Children of the Mountain (Book 3): Lightning Child

by Hakok, R. A.

  I pull the pistol from the holster and hold it up so he can see.

  ‘Hey, asshole! That’s enough. I mean it now; I have a gun.’

  If he hears me he gives no sign of it. Another tin gets discarded, skitters across the floor, rolls noisily off into darkness. I level the pistol at him, like I mean business. He continues to ignore me, so I lever the hammer back with my thumb. There’s a loud click as it locks into position.

  That finally seems to get his attention. The hood lifts a fraction, like he might be considering what I’ve just said. He tilts his head to one side and raises his voice.

  ‘Y’all hear that, Cass? Sundance here says he’s got a gun.’

  I’m wondering if whoever he’s talking to is real or just a figment of his imagination, when all of a sudden out of the corner of my eye I catch movement, a shifting in the darkness, almost too fast to comprehend. My brain’s still contemplating what instructions it might want to issue to the rest of my body when I feel the pistol wrenched from my hand.

  I snap my head around, startled. Where a second ago there was nothing now a girl stands. She’s wearing a denim jacket, a bunch of buttons pinned to the front: This Is Not The Life I Ordered; Stare All You Want; Bite Me; a bunch of others I can’t read. Beneath it a short skirt, scruffy-looking high-tops. Her hair is cut in a ragged bob. In the flashlight’s yellowing glow it seems orange, maybe even pink. Her bangs hang down, hiding most of her face, but where they end I can see her jaw working. She turns the pistol she’s just taken from me over in her hands, points it at the ground, squints along the barrel.

  ‘Hardly a gun, Vince. More of an antique.’

  I point the flashlight at her. She looks at me sideways through the strands of hair – definitely pink – that fall across her face.

  ‘What, you couldn’t have found something older?’

  She lowers the hammer, studies the pistol a moment longer, then with a flick of her wrist sends it spinning towards the sofa. My eyes twitch left, trying to follow the shallow arc it takes, but I’m way too slow. By the time I catch up Vince is already on his feet, and now he’s standing atop the low table. He snatches it from the air with an almost alarming grace.

  I take a step backwards, finally beginning to realize how wrong I’ve got this. I swing the flashlight in his direction. The beam shows me faded jeans, snugged down over a pair of scuffed work boots, a leather jacket. The sweatshirt he wears underneath has an eagle’s head on it and the words Lynyrd Skynyrd. I don’t know what that means; it doesn’t even sound like English. I hesitate for a second and then angle the flashlight up. The beam slips into the cowl of his hood, suddenly setting his eyes ablaze. He narrows them a fraction, but doesn’t look away.

  He steps down off the table and pulls back the hood, revealing a shock of white hair. His face splits into a lopsided grin. If it was his intention to reassure me with that gesture, he’s missed the mark, and by some margin. He regards me the way a fox might a chicken that’s just wandered into its den, all of its own accord.

  I stand there, rooted to the spot, just staring back at him.

  He holds me in his gaze a moment longer, then he looks over my shoulder and whistles through his teeth.

  *

  THERE’S A SOUND FROM BACK IN THE DARKNESS, faint, like I think I remember the flutter of birds’ wings, and when I swing the flashlight around others are appearing from among the shelves. They take up positions all around me, by sofas or armchairs or backed against the wall. Others hop up on the counter, like it’s nothing to them. Some are small, little bigger than the kid. With the exception of maybe Vince none seem older than I am. They keep coming, one after another, until I count maybe twenty.

  When the last of them has emerged I turn back around. Vince is standing right in front of me now. I take a half-step backwards, surprised by his sudden proximity. I hadn’t heard him step closer.

  ‘So y’all are the one the prisoners been out looking for.’ The smile disappears and his face creases into a frown, like something’s troubling him. He leans in, tilts his head, like he’s testing the air, then looks over at the girl. ‘Why ain’t he more afraid of us, Cass?’

  My brain’s still trying to come to terms with what I’m seeing, but I realize he’s right. My heart’s doing a little giddy-up, for sure, but there’s something else, another feeling, for the most part keeping the fear in check. It takes me a moment to recognize what it is.

  Relief. I’m almost light-headed with it. The stuff with Mags and the kid, I’ve had it all wrong. They’re not sick anymore, not like Marv was. They’re on their way to becoming whatever Vince and Cass and all these others are.

  The girl with the pink hair shrugs, like she could care less. She takes to studying a fingernail that’s already been bitten back to the quick.

  ‘I dunno, Vince. Could be he’s too dumb to realize the fix he’s in.’

  The once called Vince looks me up and down, like he’s considering this.

  ‘Could be, Cass, could be. He sure don’t look that bright, even for a warmblood.’ He glances around, as though waiting for a reaction from the others. ‘Tall enough though, ain’t he?’ He leans back on his heels, cups one hand to his mouth. ‘Hey, up there! Y’all got a name?’

  I shake myself from my stupor, manage to stammer out an answer.

  ‘Gabriel. Gabe.’

  He stares up at me for a moment, like he’s considering that. I feel like I should say something. I have so many questions, but my mind’s still running ’round in herky-jerky circles, which makes it hard to put them in any sort of order.

  ‘What are…I mean, how did you come to be this way?’

  The one called Vince holds my gaze a second longer then turns to the girl with the pink hair.

  ‘Where’s this guy been, Cass?’

  She doesn’t look up from her fingernails.

  ‘Hidin’ out inside a mountain, Vince.’

  I open my mouth to ask how she knows that, then close it again. Vince has slipped his finger through the trigger guard on Hicks’ pistol and has taken to spinning it, slow lazy rotations, first this way then that. It seems like I should pay attention to that.

  ‘So waddya think, should we hand him over to them?’

  Cass just shakes her head.

  ‘You could, Vince, but it’d be a mistake. I keep telling you: the prisoners, they ain’t a problem. Hell, they don’t even know for sure we exist. That’d soon change if you give this one to them, though. You can be sure he’d tell them where we’re at, too.’

  Vince’s face scrunches into a scowl and he glares at me, like I’ve already done the thing I’ve been accused of.

  ‘What should we do with him, then? Give him to the crazies?’

  Crazies? I look over at Cass, but she’s already shaking her head.

  ‘You don’t want to get them any more riled up than they already are.’

  Vince stops twirling the pistol for a second and looks at her.

  ‘I ain’t afraid of their kind.’

  She flicks the hair from in front of her face

  ‘I never said you was. All the same.’ She hesitates a moment then looks up from her fingers, cuts a glance at the pistol. ‘You let me have that back, I’ll take care of him for you.’

  Vince looks at her.

  ‘Y’all would?’

  She takes a step closer, nodding quickly.

  ‘You were right about this one, Vince; I can see it now. He’s different. Pokin’ his nose in where it don’t belong; stealin’ our stuff; wavin’ his gun around at us.’

  A slow smile spreads across Vince’s lips, like he likes the way that sounds. I start to explain I hadn’t been looking for them; that me stumbling in here was just chance. He swings the pistol in my direction so fast it makes my head spin.

  ‘Now y’all just need to stay quiet while us grown-ups discuss this.’ He looks back at the girl. ‘Sorry about that, Cass. Rude. Go on, now.’

  ‘Like I said, Vince, you had it right, before. I sh
ould’ve just let you deal with him, with all of them, back when we had the chance.’

  Vince waits a moment, like he’s thinking on it, then he tosses her the gun. She catches it effortlessly then waves it in the direction of the door, like whatever she has planned for me, she’s anxious to be getting on with it.

  ‘Alright, let’s go.’

  I open my mouth, meaning to protest my innocence again. I get rewarded with a jab of the pistol to my ribs. Not hard enough to hurt, but the speed of it surprises me. I step towards the door. As I pass Vince he leans in. His nostrils flare and then his face creases into a smile.

  ‘Hey, Cass - I think he’s finally startin’ to get it.’

  *

  OUTSIDE IT’S ALREADY FULL DARK; the cold bites before I’ve even stepped through the door. My snowshoes are where I left them, up against the wall. Cass pokes around in the snow a little further along, then picks up what looks like a tennis racket, the bindings improvised out of duct tape. Her fingers are bare, but if the temperature bothers her she shows no sign of it. She bends to retrieve another then drops both to the ground and steps into them.

  Vince appears in the doorway behind me.

  ‘Where y’all bringin’ him?’

  ‘The railway line.’

  ‘Why don’t y’all just do it right here?’

  ‘Really? You wanna have to step over him every time we go outside?’

  Vince scratches his head, like he’s considering this. The thought of him stepping over my frozen corpse brings home to me the trouble I’m in, and I feel the first quickening tendrils of panic wrap themselves around my insides, urging me to bolt. I take a deep breath, push the fear back down. I wouldn’t make it more than a half-dozen paces. I’ll go along with the girl, for now. Wherever she means to take me, I have a better chance away from the rest of them.

  I step into my snowshoes without waiting for an instruction. Vince watches me. He waits till I’m done tightening the straps, then points at my feet.

  ‘Hold up now. Fancy snowshoes like that are hard to come by. It’s not far to the fence. He can walk it.’

  Cass gives a little shake of her head, sighs.

  ‘Alright, you heard him.’

  I bend down and unsnap the bindings, step out of them. My boots sink into the snow, but not too deep; the trailer provides a measure of shelter and in front of the building the snow hasn’t had the chance to drift. I stamp my feet, anxious now to get moving. It won’t be long before the cold makes my limbs unreliable, and however I plan to escape, I need to do it before that happens. Cass waves the pistol into the darkness, motioning me on. I wind the flashlight and set off, following the direction she’s indicated. Vince and the rest of them hang back by the door, watching.

  Beyond the trailer the snow deepens. Within a few paces it’s above the tops of my boots; I have to lift my knees high to clear the drifts. It’s an effort, but at least it’ll keep my muscles warm, least for a while. I risk a glance behind me. Cass isn’t close enough that I might try reaching the gun.

  And you think if she were you could take it from her?

  I might not care to hear it, but a part of me knows the voice is right. I’ve seen how quick she is. I’ll have to be smarter than that. I wait till I reckon we’re far enough from the others then I stop, pretending like I need to get my breath back.

  ‘So what are you, exactly?’

  I say it mostly for something to say, to get a conversation going while I come up with a plan. But even as I hear the words I realize part of me desperately needs to know. Satisfying my curiosity doesn’t seem to be high on Cass’s list of priorities, however. She just tilts her head and shows me the gun, like Really, this is what you want to talk about, now?

  I start forward again.

  ‘But you’re some kind of fury, though, right?’

  I don’t expect a response; my brain’s already trying to come up with something else to say that might distract her. This time her answer comes back quick, however, and now there’s an edge to it.

  ‘Wrong.’

  I stop again, like I need another rest. I try to turn around so I can face her, but the snow’s up around my knees and it’s too much effort. I look over my shoulder. She’s a little closer, maybe, but still keeping her distance. I don’t know how much farther the railway line is, but whatever I’m planning on doing, I’ll have to get to it soon. The fingers that grip the flashlight are already starting to ache with the cold.

  ‘You must have been once, though, to be the way you are.’

  She brings the pistol up, in a single fluid motion. It happens too fast for me to see it, but I hear a click as the hammer cocks.

  ‘You’re just as dumb as all the rest of them.’

  I’m not sure who the rest of them might be but I jerk my hands up, worried she means to shoot me right here.

  ‘Sorry!’ I pause, trying to choose my next words carefully, worried they might be my last. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it, really. I don’t understand how it works, any of it. I want to, though. I have these friends…’

  The gun drops a fraction.

  ‘The one you call Johnny?’

  I want to ask how she knows about the kid, but it seems like she might be about to tell me something else, something more important, and I don’t want to interrupt her.

  ‘He’ll be fine. It’s not him you should be worrying about right now.’

  ‘How…how do you know?’

  I wait for an answer, but I don’t get one, so instead I search for something else to say, a line of questioning less likely to get me shot. Maybe it’s the cold - I can feel its barbs sinking into me now, slowing me down - but I can’t think of anything. I raise my hands a little higher.

  ‘So I get that you weren’t a fury. You must have been infected, though, right? I mean, to be the way you are.’

  She doesn’t say anything for a moment.

  ‘I was. I’m not any more.’

  ‘But, how?’

  ‘That thing with the sky.’ She shrugs her shoulders. ‘I don’t remember much more than how bright it was. But when I came to I wasn’t sick anymore. None of us were.’

  She pokes me in the ribs with the gun again.

  ‘Alright, Gabriel, question time’s over. Start movin’.’

  The snow’s settled around my legs and it takes longer than it ought to work my boots free. When I finally manage it I set off again, lumbering through the drifts in the direction she indicates. I’m shivering inside my parka now, in spite of the effort it takes to keep moving. Cass isn’t exactly dressed for the outdoors, but if the cold’s bothering her she gives no sign of it.

  ‘S-so, are there more…more of you, then?’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘We’re all there is.’

  The virus does its work quick, I know that; there’s only a small window between being infected and turning. What Kane did to the skies would have had to coincide with that. Still, though; something about what she’s said doesn’t seem right.

  ‘Isn’t…isn’t that s-strange?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I don’t answer her right away. I sense we’re getting close to wherever she means to take me, and I need to draw her in. This might be my last chance.

  ‘It j-just doesn’t seem enough. N-not for a city…the s-size of Durham.’

  She goes quiet and for a while I’m not sure I’m going to get an answer. I shuffle around to face her. Her eyes narrow at the flashlight, but she doesn’t look away. The gun’s pointed square between my shoulder blades; behind it her expression has hardened. I begin to suspect I’ve made a terrible mistake continuing with my questions.

  ‘There used to be more of us, but then the soldiers came. They didn't care; they hunted us down, just the same as the crazies. First winter took care of them, though; took care of all of you. Your kind aren’t a threat to us anymore. There’s only a handful of you left now, hanging on to life outta little more than habit. Soon enough you’ll be gone.�
��

  She gestures for me to move on.

  My teeth are chattering, and I don’t seem able to stop them. I start to tell her what I was trying to explain to Vince, back inside: I wasn’t looking for her, or any of them. I was on my way to The Greenbrier, to trade the prisoners for a medicine for Mags and the kid. A pointless errand, seeing as it turns out neither of them need it. I don’t get very far into the story before she cuts me off.

  ‘Save your breath. I’m not interested.’

  I lift a boot from the snow, stumble forward. Somewhere in the darkness ahead I think I hear the creak of fence wire, and when I point the flashlight that way it finds a stretch of chain-link. There’s a section right in front where it’s been breached, the diamonds cut, pulled back to create a gap.

  I feel the panic rising up inside me as I realize this must be where she means to do it. I freeze, trying to think of something to say, anything to make her change her mind. Something hard jabs into the space between my ribs.

  ‘Quit stallin’.’

  I shuffle forward until I can feel the snow crumbling under the toes of my boots.

  ‘Okay, that’s far enough.’

  I point the flashlight down but there’s nothing, just a black chasm into which the snow twists and tumbles. This is it, then. The end of the road. I meant to do something, to fight, to run, but I’ve left it too late. There’ll be no struggle. No last-minute attempt to overpower my executioner, to wrest the pistol from her grip. I can’t even turn to face her; my boots are wedged too deep in the snow. I hold my arms out.

  ‘Listen, Cass, y-you don’t have to do this. Just…just let me go and I p-promise, you’ll never…’

  I don’t even get to finish the sentence. There’s a bang, shockingly loud, and something hits me hard, right between the shoulder blades, knocking the wind from me. My mouth opens in surprise, even as the force of it pitches me forward.

  And then I’m falling, breathless, into darkness.