Children of the Mountain (Book 3): Lightning Child

by Hakok, R. A.

  ‘Hey! So that’s it? You’re just going to leave me here?’

  I nod.

  ‘I haven’t killed you, which is more than you deserve.’ I glance down at the fury, then point the baton at the alcove. ‘If I were you I’d think about finding myself somewhere to hole up. Might want to do it quick, while it still lets you.’

  I hold his gaze for a second longer then back out. Last I see of Truck he’s taken my advice and is shuffling along the wall in the direction of the curtain and the plastic cage behind.

  The door closes and I look over my shoulder. Mags hasn’t stirred from where I set her down. I wonder how much longer she’ll be out of it. Behind her rows of cages stretch off into the gloom. I think of how I found her, the first time I rescued her from this place; the dark, ugly welts Truck had inflicted with the same baton, branding her from hip to shoulder. And for a second the anger flares again, only this time I’m not sure it’s the thing the virus put inside me that twists with it. This feels familiar; something that was there all along.

  I pick the baton up, turn back to the door, slide it through the handles.

  I make sure to wedge it in tight.

  *

  I SIT ON THE FLOOR next to Mags and reach for the pistol. The finger Truck broke is already starting to swell, but as long as I don’t ask too much of it it doesn’t hurt that bad. I wonder if that’s the virus’s doing too.

  It doesn’t change the fact that my chances of hitting anything that doesn’t oblige by positioning itself at the end of the barrel and holding still are slim, however, so I use the tape to bind my busted finger to the middle one, just like I remember reading in the first aid book I used to keep under the bed in the farmhouse outside Eden. When I’m done I return the pistol to its holster. My right arm’s starting to tingle, but that appears to be as much as it can be relied upon to do. The leg on that side feels rubbery, unreliable, too, but for now at least it seems to be obeying the messages my brain’s sending it.

  I hoist Mags onto my shoulder and start retracing my steps. I make my way between the cages, ignoring the vacant stares from those hunched on the other side of the bars. Then we’re past them, hurrying through the crematorium, and finally back in the first room. I hobble towards the door at the end, my thoughts already on the stair beyond. But halfway along something catches my eye and I stop.

  On the floor of one of the cages, a plastic food tray. I balance Mags on my shoulder and bend down for a better look, making sure to keep a respectful distance from the bars. A large shape crouches on the other side of the tray, too big for the dimensions of his confinement. His head’s been shaved and when he looks up his eyes are sunken, dark. The face that used to soft, round, has angles to it now, and there are deep hollows where his cheeks used to be. It is familiar, nonetheless.

  ‘Hamish?’

  He shifts uncertainly at the mention of his name.

  ‘Angus?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘No Hamish. It’s Gabe.’

  He says my name a few times, as though testing it. I think there’s a glimmer of recognition there, but it’s hard to tell. He shuffles forward, looks up at me hopefully.

  ‘Is Angus coming?’

  ‘Angus is dead, Hamish. I’m sorry.’

  As soon as the words are out I wish I could take them back. It’s as if his face is held together by a number of unseen bolts and each of them has suddenly been loosened a turn. His head drops.

  I feel the need to say something, to explain.

  ‘It was Peck who killed him, but it was my fault. I should have known, when I sent you both back to him…’

  He looks up. The face that was slack a moment ago has tightened again. He whispers a single word.

  ‘Peck.’

  ‘Yes, Peck, but it was me...’

  ‘Peck.’

  I try again, but there’s no point. The name seems to be all he’s capable of now; he just keeps repeating it over and over, like it’s the only thing he cares to hold on to.

  I glance along the aisle, towards the broken door. Hicks is still up there, somewhere, together with Jax and whoever else remains of the soldiers. Kane, Peck, and the Guardians, too. By now they must realize something’s wrong; they’re probably already looking for us. I hesitate for a moment and then get to my feet. I take a step toward the exit and then stop, turn around and press down on the latch. The spring releases and the gate opens a fraction, but Hamish doesn’t come out. I make my way between the cages. When I reach the door I check behind me again, but the aisle remains empty.

  I lay Mags on the floor and step into the storage room. All her stuff’s there, in a plastic crate just inside the door. For a second I consider trying to dress her, but it’d take too long with my hands they way they are; I’m not even sure I’d be able to manage it. I’ll worry about it when I get us outside. Her backpack’s where I left it, against the wall. I stuff her things into it, then lift her onto my shoulder again, grab the pack and start up the stair.

  It takes longer on the way up than coming down, but at last I can hear the thrum of machinery above, growing louder with each step. As we near the plant room she stirs on my shoulder, starts to struggle. I whisper to her to stay still.

  ‘Gabe?’ Her voice is thick with the anesthetic. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Still in The Greenbrier. We’ll soon be out.’

  ‘I feel weird.’ She shifts her head. ‘I can’t see.’

  ‘There’s tape on your eyes, that’s all. Just hold on to me and as soon as we get to the top I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘Okay.’

  At last the stair ends. I push the door open a crack. The clatter from the generator increases, but when I peer through our luck seems to be holding; the gangway ahead is still empty. I carry her up onto it, set her down on the metal grating. She reaches up to her face but her movements are clumsy, uncoordinated.

  ‘Here, let me.’

  I kneel down in front of her. It takes a while, but I finally get an edge of the tape between the thumb and third finger of my good hand and gently lift the tape from one eye, then the other.

  She looks up at me, blinking. It takes her a moment to focus and then she breathes in sharply and recoils, pressing herself back against the railing.

  I turn away quickly; I had forgotten what I look like now. I grab the backpack and start pulling out her clothes, anxious for something that will keep me from seeing that look on her face again. I feel her hand on my arm. She reaches up, touches my cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry. I…I was just surprised. What happened?’

  I clear my throat, not sure I trust myself to speak.

  ‘I’ll tell you later. Right now we need to get out of here.’ I hand her her clothes. ‘Put these on.’

  She looks down, for the first time realizing what she’s wearing. Her fingers fly to her scalp.

  ‘It’s okay. She didn’t get a chance to do anything.’

  She probes the skin there a moment longer, like she may not believe me, then she picks up her thermals and starts putting them on. Her movements are still awkward. I try to help, but the best I can manage is to hand her stuff. She pulls on a boot while I reach for the other.

  ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’

  ‘Truck. He zapped me with the baton.’

  I look down at it, hanging useless by my side. It used to be numb, but now if I concentrate I think I can feel a prickling sensation, like pins and needles, in my fingertips. I tell myself that has to be a good sign.

  She finishes tying the laces while I close the pack and heft it onto my shoulder ‘Do you think you can walk?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  I hold out my good arm. She grabs my wrist and I pull her to her feet. But when she tries to take a step her legs buckle and she has to reach for the railing behind her.

  ‘It’s alright, I got you.’

  I slip my arm around her waist and we make our way slowly across the gangway and down the steps on the other side. I open t
he door a fraction and peer through.

  The safety lights still hum, bathing the walls in their green glow, but the corridor that was empty when I came through earlier now has a body in it. Or to be more precise, a pair of legs; the rest of whoever it is has been dragged into one of the dorms. The boots are missing, but the fatigues tell me it’s one of the soldiers. I stare at them for a moment, trying to work out who it might be. It’s not big enough for Jax, but it could be any of the others, except maybe Weasel, unless someone’s bothered to haul him in from outside. It might even be Hicks, although I can’t see how we’d ever be that lucky.

  I whisper to Mags that we need to go. She holds on to me and together we step into the corridor. The noise from the plant room recedes as the door closes behind us.

  As we get closer more of the torso becomes visible. I can read the name above the breast pocket of his fatigues now, but I no longer need it. This is the man the other soldiers called Pops. The deep lines that bracketed his mouth and grooved themselves across his forehead have softened in death, but his eyes are wide with surprise, like whatever it was he last saw, he wasn’t expecting it. A single bullet hole punctures the middle of his forehead, a trickle of darkening blood snaking its way into the gray stubble at his temple.

  Mags looks up at me.

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I dip the toe of my boot in the dark puddle of blood that surrounds the back of his head. It’s still tacky.

  ‘Whatever it was, it wasn’t long ago.’

  *

  WE LEAVE THE CORRIDOR and enter the decontamination chamber. The nozzles that protrude from the tiles make it hard to walk side by side. Mags says she’s okay, but when I let go of her she sways alarmingly and has to reach for the wall to steady herself. I slip my arm back around her waist and we continue on, shuffling sideways between the pipes. Behind us the door to the bunker closes, robbing the cramped passageway of color. When we make it to the end I tell her to hold on to something; I need my hand to work the handle. I push down; the door creaks softly as it swings out into the tunnel.

  I put my arm around her again and we step through. But when I look up I stop. Ahead of us in the tunnel, a pair of flashlights, quivering in the darkness. I glance back the way we’ve come, but there’s no light that way that might reveal us to whoever it might be. I stare at the beams for a moment, trying to work it out. They don’t seem to moving away. It’s like they’re just standing there, waiting.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Someone in the tunnel.’

  ‘Can you see who?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Probably the ones who did for Pops.’ I look up at the pipes that hang down from the roof, running straight out into darkness. It’s the same all the way to the blast door; there’s no cover in there. ‘Maybe we should find another way out.’

  I say it mostly to myself, but I hear her whisper back to me.

  ‘Who had to quit so you could be in charge of smart decisions?’

  I open my mouth to respond, but before I get the chance I sense movement behind us. I feel Mags tense at my side. Without warning a light flicks on, momentarily blinding me, and I have to turn my head away. My brain sends a message to my reaching hand, but it just twitches uselessly. I squint into the glare, trying to see who’s behind the flashlight, but all I can make out is the muzzle of the pistol it’s pressed up against.

  ‘Cute.’

  I may not be able to see his face, but that voice I know.

  Peck.

  He points the beam at Mags for a second and then returns it to me.

  ‘Hell, Gabriel, what have you done to yourself?’ He holds the flashlight on me a second longer, then whistles into the tunnel. From off in the darkness a voice answers, faint with distance, but immediately familiar.

  ‘Who is it, Randall?’

  ‘Someone here you might want to see, Mr. President.’

  I force myself to look into flashlight, trying to gauge the distance to his gun. I have one mostly good hand, and I’m fast now, fast enough that I might even be able to surprise someone like Peck. He’s standing just far enough away to make the outcome uncertain, however. And then there’s Mags. She can barely stand, let alone be counted on to step aside from a bullet.

  The lights in the tunnel grow brighter as Kane and whoever’s with him make their way back towards us. I glance into the decontamination chamber, searching for another way out. Colors are still swirling across my vision from the flashlight, but for an instant I think I see a sliver of green.

  ‘I warned you not to underestimate me, Gabriel.’

  I ignore him and instead screw my eyes shut, trying to clear the comet tails and starbursts. The light I thought I saw at the end has gone, if it was ever there.

  Peck shifts the gun a little closer; I feel Mags grip me tighter.

  ‘Hey, do I not have your attention?’

  ‘Sure. I heard you. Underestimate.’

  My eyes flick back to the showers, but now there’s only darkness. For a second I could have sworn I saw the door at the other end open, though.

  Kane’s getting closer, his footsteps growing louder as they echo towards us out of the tunnel. I peer into the gloom, trying to make out who’s with him, but I can’t see beyond their flashlights.

  I risk another glance into the decontamination chamber. This time I think I see movement. One of the soldiers? I only glimpsed it for a second, but the shape I saw didn’t look big enough for Jax, and that only leaves Hicks. I’m not sure how his arrival will play out any better for us. And then I catch a sound. I glance over at Peck. I don’t think he’s heard it yet. I squeeze Mags’ waist and shuffle backwards.

  ‘Hey, where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘Nowhere, Peck.’

  I say it loud. My voice echoes back at me from the chamber. I take another step away from the Secret Service agent.

  ‘Hold it right there, Gabriel.’

  The flashlights coming down the tunnel are almost on us, and for a second one of the beams slips into the narrow chamber. The light shifts over tiles, nozzles, for an instant lands on a pair of silver eyes, moves on.

  I back up again. Peck moves forward, and now he’s the one standing in front of the doorway.

  ‘Godammit Gabriel, I’m serious. Move again and I’ll shoot you where you stand.’

  ‘Okay, Peck.’

  This time when his name comes back from the showers the echo isn’t right. His brow furrows and he looks at me, momentarily puzzled.

  ‘Sorry, Randall.’

  The pistol drops a fraction and his eyes flick into the chamber, then widen.

  ‘You son of a…’

  If he gets another word out I never hear it. I grab Mags tight and drag her backwards even as Hamish appears in the doorway. He sees Peck and lunges forward, hands outstretched, reaching for the Secret Service agent’s throat.

  *

  PECK RECOVERS SURPRISINGLY QUICKLY. He takes a step backwards, wheeling around to face the new threat. His gun comes up, his finger already curling around the trigger, even as Hamish slams into him. They stumble backwards together then both go over, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Hamish is the bigger of the two, even now, but there’s no finesse to his attack, only frenzy, fury. His teeth snap, his fingers clawing at the Secret Service agent’s neck. At last he finds purchase there, lifts his head in both hands, slams it back down. There’s a sickening crunch, then a muffled bang as the pistol goes off.

  Hamish grunts once and slumps forward, the last of the life already going out of him. Peck makes no move to push him off. His eyes are open, but they stare up sightlessly. A pool of blood spreads from the back of his head, darkening the dusty concrete.

  I look up to see Kane, striding out of the tunnel, a camouflage parka flapping around him. The tag on the breast says it once belonged to Pops, and I’m guessing that’s where he got the boots he’s wearing too. They look out of place on him, but then
I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him out of a suit. He comes to a halt a few feet away. Kurt appears beside him a moment later, a rifle clutched to his chest.

  Kane studies his Secret Service agent for a moment then slowly turns his gaze to Mags and me. Last I saw of him was in Eden’s chapel, when we left him with the soldiers. He hadn’t been himself then, as though the wind had been knocked out of him by the events of the day. He looks like the President we always knew now, though. He brings himself up to his full height.

  ‘Gabriel.’ His lip curls in distaste, like the mention of my name causes him displeasure.

  I slip my arm out from around Mags and step in front of her. Feeling’s starting to return to my fingers, but I still can’t rely on them do my bidding. I don’t think Kurt notices. He stares at me, slack-jawed, his mouth open, like he’s not sure he believes what he’s seeing.

  Kane glances down at the pistol.

  ‘Unwise of you to keep that sidearm holstered, son.’

  I take a step closer, my eyes still on Kurt. His finger hovers over the trigger, but he hasn’t yet swung the rifle in my direction.

  ‘There’s no rush, Mr. President. I’ll draw it when I’m good and ready.’

  I shift my shoulder back a fraction so my fingers rest over Hicks’ pistol, trying to make it seem natural.

  Kane studies me for a moment, like he’s making his mind up about something, then he turns to the Guardian.

  ‘Shoot him, Kurt, and let’s get out of here.’

  I ignore him, addressing myself instead to Kurt. I raise my good hand and point my taped fingers behind him, into the tunnel.

  ‘You and Peck must have come in the same way I did, earlier.’ I don’t wait for him to confirm it. ‘You’ll have seen Private Wiesmann on your way in, then. You remember Weasel, don’t you, Kurt? Small, kinda ratty-looking? Has a big hole where his throat used to be? He tried to shoot me earlier, too. Didn’t work out so well for him.’

  I wait a second for that to sink in.

  ‘Did Kane ever tell you what the virus was designed for, Kurt? I just found out, from Dr. Gilbey. It wasn’t meant as a weapon, least not the way the world got to experience it. They were trying to create a better soldier; someone faster, stronger. More resilient.’ I hold up the hand that still works, slowly curl it into a fist. For a second the pain from my busted finger is excruciating, but then something inside me shuts it down.