by Hakok, R. A.
He stares at me a moment, like he’s trying to work out whether there’s a part of it I’m not telling him, but then he just says, I see.
There’s a commotion from outside and I look over in time to see Jax being dragged forward. His arms have been bound, but nevertheless it’s taking Tully and three of the other inmates to hold him. Behind him I see Zack and Jason. It looks like they’ve found Boots, too. There’s no sign of Kurt or the President.
Goldie appears at the entrance, presses his face to the glass. Finch waves him in and he enters the lobby, pushing the kid in front of him. The kid sees Mags and makes to run over to her, but Goldie grabs him by the shoulder, holding him back. Mags gets to her feet; there’s an expression on her face that suggest Goldie had best take care what he does next.
The fingers of my reaching hand flex involuntarily. There’s still a few pins and needles there, but my arm seems like it might finally be ready to do my bidding. It doesn’t change the fact I only have five bullets to my name, though.
I look over at the kid.
‘You okay?’
He nods.
‘That one’s our friend, Mr. Finch. We’ll be needing him back.’
Finch leans back on the sofa. His fingers brush the knot of his tie.
‘You know it’s not wise to get between a predator and its meal, Gabriel.’
Mags’ expression hardens at his words. I catch her eye.
Let me take care of this.
‘I know, Mr. Finch. But this time I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.’
My hand settles on the haft of the pistol, but I make no move to draw it. The voice speaks softly.
‘I’ll trade you for him, though.’
Good.
‘And what is it that you have to offer me, Gabriel? More books?’
I shake my head.
‘Something much better than that, Mr. Finch.’
I lean forward, whisper it into his ear.
He sits still for a moment, then turns his head to look at me.
‘I’m not sure, Gabriel. You know what they say: a bird in the hand. And that one looks tasty.’
But his eyes are sparkling as he says it; I know I have him.
‘Oh, you wouldn’t find him palatable, Mr. Finch. Trust me on that.’
He lifts a finger, starts tapping the arm of the sofa with it.
‘You’re not putting me on are you, Gabriel?’
I shake my head.
‘I know better than to lie to you, Mr. Finch.’
He beckons Goldie forward. I take him off to one side, tell him which way Kane was headed. He looks at Finch for confirmation then hurries back outside. Moments later he leaves, taking half a dozen of the prisoners with him.
Finch gets to his feet, smoothes the front of his overcoat.
‘Well then, it appears our business is concluded. Will you be joining us for dinner? It appears we have plenty to go around.’
‘I don’t think so, Mr. Finch. We’ll be on our way, if it’s all the same to you.’
He nods, ushers us toward the entrance. At the door he stops and turns to Mags.
‘Well my dear, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
The smile doesn’t waver, but as he says it he grabs her by the wrist, so fast it surprises me. His other hand darts inside his coat. Mags’ eyes narrow and she starts to pull away, but it’s clear whatever Finch is up to he’s caught her off guard too.
My fingers don’t wait for an instruction from my brain. I have the pistol clear of its holster and pointed at his head with the hammer cocked before his hand has a chance to re-emerge. He pauses, then slowly pulls out a small package wrapped in brown paper, tied up with string. He places it in her hand.
‘Something Gabriel would have wanted you to have.’
She hesitates a moment and then pulls the string. The paper falls away and inside is a book. On the cover a dark rabbit, hunched in silhouette, its ears folded back, its teeth bared. The copy of Watership Down he gave me on my first visit to Starkly.
I return the gun to its holster.
‘That wasn’t smart, Mr. Finch. I could have killed you.’
He spreads his hands.
‘It was a risk, but I had to know.’
I’m not sure I understand. A smile creases his lips.
‘You do remember our discussion, Gabriel? The totem pole; where we each stand on it.’ He leans a little closer and the smile becomes wistful. ‘I think I could have been a little braver, with that gift you gave me. Held out just a little longer.’
Mags wraps the book back up in the paper and slides it into the pocket of her parka. Jake holds the door open for her and the kid and they step outside. I’m about to follow them, but then Finch rests a hand on my arm.
‘I have enjoyed our time together Gabriel, I really have. Probably best that our paths don’t cross again, wouldn’t you agree?
‘I would, Mr. Finch.’
He nods.
I push the door back and step into the shadow of The Greenbrier’s massive portico.
‘Gabriel.’
I turn around.
Finch is standing in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back. I remember what I thought, the first time I laid eyes on him, in the cellblock of the Starkly Correctional Institution: that he was other, exotic; that he did not belong in a place like that. Perhaps it’s The Greenbrier’s outward splendor: the towering columns; the sweeping staircases; the paintings that hang from its gaily-colored walls. Or maybe it’s the darkness that for so long has lurked just beneath that polished veneer. Either way, Garland Finch no longer seems out of place. It seems like he is home.
‘What is it, Mr. Finch?’
‘That flask I left you; did you happen to try any of it?’
‘No, Mr. Finch, I did not.’
He smiles, then turns to go back inside.
‘Good for you, Gabriel. Good for you.’
*
OFF IN THE DISTANCE a lowering cloud gives sudden birth to a sliver of blue-white light; seconds later the low boom of thunder rumbles through the valley. I look up into the darkening sky. To the east thunderheads the color of charcoal, heavy with the snow they carry, drag their swollen bellies along the peaks. Storms are coming; it won’t be long now until the first of them are upon us.
I pause to let Jake catch up while Mags continues on ahead with the kid. I watch as he struggles towards me through the drifts. I doubt he has much left in him now. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t have the pace we do and I’ve been pushing hard, hoping to get us most of the way back before our rations ran out.
Tell the truth I never thought we’d manage to stretch them out as long as we have; the MREs I brought with me from Fearrington weren’t ever intended for four. But something’s changed since Starkly. I can get by on much less than I used to need, even pounding the snow all day long. Mags and the kid, too. Jake’s been getting the lion’s share of what we have.
I’ve been reading Gilbey’s notebook at night, searching for clues as to how the virus works, what it’s done to make us the way we are now. Most of what’s she written I just don’t get, and I doubt any dictionary I might find down the road will help with that. But occasionally there’s something, a paragraph, a sentence, even just a single word, I can make sense of.
On one page she’d scribbled Fuel above a bunch of equations, underlining it several times for good measure. The rest of what followed looked like so much gobbledygook and I was about to flip the page, when among the jumble of symbols I spotted a word I recognized from years of studying the backs of MRE cartons: calories. It appeared more than once in the pages that followed.
Food is like fuel, same as diesel for the generator or branches for the fire, only for our bodies; that much I already knew. I always figured it got used up when you did stuff, like running around, or hiking through the snow. Turns out I had that bit wrong, however. According to what followed in Gilbey’s notes for the most part it goes to regulating your bod
y temperature, keeping you warm. And if I’ve understood her right, Mags, the kid and me, we don’t need that anymore.
MRE doesn’t stand for Magically Replenishing Eats, all the same, and I’ve yet to figure out the workings of that loaves and fishes trick Kane would sometimes sermonize about, when he was trying to convince us what was left in Eden’s stores would be enough to see us through the winters that lay ahead. We split the last of the cartons yesterday morning. Ever since there’s been nothing but the snowmelt in our canteens.
I’m not worried, though. An hour ago we quit the John S Mosby highway for the Blue Ridge Mountain Road. There can’t be more than a couple of miles left between us and Mount Weather now. By nightfall we’ll be there.
Jake’s still struggling up the incline. I look behind him. All along the horizon lightning flashes inside the clouds, occasionally breaking free to stab down at the peaks below. I count the seconds until the thunder reaches us. Still distant, but getting closer. Back in Eden I used to dread the winters, the long months spent locked up inside a mountain. But this one I’m looking forward to. I’ve had enough of the world outside to last me a good long while. I’m ready to be home now.
Jake finally draws level then pulls down his mask and bends over, hands on his knees. When he’s got his breath back he reaches for his canteen. He unscrews the cap, raises it to his lips, but there’s little left. He tilts his head back and upends it, shaking the last few drops into his mouth. I dig mine from the side pocket of my pack and hold it out to him. He stares at it a moment, then he says he’s okay.
I take a swig. I can’t say as I blame him. I’m not sure I’d accept a drink from someone who looks the way I do, either. Things are a little better than when I first caught my reflection, in the cell, back in Starkly: the dark circles around my eyes are beginning to fade and I think I’ve gained back a little of the weight I lost to the virus, in spite of the short rations we’ve been on. My hair’s yet to start growing back, however, and the deep grooves where my cheeks used to be persist. Mags says she likes them – she reckons they lend my face character - but I’m not so sure about that. All in all there’s a little too much of the night about me.
I screw the cap back on, return the canteen to my pack.
‘Good to go?’
He nods once, pulls his mask up and we set off again.
For the next mile the road continues to climb, but then it finally flattens and, true to its name, starts to snake its way along the ridge. Withered trunks poke through the snow on either side, stretching off down the slopes into the valley below. The gap between them narrows until there’s little to tell where our path might be, but if Mags is uncertain of our path she doesn’t show it; she leads us on without slowing.
As dusk settles we come to a large sign, almost buried in a drift. The lights above are hooded under black metal cowls, the kind you’d see at a railroad crossing, the lenses rimed with ice. It says we’re entering a restricted area and should turn back. Beyond the road curves to the right. We follow it around and then it straightens and crests, revealing a large clearing straddling the mountain’s spine.
We’ve made it; we’re home.
The main gate rises up from the snow in front of us, a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire stretching off into the distance on either side. Mags has already found the section I opened with bolt cutters the day I first arrived. The kid follows her in. I bend down to squeeze myself through, then hold the wire back for Jake.
We make our way into the compound. Up ahead the control tower juts from the highest point of the ridge. A flash of lightning illuminates the sky behind, briefly silhouetting the antennae that bristle from its roof, the awkward gray shapes of the microwave transmitters. On the far side of it is the portal. When I first came here part of me had hoped that I would find it bathed in light; that survivors, people who had spent the last decade eking out an existence inside a hollowed out mountain, would be waiting to welcome me in. But as I look up what I see is a thousand times better.
Behind the tower’s tall, angled windows, the soft glow of firelight.
Mags has seen it too. She turns to look at me.
‘The Juvies; they made it back.’
Jake pushes his goggles onto his forehead. He’s exhausted, starving, but I hear the smile in his voice.
‘They’ve been posting a watch.’
We hurry up towards it, calling out as we go. As we get closer I can see the door’s been left open; it creaks back and forth on its hinges in the wind. I keep my eyes on it, waiting for a familiar face to appear there. But no one comes down to greet us. As I get closer I see a single set of tracks, leading off in the direction of the tunnel.
We make our way past the tower, down to the helicopter landing pad. The tattered windsock snaps and flutters on its tether. Beyond it the path curves around one final time and at last I see it.
The gate that Peck blasted open has been repaired, returned to its runners. Where the bars couldn’t be bent back into shape strands of razor wire have been strung across them, covering the gaps. A heavy chain and sturdy padlock secure it to the frame. Behind the tunnel stretches off into grainy shadow.
Mags stares into the darkness while I call out to whoever might be there. When there’s no answer she turns around, makes her way back up to the control tower. The kid watches uncertainly, like he can’t decide whether he should follow. She returns a few moments later.
‘A fire’s been lit, but there’s nobody up there.’
I turn back to the gate and resume shouting. After a few seconds Jake joins in. The last of the light’s leaving the sky and the temperature’s starting to fall, but for a long while there’s nothing except our own voices and the wind. And then at last the sound of footsteps, drifting up through the tunnel. Jake keeps hollering; he hasn’t heard them yet. I hold a hand up and he falls quiet.
Moments later a single flashlight appears around the corner, making its way slowly towards us. The beam is brighter than a windup has any business being; I can’t make out who’s behind it. As they draw closer I raise a hand to ward it off. For once Jake’s eyes serve him better.
‘It’s Lauren.’
She stops, still some distance back from the gate. Jake takes a step towards the bars.
‘Lauren, thank God. We were beginning to think we’d have to spend the night in the control tower.’
She keeps the flashlight on me.
‘We didn’t think you’d be back.’
‘I know. We have a lot to tell you. Let us in.’
Jake’s voice is trembling with the cold now, but she makes no move to come closer. She holds the light on me a little longer then just shakes her head.
‘I can’t do that.’
I join Jake at the bars.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m sorry. We all decided. The way you are now. We can’t take the chance.’
‘But we’re no danger to you.’ I’m not sure what else to say so I reach inside my thermals for the crucifix, hold it up to the light. ‘See?’
‘I’m sorry.’
Something about the way she says it makes me think she’s not though, not really. Beside me Jake clutches his arms to his sides.
‘You can’t do this, Lauren! You can’t! We have no food, nowhere to go.’
This time her answer comes quickly, like she’s had time to think about it. The walk through the tunnel, maybe. My guess is probably longer than that.
‘There are rations in the control tower. You can take whatever’s there.’
I feel myself growing angry, that they would do this; that a handful of MREs is the best they would offer. I found this place. They’re here because of me. I lower my hand and stare through the bars, wanting her to see my eyes. Her face is hidden behind the light, so I can’t see her reaction. But I can smell her fear, a bitter, acrid thing, not unlike the Sterno tabs we would burn to warm our food.
I reach for the bars. Inside my head the voice calls out a warning.
Careful.
Look.
I shift my gaze from the beam, back into the shadows. Afterimages from the light are still swirling across my vision, but I see a pair of cables, snaking up from the snow to the elevated walkway that runs down one side of the tunnel. They end at the terminals of a large battery that sits there.
Lauren must have followed my gaze.
‘We’ve electrified it, just like the blast door in Eden. We don’t want any trouble. It’d be best if you all just went on your way.’
I unzip my parka, start to reach inside for the pistol. Before I get to it Mags steps between us.
‘You’ll let Jake in. He was never infected.’
Lauren glances over at Jake, but she’s already shaking her head, like that decision might have been made some time ago, too.
‘No. We can’t be certain.’
Mags slips off one of her mittens.
‘You misunderstand me, Lauren. I’m not asking.’
I see what she means to do, but when I try to warn her she just turns to me, shakes her head. She reaches for a strand of the razor wire, runs a finger along it, as though testing it. Then she chooses a spot between the barbs, grasps it, and slowly twists. There’s a jangling sound as the wire goes taut, and then it snaps with a ping. She pulls the strand from the bars, holds it up.
‘Is that it? You really think what you’ve done here will keep us out?’
She lets the wire fall to the snow. Lauren stares at it for a moment and now when her eyes return to Mags they’re wide with fear.
‘So this is what’s going to happen, Lauren. We’re going up to the control tower to get those rations. You’re going to let Jake in, and then you’re going to run and fetch us Marv’s map. When we come back if Jake’s still out here, or if that map’s not waiting for us, I’m coming in, and you’re the one I’ll be looking to for an explanation.’
Lauren nods quickly.
‘Okay. Okay.’
Jake stumbles forward, shaking his head.
‘No. They have to let us all in. Otherwise I’m coming with you.’
Mags turns to face him.
‘No, you’re not, Jake. Winter’s almost here. Gabe, Johnny and me, we can survive on the outside now, but you can’t. Besides, they need you in there.’ She glances through the bars. ‘Even if they don’t realize it yet.’
