Cold on the Mountain

by Daniel Powell

  “You see, despite it all, we are not without mercy.”

  There was glee in her voice. Even though Phil had never seen her, an image of the Dowager had formed in his mind, and in that image, two qualities emerged: stunning beauty and stark, uncanny madness. This was a creature of pure malevolence, and Phil shuddered at the idea of living beneath her thumb for another year.

  Or another decade.

  “The portal swings wide very soon, my children. My little worker bees. Now is the time for you to buckle down. Toe the line, so to speak. The time grows near for you to square your accounts—to prepare yourselves to pay tribute to your queen.

  “Oh, and it should also be stated that our R&D folks are predicting a blockbuster year this winter. So many of our most patient citizens—and you all know who you are!—should prepare for good news, I think. The world will need your services again very soon, for darkness never dissipates. It merely bides its time, waiting for a fresh start.

  “For a new beginning.”

  Phil finished his tea and rinsed the mug in the sink. The woman’s comments reminded him of what Goebbels had said to him in what now seemed like a different life. Christ, had things really changed for them so quickly?

  That energy doesn’t pass on, Mr. Benson, it passes through.

  “Any show of force will be met in kind,” the woman continued, her voice hardening. “Any hope for escape is foolish. The only way through that portal is to select a winning lot, and the only way to select a lot is to pay tribute. You accomplish that through your labor here in Adrienne. Only through your sweat and your toil and your sacrifice. Make no mistake, my little worker bees: our way of life will not be threatened.

  “So there you have it. Twelve volunteers must forgo their chance at the lottery. Twelve short-term sacrifices in exchange for the life of one of your own—the man that has saved so many of you. Is there goodness inside of you, my little bees? Is there compassion? For the sake of your leader, I certainly hope so.”

  “Shut it off,” Wendy said. “I can’t listen to it anymore. What are we going to do, Phil? I’m so hungry.”

  Phil knew the feeling. It had been almost two full days since he’d had anything other than coffee, tea, and water, and his stomach was a tight little ball of persistent agony. He knew it would actually get better before it got worse—that fasting was something people did all the time, and that they would grow used to it in time.

  But missing meals was taking its toll on both of them. How long would they have to push themselves?

  “I know, honey. I am too. But we need to stay focused here. There might be just enough of what Denny gave us to get the girls through to the lottery. We’ll have to ration, of course, but I think it’s possible.”

  “And what about that, Phil? What about Big Wren? Do we just let them kill him? I don’t know if I can live with that. Every time I look at the girls, I think about the sacrifices he made just in helping us. How many others did he do the same—or more, for that matter—for?”

  “I know,” Phil sighed. “But what choice do we have? You want to go home, right?”

  “But they’re talking about killing him! You heard her, Phil. She said they would ‘put him down’—like an old horse that came up lame. We can’t let that happen.”

  As if to punctuate the futility of their plight, Phil’s stomach loosed a hearty growl.

  “Oh, I hear you, buddy” Wendy said, a wry grin on her face.

  “Let’s just be patient. We’re new here. For all we know, there are already a dozen volunteers lining up to help Denny. The real irony of the situation is, Big Wren didn’t want there to be any conflict. His advice was just to move forward with the lottery, same as every year. He never talked about open revolution.”

  Phil had told her about the meeting, about his harrowing journey through a maze of backyards and down dark alleys, porch lights snapping on throughout Adrienne as news of the ill-fated assembly circulated among the dark ones. He’d just made it inside when a convoy of vehicles—antiquated cars and trucks, some dating back to the 1950s—roared down Hampton Lane. He had no doubt that they were headed out to Anstler Farm.

  “What a mess,” Wendy said. Her hand found her stomach, and she massaged it gently. “I’m not sure how far I can make it, Phil. I’m…I’m scared.”

  Phil stood and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. Silently, he guided her down the hallway to where the twins were sleeping. Their faces were lit by the glow of a nightlight; the heat register kicked in and the room filled with warmth.

  Cammie snored lightly, and Carrie followed suit. Sisters, all the way down the line…

  “This is why we have to make it,” he whispered, folding his wife into his arms. “You heard that woman. It won’t be long, Wendy, and things will get better in terms of the fasting. If worst comes to worst, we’ll break down and buy some rice or something. We’ll subsist until we get our asses out of here, and then it’s Burgerville for everyone.”

  Wendy smirked. She gave her husband’s hand a squeeze. “Okay, Phil. Okay. Let’s get to bed. A couple of hours of sleep is better than nothing at all.”

  They retreated to their bedroom, and before long Wendy was sleeping soundly. Phil pulled her to his chest and held her close. He said a prayer for his girls and he prayed for sleep, but he couldn’t shake the image of the rover standing over his fallen friend, and then his alarm was braying and it was time for another day at the textiles plant.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The atmosphere in Adrienne had changed during the night. The Dark Ones had taken to the streets in numbers, and Phil hustled to work in the gray light of dawn with his head down and his eyes on the sidewalk. The café across from the theater was doing a brisk business, and Phil felt the presence of eyes tracking him as he passed.

  They knew, all of them knew, and they weren’t happy.

  Phil cut across the street. The ghouls in trench coats laughed as he hurried past the filling station, the blond one grinning at him like a lion sizing up a lamb chop. He shoved his fists down into his coat and mimicked Phil in an exaggerated scurry.

  “It’s almost time, Mr. B.! I can feel it coming, dude! We’re freaking outta here!”

  Phil remained silent, focusing instead on the day’s work ahead of him. He cut down a side street and saw the factory in the distance.

  Phil had asked for overtime on the first day, and Jasper had forwarded the request to Jacob. If he could get some extra work, he’d feel just a little bit better about purchasing some groceries. Even though he tried to remain confident for Wendy, he had his doubts. It had been years since he felt so weak, and it had only been a few days!

  Jasper was smoking in his customary spot, speaking in hushed tones with a cadre of shell-shocked laborers.

  “Phil,” he said, the relief plain in his voice as they shook hands. “I’m glad to see you, man. Listen, after last night’s little escapades, there’s bound to be some…adjustment in the working environment here at the factory. This is the biggest game in town, and there is some feeling that the boss is concerned about the loyalty of his workforce. There’s been talk that he might want to do a little demonstration on who wields the power here in Adrienne. Get it?”

  Phil’s heart raced. “Yeah, I guess. What does that mean for us?”

  “It means we’re fucked,” a young man said. The fear was clear in his expression. “Were you there last night, Phil? Did you bring this shit storm down on us?”

  “Hey, hey,” Jasper interjected before Phil could respond. “None of that matters. It’s over, and it can’t be taken back. We need to think about the things that we can control here.”

  “Well, we could use it as leverage,” a stocky man with a thick moustache replied. Phil only knew that he worked over on the rivets line. “Jasper, we could give his ass over to Jacob. It might take the heat off the rest of us.”

  “Nobody’s giving anybody up,” Jasper said. “Here’s the plan, okay? We stay together. Take your breaks in groups. Av
oid going to the can unless you have a buddy. We just need to wait this out. A few days and it will all blow over.”

  They mumbled their assent to the foreman’s wishes, and then a security guard unlocked the front doors. They stowed their things and punched their time cards, heading for their stations to take advantage of the early start. As Phil placed his coat in his locker, Jacob appeared in the doorway, the security guard at his side.

  “I need a moment of your time, Mr. Benson,” he said.

  So much for the first-name basis.

  “Sure,” he said, pulse racing as he followed them back to the office. There, three other men sat in plastic chairs. Phil recognized two of them from the assembly. One had an angry scratch down the length of his left cheek—probably the result of a run-in with a bramble or shrub while making his escape back at Anstler Farm.

  Phil swallowed thickly. Criminy, they were in trouble.

  “Have a seat. This shouldn’t take long. Graham, would you fetch Mr. Strauss please?”

  The guard left the room and Phil turned his eyes to the linoleum. He heard the faint whir of an industrial sewing machine and wished it had been him out there on the floor, toiling at his station to get his family free of this damned town.

  Wait, he thought, what?

  Anger surged inside of him. What in the hell was he thinking? He locked eyes with Jacob—the bookish dandy with the slight build and infuriating manner—and there must have been something in Phil’s expression, because the manager turned away.

  Phil peered down the line at the others. Their manner was subdued, but he felt an air of defiance among them as well. What had been an inkling of tension on the street now felt like a live current. They were exhausted with Adrienne and, if the attitude in the barn last night had been any indication, they were approaching a tipping point.

  At least ten minutes of uncomfortable silence spun out between them, and then the door opened and Levi Strauss, leaning on an ivory cane, hobbled across the room. Jacob stood and relinquished his chair, and the big man settled into it, his dark eyes never blinking as he studied the four men across the room. Jacob sat in a high-backed chair in the back of the room, a smile on his face. He was enjoying this little drama.

  Strauss cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Davis?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jacob replied.

  “How did we amass our empire?”

  “Discipline. Boundaries. Ambition.”

  “Yes, quite so. Please elaborate.”

  Jacob stood. “We worked hard—day and night if we had to. We were committed to the process of expanding our brand, and we never deviated from the plan. I wouldn’t call it obsession—that’s a special term, of course—but it was close in those early years. We simply would not be denied.”

  “And when obstacles arose in our path?”

  “We went over them. Or around them.”

  “Or through them. Would you say that is accurate, Jacob?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course, Lӧb. Wholly accurate.”

  “And what of boundaries?”

  “We respected them—up to a point. We understood the rules of trade, and we only occasionally bent them to our advantage. We still occasionally do, come to think of it.”

  “Yes, yes—I quite agree. And there are rules here, in Adrienne, are there not? Boundaries one can’t cross?”

  “Of course. We all know there is a…delicate relationship between the citizens that belong here in Adrienne, and those that come here to work.”

  Phil swallowed hard. Come here to work? The asshole made it sound like they were signing up for an all-inclusive vacation.

  Strauss grinned, his lips pulling back over a set of white, wolfish teeth. Phil blinked in disbelief. Had he…had he filed them down into points?

  “And the final tenet of our philosophy, Jacob?”

  “It’s simple. Ambition. We won’t allow ourselves to come in second. We won’t allow anything to stand in our way.”

  “So true. So very true, my good friend. Why were you men at that farm in the wee hours of the morning? And what purpose did you serve in that little meeting?”

  His question was met with silence.

  “We weren’t there,” the man with the scratched cheek finally volunteered. His voice was shaky—timid.

  Strauss laughed, and Phil confirmed his suspicions. The big man had a very unique set of choppers, all right.

  “Then where were you, Mr. Hughes?”

  “At home. Asleep. I, uh—I had work in the morning. Just like every other day since I first got stuck here, sir. Just like every other day until I leave.”

  “Yes, yes—of course. You had work. And how did you injure yourself there?” he said, motioning to his cheek. “You didn’t have a mishap here in the factory, did you?”

  “No, not here. I was chopping wood in the back yard. Took a splinter in the cheek is all. It’s just a scratch. I’ll live.”

  “Jah, jah,” Strauss laughed, and Phil recognized the accent. Like Goebbels, Strauss was German. “Just a scratch. Jacob?”

  Jacob opened the door behind him. In strode the lead rover—the demon wearing the Hollywood cowboy disguise. Arms folded across his chest, he peered down at the men like they were ants beneath his boot.

  “Our agents believe you’re lying. They believe you mean to do us harm, and that you wish to leave Adrienne by any means necessary. Is this true?”

  “Now listen here,” Hughes started angrily, but the man next to him—the eldest among them—stayed him with a hand.

  “Mr. Strauss, we mean you no harm. What could we possibly do to stand against this town? Think about it. We’re outnumbered by almost ten to one. We’re weak. We’re tired, especially this time of year. It’s true that we all want to go home. We have people back there waiting for us, though I don’t expect that really means anything to you folks. But every year, only a handful of us get to leave. Maybe fifty or so, in a good year. For the rest of us? Well, we have to live here. Can I…can I share something with you that my dad used to tell me?”

  “Of course, Mr. Merton. Speak freely.”

  “My dad used to tell me never to foul my own campground. He was a smart man, my father. I would have liked to have seen him again, although I’ve been here so long that I don’t think that’s in the cards for me anymore. Be that as it may, that’s what my dad told me when I was a boy.

  “He’d pull me aside and say, ‘Don’t foul your own campground, Darryl. It’s better to keep a neat house than be forced to leave it.’ It always struck me as damned good advice. And so what I’m saying here is that you don’t have to worry about us, Mr. Strauss. We have to live here, and we know that things can always get worse.”

  The big man nodded. “I concur that your father was an intelligent man, Darryl,” Strauss said. “And I trust in your sincerity on the point, but I don’t believe that you’ve been honest with us today. We know there was an assembly. Your names surfaced as attendees. Are you saying that you had nothing to do with that meeting?”

  Merton cleared his throat. He shifted in his seat. “I’m saying that you have nothing to worry about in terms of defiance, sir. I’m saying that…that we’re all well aware of your boundaries, and that you have the ambition and the determination to ignore those boundaries altogether. I’m saying that we…well, that we don’t want to foul our own campground.”

  Phil felt a surge of relief. Darryl Merton knew his way around a tight spot. He’d side-stepped Strauss’s question while acknowledging the man’s power in one deft maneuver, all while showing humility.

  Strauss considered the speech. He turned and looked at Jacob, who merely shrugged in response.

  “You know, it’s funny. I have yearned to go back for many, many years,” Strauss said. “In that way, we’re not all that different. I have long hoped to try life again—to experience the thrill of unencumbered travel and the warmth of a young woman’s bed and the excitement of…well, of the chase, I suppose. I don’t want to violate those boundaries,
Joseph, because I want to participate in the lottery. Like you, I want to go back. Do you see my predicament?”

  “I do,” Merton replied in an even tone.

  “But I am also a businessman, and I have been here in Adrienne for more than a century. I can wait another year. This factory—no, this town—relies on the integrity of its labor. It always has. If there is strife…if there is uncertainty—well, then I have no reservations about crossing those boundaries. And I don’t mean just once, either. In for a penny, in for a pound, am I right, Jacob?”

  “Of course.”

  “If an example must be made,” Strauss continued, “then so be it. Please communicate that to your friends. Tell your families,” he said, turning his glare on Phil, “that we will not be tested.”

  “Yes, sir,” Merton replied.

  “So we have arrived at an understanding. Oh, and one last thing,” Strauss said, leaning across the desk. “Your friend is in a great deal of pain. He is very near death, I think, and the moon is cycling toward the inevitable. She looms lower on the horizon with every passing night, and that beacon will shine bright over the mountain very soon. Very soon indeed, if I’m not mistaken. And as you well know, we’ll have quite the feast to commemorate our lottery. It only comes around once a year, after all!”

  His lips peeled back over a wide smile, and he touched the tip of his tongue to a needle-sharp incisor.

  “I don’t think it’s really necessary that your people make an effort to save Dennis Wren. In fact, I think we’d all be better off if you just left him to us. We’ll take care of him, and we’ll see to it that his contributions to our town will never be forgotten.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Are you that sure you won’t eat with us, Mama?” Cammie said. They were having scrambled-egg sandwiches, and she had cut hers in two in the hopes of sharing with her mom.

  “Thanks, honey, but I had my dinner at the bakery,” Wendy lied. Lancaster was watching them all like a hawk.

  “When will Daddy be home?” Carrie piped up. She nibbled at her sandwich. The bread and eggs were almost gone, and the fridge was just about empty. It was a far cry from their comfortable life back in Roseburg.