Rise the Dark

by Michael Koryta

  “Not fair? Come on. You’re past issues of fairness. It’s time to think of solutions. Why won’t it work?”

  “The towers are too strong. They’re not going to come down.”

  “I’ll let you in on a secret. Do you know how that steel is held together?”

  “By bolts.”

  “Exactly! I was delighted with that discovery. They reminded me of an Erector set I stole when I was a boy. Such clean and classic work. I learned from models, Jay. I still do. But back to the point—these are strong towers because the steel is joined by the bolts. However, when you get closer, you’re going to notice something. Many of those bolts are missing. My goodness, they do not come out easily! But it can be done. And it already has been done.”

  Jay’s throat constricted. All of his confidence that the cables would snap and the train would carry on was gone now. Yes, they would snap, but first, they would tug. And if the structures were already primed to tumble…

  It might work.

  “I don’t travel without a backup plan,” Pate said cheerfully. “So my thought is, if you get high enough, Jay, it’s a different scenario, don’t you think?”

  It certainly was.

  “You’re going to need to get very high,” Pate said. “Otherwise the leverage won’t be enough, and those towers will stand firm when the train goes by. That was Jason Woodring’s problem. He ran just one cable, and it was too weak, and he only went about twenty-five feet up the tower. Now he sits in prison, and the tower never came down. But if he’d gotten higher and worked with better equipment and more cables? Different story. As I say, it’s worked with my models. Many tests. Simple yet effective.”

  Jay saw his brother-in-law’s face again. Tim had been a jovial guy, usually smiling, his eyes always seeming to laugh at a joke that hadn’t been told yet. At the end, though, he’d had no eyes at all.

  “If I climb too high, I’ll carry those cables into the flash zone,” he said. “That’s the problem. If I get too high, I’ll die because the air itself is electrified up there.”

  “I understand. It’s a dangerous world up there. Why do you think we stopped with the bolts below? It requires a high level of education and skill to maneuver around a half a million volts. That’s where you come in. Others have tried to take these towers down, and they’re all in prison cells. Why? Because they thought like men with boots on the ground. They needed to think like birds. Birds can sit on a live wire and survive. You know who else can do that?” Pate smiled and pointed at him. “You can.”

  “I don’t climb anymore,” Jay said. He could remember that smoke rising from Tim’s open mouth, as if a cigarette were burning somewhere inside him. His insides were gone, boiled away by his own blood. That had been on a sixty-nine kV line. A fraction of the power Jay was staring at now.

  “That’s going to cause some trouble for Sabrina.”

  The highest Jay had made it up a tower after Tim was killed was seventy feet. He’d frozen there, then finally climbed back down while his crew found other places to look, either down at their boots or off into the horizon. Later, there was no ridicule, no taunting. Just soft-spoken, kind remarks, pats on the shoulder, nobody making eye contact. It was only three weeks after Tim’s funeral, and everyone said it was natural, bound to happen, he just needed a little more time. But they all knew he was done, knew it probably before he’d admitted it to himself. Certainly before he’d told Sabrina that he was looking at the foreman’s job in Red Lodge because he didn’t want to put her through the stress of worrying about him.

  You coward.

  Of all the sins he’d committed in his life, that was the worst. Claiming her as the reason, unable to admit his own weakness, his own terror. She would have let him continue the work for as long as he’d wished. She was stronger than him.

  “The options at this point are very few, I’m afraid,” Eli Pate said.

  Jay said, “It’s not possible.”

  “It’s that sort of thinking that ails the world. I’m not interested in notions of impossibility. You climb or Sabrina dies. Now, as you are well aware, you could climb and die. But she’s not involved then. It’s your choice, Jay. Do you put her life at risk today or not?”

  Jay said, “I can do it.” He wasn’t speaking to Pate. He was speaking to himself. And he knew he was lying.

  58

  It was well into the afternoon before anyone returned to the cabin, and when someone did, it was Violet, and she was alone. She carried the small solar lantern, which cast a dim glow. Sabrina waited for her to begin preparing food or ask if they needed to use the outhouse. Instead, she brought the lantern directly to Lynn and stopped a few feet away from her, staring down.

  “You should not lie,” she said.

  “I haven’t.”

  “Yes, you have. My son is not with you. That’s not possible. That is a lie designed to distract me from my purpose.”

  “You know that he’s here,” Lynn said. “It wasn’t a coincidence that he walked out of a motel room at three in the morning. He’s his mother’s son. Tell me this—did he help kill his own wife? Did she try to stop you; did she know too much?”

  Violet gave a small shake of her head, but it didn’t appear to be a denial of the statement so much as a desire to push it aside.

  “I can’t hear stories like this,” she said. “Not today. Of all days, not today.”

  Lynn looked confused. “What’s the point of the game?” she said. “Why are you pretending? We both know the truth. I came here with him, and he set me up. I know it, and you know it.”

  Sabrina didn’t think Lynn sounded entirely confident about that. The words said one thing, her tone another.

  “If this is real,” Violet said, “tell me something about him. Something that all your data theft and eavesdropping wouldn’t provide. You aren’t able to do that, are you?”

  Lynn glanced at Sabrina. Lynn’s face was still perplexed, but she also seemed to want to rise to the challenge.

  “He’s your son,” she said. “I don’t know anything about him that you don’t.”

  “Exactly.” Violet stepped back, pleased. She ran her palms over her jeans like she was dusting herself off, then turned and stepped toward the door, but she wavered like a drunk trying to walk a straight line. She was halfway across the room when Lynn spoke.

  “He still listens to the chant music.”

  Sabrina had no idea what she was talking about, but Violet looked like she’d touched that electrified fence.

  “I think he hates that he loves it,” Lynn said, “because it reminds him of you. Of a place called Medicine Wheel? Does that mean something to you?”

  A tremor worked through Violet’s face. She didn’t speak. Lynn let the silence build, and Sabrina felt an excruciating need to break it, to shout at both of them. Very slowly, the older woman turned to Lynn.

  “What does he think happened to his wife?” she asked.

  Lynn hesitated. “What he tells people is that Garland Webb killed her.”

  Violet returned, the lantern bobbing in her hand, tossing light. She moved in a rush, dropping to her knees at Lynn’s side.

  “Garland is only a suspect, a product of lies. They moved her body, your people did, all a lie, all to stop us. You know that, all of your people trade in lies, imprison innocents over lies, go to war over lies, build empires over lies! She was never in Cassadaga!”

  Lynn’s voice was a half whisper when she said, “I’ve seen the photos, Violet. She died in a ditch in Cassadaga. Her blood was fresh and her car engine was warm. Nobody moved her there.”

  “That is exactly what Eli told me you would say!”

  “That’s because Eli is shithouse crazy.”

  “Don’t you say that!” Violet leaned closer, her eyes wild and glittering in the light, her finger extended, pointing in Lynn’s face. “What he hears from the earth is the truth, and I will not be told—”

  Lynn Deschaine moved in a blur of speed so fast Sabrina did
n’t even see her first strike, only the result—Violet’s head snapping upward, whiplashed by a blow under the chin. The second strike was a kick that caught her on the side of the head and knocked her into the wall.

  She was unconscious when she fell.

  “Got a little too close, bitch,” Lynn Deschaine said. Then she reached for Violet with her free hand, only to be brought up short by her chain. She turned to Sabrina.

  “Help!”

  Sabrina was staring at her in shock. When they had discussed their plan of escape, Lynn had made no mention of what was now obvious—she was trained in some kind of martial arts.

  And she was very fast.

  “Keys!” Lynn hissed. “Get her damn keys!”

  Sabrina finally went into motion, stretching out to grab Violet’s arm. She tugged her forward and Violet moaned softly but didn’t move. Lynn saw the keys in her hip pocket, pulled them free, fumbled at the cuff around her wrist, and promptly dropped the keys. Before Sabrina could reach for them, they were in Lynn’s hand, and Lynn had her cuff off, and then, in another blur of speed, she rolled Violet over and fastened it to her wrist and clamped the cuff shut.

  That fast, the captor had become the captive.

  “Hold still,” Lynn said, and then she unlocked Sabrina’s cuff and removed first the end in the bolt in the wall, then the one around her wrist.

  They were free.

  “My God,” Sabrina said. “How did you do that?”

  “I just needed to get her close, but I wasn’t sure how. I guess Mark works well for that.” She paused. “I don’t know what to believe about him. Not anymore.” Then she shook her head, got to her feet, and helped Sabrina to hers. When they were standing, she didn’t loosen her grip on Sabrina’s arm, but tightened it to a nearly painful level. Her eyes seared into Sabrina’s.

  “Are you ready?”

  Sabrina could only nod.

  Lynn handed her the cuffs. “Then let’s get out of here.”

  As Violet moaned behind them, they went to the door. Lynn found the right key without difficulty, ratcheted the dead bolts back. She hesitated then, the first and only hesitation she’d shown in the astounding sequence; she’d been so competent, so confident. Now she looked unsure, and Sabrina understood why—everything beyond the door was unknown.

  “Straight to the fence,” Lynn said. “Run straight and run fast. Then when it comes to the fence…”

  She looked over her shoulder, and Sabrina nodded. The cuff that had become so familiar around her wrist felt strange in her palm.

  “I’ll take care of the fence,” she said. Her voice was confident. Her heart wasn’t.

  Lynn’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Okay. Once we’re over the fence, just run like hell. We’ll try to stay together, but…if there’s shooting, then we’ll separate.”

  If there’s shooting. Sabrina felt bile rise in her throat and swallowed it down.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Lynn squeezed her arm again, then pulled the door open.

  Sabrina was ready for anything—guards, gunfire, Eli Pate looming in the doorway. Instead, there was only a wide-open expanse leading down to the fence. No one was in sight.

  “Run,” Lynn whispered.

  Sabrina ran. The stiff and wooden muscles didn’t slow her. Pure terror overpowered the aches, driving her forward. If anything, she felt too fast, as if her speed would send her tumbling down the hill. She reached the fence several strides ahead of Lynn and pulled up short—just short, almost colliding with it.

  The electrified hum was louder here. She stared at those exposed copper wires, remembering the explosive impact of her first attempt. Beside her, Lynn was breathing heavily but didn’t speak.

  The copper strands were held in place by brackets that protruded maybe two inches away from the fence, providing a small gap that would allow the cuffs to hook and hold. It was not much space. But it could be enough, if her toss was accurate.

  Two live wires, Sabrina. Bridge them with a conductor and you will cause a fault. It will work, it will work, it will work.

  And make that toss count.

  Sabrina adjusted the handcuffs so she was holding them spread as wide as the chain would allow. It was long enough. If she hit it right, it was long enough to bridge the two lines. Just a matter of—

  Lynn said, “He sees us. He’s coming.”

  Sabrina looked back and saw Garland Webb behind the cabin, in the direction of the pole yard. He started running.

  “Hurry!” Lynn said.

  Sabrina turned back, and though hurrying certainly sounded good, she knew she would get only one chance and couldn’t rush it. She mimed the toss, like a practice swing, gauging the weight of the cuffs and envisioning how they would fall.

  Please God, please God, please God…

  She repeated the exact same motion, but this time, at the top of her extension, she released the cuffs. They flew up, arced down, and the top cuff collided with the top copper wire and whipped around it in a flare of sparks.

  Not enough. It wrapped too tight and now it will not be long enough to—

  When the bottom cuff swung back and made contact with the lower wire, sparks weren’t all that came—there was a loud, clear boom somewhere behind them, and then the hum was gone.

  It worked. Holy shit, it worked.

  Lynn said, “Is it safe?”

  Sabrina reached out with a shaking hand and touched the copper.

  Nothing. Just cool, harmless metal.

  “It’s safe.”

  “Then let’s go!”

  Lynn began to climb to Sabrina’s left—she was so fast, scrambling to the top in a blink, while Sabrina’s right foot slipped as she struggled to get past the dangling handcuff. There were three strands of barbed wire at the top of the fence, but Lynn swung her leg over them without hesitation. Sabrina could see that the wire had raked her badly, but Lynn didn’t show any reaction. She paused at the top. She was looking behind Sabrina and could see what Sabrina could not.

  She screamed, “Hurry!”

  Sabrina was hurrying, but when she reached the top of the fence she couldn’t immediately ascertain how Lynn had swung over the barbed wire so easily. It was angled in, and just to get a grip seemed impossible, as if it would require holding the actual barbs for support. Then she saw that there was a post just a few feet to her left. Lynn must have used that.

  Sabrina struggled sideways, reached with her left hand, and had just wrapped it around the post when Lynn screamed again, no words this time, just a scream, and then a hand closed around Sabrina’s ankle.

  She thought, I just need to hold on to the fence, but in the instant that she tried to tug her captured foot free, she was jerked down in a single motion, whipped backward with tremendous power. She not only felt her ribs break when she hit the ground but heard them, and then Garland Webb was looming above her, his face furious, his fist balled. The fence rattled and Sabrina saw that Lynn was actually trying to climb back down.

  “No!” Sabrina rasped. “Ruuun!”

  She saw Lynn hesitate, and then Garland Webb’s massive fist hammered down and she saw nothing at all.

  Part Four

  The Flash Zone

  59

  The territory where Larry drove them was a rugged stretch along the southern face of the Bighorns, not far from the Cloud Peak range, not all that far from Medicine Wheel.

  They’d climbed steadily on the rural roads outside of Greybull, and the prairies and plateaus of Lovell and Byron were forgotten—this was mountain country, and it hadn’t heard any rumors of spring yet. Splashes of scattered snow gradually turned into snowbanks lining the road. They were deep in the woods and the country was just as desolate as Larry had promised, but it was also not empty. They had seen countless tracks on their way in. ATVs, mostly. One set of truck tires.

  Eventually, Larry left the road entirely, putting the truck in four-wheel drive and navigating a boulder-strewn path that had Mark’s back ach
ing and his teeth clacking. They followed this for a mile that felt like fifty, and then Larry almost hung up the truck. He put it into four-low and the tires roared ruts into the snow, the truck leaning at a precarious angle before it finally found purchase and kicked them loose. From there, the ride was too rough for talking. The only words spoken came from Larry after they had clipped one snow-covered rock with enough force to bounce them both into the air: “Glad the fella we stole this from had a skid plate.”

  Larry stopped when the boulder-strewn path turned to sheer slope and they saw the white Silverado in front of them.

  “Well, now,” Larry said softly. “You got some special instincts, Markus.”

  His gun was already in his hand.

  They got out of the truck quickly and quietly, staying low as they advanced to the Silverado. It was empty, and when Mark touched the hood, it was cold against his palm. The woods were silent except for the soft sounds of a stream a hundred yards away. The steep slope ahead of them was laced with even more tracks.

  “A lot of traffic going up there today,” Mark said.

  Larry squinted at the summit. “Are my eyes playing tricks on me, or are those telephone poles?”

  Mark shaded his eyes and stared for a few seconds before he said, “Those sure as hell look like poles.”

  “If anybody up there has a scope…”

  “Yeah. Let’s get into the trees in a hurry.”

  There weren’t many trees to speak of. The closest was a cluster of three dead lodgepole pines that had lost their branches and pointed upslope like waiting missiles.

  Mark returned to the truck for Larry’s rifle and then ran in a crouch into the trees, where Larry had already taken up position at the base of a towering fir. Mark sighted on the summit. The telephone poles came into stark relief immediately—they were outfitted with transformers and insulators, but no lines.

  “This would be the place,” Mark said.

  “Pass it here and let me look.”

  Mark lowered the rifle and extended it to Larry reluctantly. Without the scope, he felt clueless as to what was going on up above, and exposed.