound in her shoulder, evidence the tales weren’t all fabricated.
***
Keeyla couldn’t contain her lopsided grin as she noticed Fabal gaping at Garth’s exposed chest. His skin seemed to change color whenever he moved like a human rainbow. Passing the shade of a tree his complexion variegated in hues of red, blue and yellow. Once struck with rays of the sun, his skin tone had changed to a fluorescent conglomeration, even his face took on an unnatural glow.
“Fabal.” She shook her head at him, a scolding gesture. “Want to get down and stretch your legs?”
“Sounds good, Mom.” Fabal shook Swan awake. “C’mon, we’re getting off. Stop, Tibbles.”
They arrested on a rigid outcrop overlooking a breadth of land leading to a view of a charred township, basically a black landfill—dead-lands. Keeyla’s toes extended over the precipice, sheltering her eyes with her arm. She’d assumed once they descended the mountain they’d come across an infinite wasteland of devastation. Fifteen souls collected to look intently at the harsh remains.
“What’d you think, should we take a gander? See what we can find?” Keeyla turned toward the group, looking for opinions.
“And get more of us killed,” said Barantha. “Let’s just get to the valley. No need to go snooping, looking for trouble.”
“Barantha’s right,” said an outspoken voice. “A salvaging party can go back after we settle in the valley.”
“We could split up.” Clayton squinted gazing toward the town. “Garth and I will take a look and meet up with y’all down the road a bit.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Weighing the options, Keeyla reconsidered. “We need to stick together. Barantha’s right. We can always come back. Besides we can’t carry any more equipment or whatever.”
Barantha, with hands tabling her hips seemed pleased and offered Keeyla a tightlipped nod.
Keeyla rummaged in her knapsack for Fulvio’s intrinsic geographic directions, which they hadn’t adhered to, hence the debacle in the demented forest. Assuming her calculations were correct, they’d deleted nearly a day’s journey by descending diagonally over the mountain.
Snow on Cinders (The Tallas Series Book 2) Page 10
