by Lynda Engler
Isabella fervently hoped her instincts were on target this time. It could mean their lives if she was wrong.
* * *
Luke
Araddea’s bird had forced Luke to back track on the overgrown highway, but he was not sure how far back he was supposed to go, or where he was headed. He tried to take an exit ramp shortly after turning back only to find giant talons clawing at his hair.
“Okay! I get it! Not here,” he yelled as he crouched on the pavement with his arms flung over his head. He shouted up at the bird. “Can’t you just fly next to me and guide me? Why do you need to stab me?” Like the nurse at the Picatinny Army base who had jabbed him with immunization needles, the eagle seemed intent on turning Luke into its personal pincushion.
If the bird understood him, it still had no way to communicate with him. It only eyed him from its perch on a concrete barrier until he stood up and walked back up the ramp. Heading back where he had come from, the eagle made no more attempts on Luke’s life, but its keen eyes remained fixed on him as he walked. That was when he saw the six-story building with the blue letters hanging from its roof.
“Le Rochér,” read Luke. The bird still circled above. “Is that it? Is that where Isabella went?” His grandmother had made them study French, German and Spanish, and while he knew that “Rochér” did not mean “roach,” it did have a similar sound, especially if you did not speak French. He now understood why Araddea thought the mad scientist was in “the roach factory” and let out an involuntary giggle way too girly for a 16-year-old boy. There was precious little that was truly funny Outside.
The eagle did not stop him as he left the road this time. A windblown carpet of dirt and dead weeds covered the pavement and absorbed the sound of his footsteps as he approached the building. Luke raised his eyes to the fence that enclosed the large corporate complex. He followed the line of the fence to its pinnacle where sharp barbs protruded from the slanted top edge. Climbing it was not an option.
He approached the gate and found it firmly locked. If Isabella had gone in there, she must have found an easier way. Luke patrolled the perimeter searching for a hole in the fence or any other sign that his sister had entered.
He heard a noise that made him look up and saw a camera near the roof of the building. It was tracking him. Someone is in there.
Luke heard a low growl and realized he had not eaten all day. The sun was beginning to set behind the tall blue letters, the golden glow shining over the top of the huge sign like a halo. Luke shielded his eyes against the glare as he looked again at the sign. An eerie stillness spread like fog. The birds stopped singing and the wind ceased.
The growl got louder and Luke realized it was not his stomach when a sudden roar shook the earth. A giant orange, white, and black stripped beast was bearing down on him across the weed-strewn parking lot. Luke turned to run but within seconds, the creature leapt upon him, forcing him to the ground on his stomach.
Luke could feel the giant cat’s breath on the back of his head, its massive paw pinning him to the ground. It sniffed him and groaned, then licked its huge, pointed teeth.
Luke threw his arms over his head reminiscent of when the eagle threatened him, but this was no overgrown bird. This heavily muscled, powerful predator weighed over 600 pounds and the teenager was no match for it.
The big cat’s claws ripped off his backpack, yanking his arms off the protective position they held over his head in the process.
He swore under his breath. The damn bag was filled with food!
Hoping the tiger would be content with the meal; Luke pushed himself off the ground and ran for the fence, ignoring the searing pain in his torn ankle. If I can just get over it!
The carnivorous beast was not satisfied with the meager contents of the pack and must have preferred animal flesh. Luke felt rather than heard the giant cat loping toward him from behind.
Just then, a powerful shriek broke the skies. Araddea’s eagle dove toward the tiger, its claws extended as it landed on the tiger’s back. The mighty bird of prey jabbed the huge cat with its hooked beak, tearing large amounts of fur and skin from the cat’s body.
Luke reached the fence and began scaling it, silently thanking Araddea and hoping the eagle would distract the tiger long enough for him to get high enough up to be out of the reach of the big cat.
Without looking backward, Luke knew the eagle could not survive against the large cat for much longer. When Luke heard the eagle wail, he knew the plaintiff cry meant the eagle was crying out its last breath.
The cat had won. Within moments, the tiger was upon him again. It pulled Luke down and knocked him over with no more effort than a child playing with dominoes. Lying supine, Luke had a clear view of the beast as it stepped on his arm, its nose inching closer to his injured ankle. His bloody ankle!
He felt the bones cracking under the weight of the animal. Panic began to crawl out of the hiding place in the middle of his stomach and climb its way up his throat until he screamed, but the shriek died almost as soon as it had begun. The beast clawed his shirt, the skin beneath tearing with equal ease. Sparklers of pain exploded in his head. Hot blood poured down his chest and he realized these were his final seconds of his life. He glanced past the cat to the sky, tinged with salmon, teal, and pink as the sun dipped close to the horizon. He saw wispy clouds slowly move past his field of view. Luke’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked at the beauty above him, determined to see his life right up to its last moment.
A veil of darkness descended on him.
* * *
Isabella
Isabella’s hunch panned out, and the tribe of Outside people appeared friendly, but cautious – as everyone Outside seemed to be. The sentries escorted her and her group from the riverbank to their village. As they walked, they gave them a brief description of their community.
Hidden in the hills of Alpine overlooking the Hudson River, this small community of mutants had prospered for almost two decades. While they did not have extensive electricity, they had running water powered by a small hydroelectric system and pumps. Oil lamps and candles lit the homes. Most of their crops grew on the flat plateau above their village and small animals grazed among the trees in the forest. Sheep and goats provided meat, along with an assortment of domesticated chickens and rabbits.
A thick stone wall surrounded the village – another difference between Alpine and Telemark. Why would this village be walled? What enemy were they protecting themselves from?
The patrol sent a runner ahead to prepare their leader for visitors and she was waiting for them at the community gate when they arrived.
“Welcome to Alpine. I am Diane.” She stood as tall as Malcolm did, at least six foot four, an Amazon of a woman. Broad shoulders, long arms and well-tanned skin, she had a bow strung across her shoulder like a knapsack and a quiver of arrows hung at her side. Other than her amazing height, Isabella could not see any mutations. Perhaps she had internal mutations, like the healer at Telemark.
A knife handle showed from her belt and two others sheathed to her thighs. Either she was dressed for hunting or this display of weaponry was meant to impress them. Or intimidate them. Whichever scenario it was, Diane presented a formidable, don’t-mess-with-me attitude.
Malcolm stepped forward and introduced himself and his group. “We are peaceful travelers in search of other communities like our own.”
“Where do you hail from?” asked Diane, still holding her wide military stance.
“Telemark. It’s a four days walk west of here. It is much like your community except for the wall.”
“Your village doesn’t have a wall for protection?” Diane countered. She examined Malcolm from every angle.
Isabella narrowed her eyes at the woman and a sour expression crossed her face. She was not sure she liked the way the woman sized-up her husband.
Jealousy was a new emotion for her. She did not like it.
“No wall. Telemark attracts refugees and
travelers from everywhere. They have never needed protection, I guess.” Malcolm and Isabella did not know that much about Telemark, since they only spent a short time there, but Oberon had provided them with sufficient history of the village. Some of the original settlers of Telemark, right after the war, had worked at a nearby solar panel factory and they had installed that source of electricity and maintained it for the rest of their radiation-shortened lives. They had taught those skills to others and caring for the power system became part of each village leader’s job afterward.
“How many people live in Telemark?” asked the village leader.
Isabella stepped forward to answer. “I’d guess about 300. I only lived there a short while and never counted. How many do you have?” She did not like being grilled and wanted to get on with their business, but knew that they needed to befriend these people to gain their trust.
“Alpine has exactly 149 residents. We are diligent about our record keeping. But you must be tired after your journey. I was just about to have my supper. Why don’t you come inside and join me?” she offered with a smile, and Isabella relaxed slightly.
They followed her into an impressive three story pre-war structure. Walking up the steps to Diane’s house, Isabella leaned close to Malcolm and asked quietly, “Can she honestly be worried about our group being a danger, with two little kids tagging along? She doesn’t trust us.”
“She is taking us to her home, so she must trust us a little at least. But true trust needs to be earned. She still hasn’t told us what the wall is protecting Alpine from either.”
“Well, the good news is that when the government comes to exterminate them, the wall could help these people,” said Isabella quietly.
“I doubt it would stand up to a military assault,” said Clay from behind them on the steps. “I deem it’s to keep Eaters out.”
They followed Diane into the house. A wide, central staircase wound upward from the entry hall to a second floor balcony and a polished wood railing overlooked the marble floor they stood on.
“Wow! What a place,” exclaimed Shia, immediately reaching to touch the smooth wood of the railing.
“Nice, isn’t it?” replied Diane. “This was some rich person’s country estate before the Terror Wars. The wall around the village was originally just a property marker, but we expanded it over the years to include some of the surrounding areas, and made it taller. The best part is the massive ballroom with plenty of large tables and chairs. We use it for our Village Hall.”
“You mean you don’t live here?” asked Isabella, confused. “I thought this was your house.” Perhaps she had misunderstood the woman. She assumed the big, powerful leader would have the biggest, most intimidating home in the village.
“I have a room on the third floor, but, no, this isn’t my dwelling. The village owns it. Other officers of the town also have rooms here.”
Diane headed down a wide hallway with antique glass cases set in dark wood paneling. Behind the glass sat shelves of small items, including bowls and goblets, glass animal sculptures, coral from the sea, and porcelain figurines. Isabella thought the previous owner of the house had an eclectic collection of knick-knacks, and the current occupants of the home evidently had not seen a reason to change the decorations in fifty years. Perhaps they appreciated the beauty of the useless decorative items. Isabella’s shelter did not have any decorations of any kind and she marveled at the pretty things, pausing perhaps a bit too long to stare at them. The smell of food cooking erased all distraction. How long had it been since they had last eaten? Isabella was famished.
“Other officers?” asked Malcolm, following not only Diane but also his nose to the food.
“I’m the elected Mayor. We also have an Agriculture Manager, a Livestock Manager, and a Utilities Manager. Ah, here we are.” The tall woman led them into a dining room. Three people already sat at the table with plates of steaming food.
Elected officers of a town? They might not be as technically advanced as Telemark, but Alpine certainly was civilized. And the food smelled great, too, thought Isabella.
Chapter Eleven
Luke
If there was an afterlife as the people of Telemark believed, it probably was not lit by florescent lights, so Luke assumed he must still be alive. He struggled to look around the room with one open eye. His vision was blurry and his depth perception flawed. He could not even begin to figure out the size of the room, or guess where he could be.
“I see you are awake,” came a voice from behind him. The voice reminded him of someone.
“Granpapa?” he asked in an almost imperceptible whisper.
“Lie still, boy, and rest.” The figure crouched beside him with cracking joints and a groan. “Here, have a drink.” The man attached to the voice gave him water.
Luke pushed himself up on one elbow and accepted some water from the glass held to his parched lips. He took great gulps, droplets of water dripping down from the corners of his mouth.
“Slow down,” said the man’s voice.
Then Luke’s energy ran out and he let his body drift back into oblivion.
When he woke again, the light in the room was dim, a single table lamp the only illumination. He was able to slowly sit up. He sat on a thin mattress on the floor of what looked like a laboratory. His right arm hung in a sling.
An old man was asleep in a chair. His advanced age reminded Luke of his grandfather, but it was there that the similarity ended. His grandfather was short and stocky, but strong even for his advanced age. This man had long white hair, knobby fingers, and a thin, frail body. Luke wondered where the others were. There was no way that this withered old man could have dragged him in here alone, but he did not see anyone else.
Seeing. Now that was a trick. He reached up to his face with his good hand to find a bandage wrapped around his head and over his right eye.
The old man stirred. “Oh, good. You’re awake. I was beginning to worry about you.”
“Did you save me from the tiger?”
“Yes. Like people, they don’t like gun shots. Want to tell me what you were doing out there alone and unarmed? And your name would make things easier as well. I’m Dr. Rosario.”
“Thanks for the assistance, Doctor. I thought I was done for. I’m Luke, and I already know who you are.”
A look of surprise washed over the doctor’s face, but it soon passed. “All these years alone and suddenly everyone who shows up here knows who I am.”
“Everyone? Who else is here with you?” Luke tried to look around the room, but his entire body hurt. His head ached, his vision was blurry, and his arm and torso felt like they had been ripped apart and then hastily reassembled, not all the parts lining up properly.
The old man shook his head once. “I’ve been alone for a few years now. There were a group of scientists here at Le Rochér once, but I am the last. I don’t get many visitors, but oddly you’re my second this week.”
The old man began checking Luke’s bandages and appeared satisfied with his handiwork. “It looks like your head is doing all right, but I’m pretty sure you have a concussion to go with your bruises. Your arm and chest will take more time to heal than your head though, and I cleaned up that amateur patch job you did on your ankle. You were very lucky today.”
“I don’t think luck had anything to do with it. Your other visitors – when did they leave?”
“You’re not going to ask who they were?” asked the old man, his eyebrows rising quizzically.
“It was a group of six kids. One is my cousin-sister, Isabella, and the rest of her… family, I guess. And you are the scientist they were searching for. I need to know when they left, and even more importantly, where they went.”
“Maybe I was wrong about the concussion,” said the doctor. He rubbed a hand over his gray stubble. “Your brain functions just fine, as does your mouth. Since you know so much about me – and I’m sure your source was the same as Isabella’s – why don’t you tell me why
you are following her. Perhaps I can help you.”
The old man sat back in his chair and an orange-striped cat sauntered across the room, and then wound itself through his legs.
“Hello, Pumpkin,” said Dr. Rosario. The cat purred loudly, hopped into the old man’s lap and began to give itself a bath. It amazed Luke to watch how meticulously the cat worked at each section of fur on its body before moving to the next patch.
Luke told the story of his journey, starting with his life in his family’s shelter, the dead creatures he had found in the warehouse, the soldiers from Picatinny that picked him up and finally Telemark Village.
Since Luke’s run-in at Picatinny, he had been wary of whom he gave his trust to – but he trusted Araddea’s vision. Luke now believed the Wiccan priestess could do everything she claimed. She had followed his journey through the eyes of the eagle; she had even used the eagle to try to help him. And this old man had saved his butt. He could have just as well have let Luke die out there.
“Your turn,” said Luke. “First, where’s Isabella?”
“The group you are following went in search of other mutants. They want to warn them about the government’s plan to exterminate the mutants when everyone comes out of the shelters in fifty years. Your sister has a big heart, you know. She seems to think she can change the world. It’s a common fallacy among young people, but I saw no harm in it. I sent them up the Hudson River, where I’m certain they will find the people they want, but they will go back to that Telemark community before winter. You should rest here for a few days, then go back and wait for her. That boy, Malcolm, will make sure she gets back unharmed.”
“No can do,” said Luke. He drew in a painful breath.
“Why not?” asked the old man.
Luke’s arm twitched, sending rivers of pain through his body. He rubbed his eyes and lay back on the mattress. “It’s an involved story, and I’m very tired and I hurt. You talk for a while. Please. I’d like to hear about your functional technology. I’m guessing you have shielding here against the poisons Outside, just like my shelter, but that this place was shielded from the EMP also.”
