by R. A. Hakok
‘Goddammit Jax, now what in the hell are we supposed to do with those? We need smaller stuff for the fire, remember?’
The Viking just looks at the pile of wood tucked under his arm and then at Hicks, and then back at the wood again, taking a moment to stare at Mags and me for good measure. He drops what he’s gathered on the ground and picks up one of the trees and tries to snap it with his hands. The wood’s been dead for years but it’s damp; it bends and twists, occasionally splintering but mostly just holding, not matter how hard the blond giant tries to break it.
I dig into my backpack and set to work with the handsaw while Mags strips some of the smaller branches and starts building a fire. The soldier Hicks had called Boots watches her from his spot by the window. When it looks like there’s enough he pulls a squeeze bottle from the pocket of his parka and walks over. He kneels down next to her and starts squirting the contents liberally over the branches. The rich, sweet smell of gasoline hangs heavy in the air. Gas is pretty hard to come by - Marv only allowed me to use it in emergencies - but Boots doesn’t seem to be rationing himself. When he’s done he pulls a cheap plastic lighter from his pocket and strikes the wheel with the base of his thumb. He holds it to his face and for a moment the small blue-tinged flame reflects back off the lenses in his grubby glasses. When he presents it to the wood the gas catches with a whumpf! that makes me wonder how many times Private Kavanagh has had to wait for his eyebrows to grow back. I have to admit though, whatever mix he’s using seems to do the trick, and soon the flames are licking up through the damp wood. The smoke makes me cough and I have to step back from it but he doesn’t seem to be able to tear himself away. He watches the fire as though transfixed, occasionally reaching for another branch from the pile to feed it. I guess I should be grateful for small mercies; for a few minutes at least he’s not staring at Mags.
The soldiers wait while we fix breakfast. Hicks says they’ve already eaten but I offer Ortiz some of the sausage patty from my MRE just because he’s staring so hard. Hicks shakes his head and says I oughtn’t do that; I’ll only teach him bad habits by feeding him from the table. Ortiz’s mouth’s full so he just flips him the finger again and holds out his hand for a hash brown.
As we’re finishing up Hicks bends down and retrieves Mags’ copy of Owen Meany from where she left it. Her eyes dart over to the fire. The flames are already dying down. She sets her MRE aside and stands up.
‘That’s not for burning.’
He looks up at her.
‘Don’t worry darlin’, that wasn’t my intention. This yours?’
She nods.
‘Have you read it?’
Mags hesitates, like maybe it’s a trick question. Kane didn’t allow us to read.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s good, isn’t it? I liked the little guy; he knew what had to be done. Can’t say I cared much for his friend, though. Not sure what use a man is without a trigger finger.’
He examines the tatty paperback a moment longer then hands it over. She takes it and returns it to her backpack. I scoop the last of my breakfast from its pouch, bag our trash and we set off.
*
ROCKBRIDGE COUNTY HIGH’S right off I-64, the road that Marv’s map says will take us all the way to The Greenbrier.
There hasn’t been a fresh fall in a few days and the snow’s settled, so the going’s not so bad. Hicks sets a steady pace and soon I settle into an easy rhythm. But after a while I notice Mags falling behind. I’m beginning to wonder if everything’s okay; maybe she hurt herself as we were running through the school earlier. I hang back and soon the soldiers are a stretch ahead of us. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when she rests a hand on my arm. Jax has taken to stopping every few minutes to gawp in our direction, but he’s just finishing up a stare-break. As soon as he’s eyes-forward again she unsnaps one side of her respirator. The wind’s picked up a little, enough to prevent anyone ahead from hearing. Nevertheless she keeps her voice low.
‘What should we tell them?’
‘About what?’
‘About where we’ve come from. Sooner or later they’re going to ask again.’
Hicks and Ortiz both appear friendly, and it does seem like Jax’s staring is simply curiosity. I really don’t care for the way Boots has been looking at her, but these certainly don’t seem like the desperate, lawless men Kane had warned of. Maybe Mags is right, though; we have only just met them.
‘Well, it’s either Eden or Mount Weather; we won’t be able to make up a story about anywhere else that’d sound even halfway believable. I think we should just say we’ve come from Eden. That way at least they won’t know where the rest of the Juvies are.’
Mags considers this for a moment. ‘But if they figure out where that is and go there they’ll find Kane. They’re soldiers; wouldn’t he still be their commanding officer? And he knows where we’ve gone.’
I think about this. She’s right, of course, but I’m not sure it widens our options any.
‘After all this time I’m not so sure they’d still take orders from him. He was the one that caused all this after all. We can prove it if we have to; we still have the virus. Besides we don’t have to use Eden’s real name. I don’t think anyone other than Kane called it that. Even if they work out where it is by the time they get there we could be gone from Mount Weather.’
She considers this for a while. In the end she nods like maybe it’s not the best plan she’s ever heard but right now she can’t think of another that might be better. She snaps the respirator back over her mouth and we pick up the pace.
Up ahead the soldiers have stopped next to an RV that’s come to a sideways halt in the middle of the road. Jax is using his break time to get some more staring in and now Hicks turns around as well. The Viking’s gaze is blank, vacant, but with Hicks it’s different; I feel like behind those blinkered shades our progress is being measured. When we catch up to them he pulls down his bandana.
‘How’re you two doin’?’
Mags stops and unsnaps her respirator again.
‘I was finding the snow a little heavy back there. I’m fine now.’
Hicks just nods and leads us on.
We stick to the interstate as it winds its way west into the Appalachians.
The first morning we pass a succession of exit signs – Shank’s Creek, Longhorn Furnace, Forge – but we don’t take any of them, stopping only to warm our MREs by the side of the road. Hicks sits off to one side and sips from a thermos he pulls from his pack.
As soon as we’re done eating he stands, like he’s keen to get back now. I bag our trash and we set off again. For a while the road opens out and billboards compete for our attention on both sides. A decade of weather has left them faded and tattered, but it’s still a riot of color compared with what we’ve been seeing. Then the mountains close in on us again and they’re gone.
The last of the light’s leaving the sky when Hicks finally leads us towards an off-ramp. We make our way into a small town called Covington in almost darkness. I’m not used to hiking at night; Marv always had us off the road before dusk. We may not have seen the sun since the Last Day but I guess it’s still up there doing something because once it dips below the horizon it turns real cold real quick, and without a moon or even stars to light your way it’d be easy to get lost. Hicks seems to know where he’s going though. He brings us to a small brick and shingle building just off the highway. The weather-beaten sign outside says New Hope Baptist Church, and underneath in smaller letters, Praying For A Miracle.
Hicks sends Jax off in search of firewood and then heads out himself shortly after. All the Viking comes back with are a handful of blackened limbs that do little more than smoke up the place, no matter how much gasoline Boots pours on them. We huddle around the reluctant fire scooping our rapidly cooling MREs from their plastic pouches while Ortiz, Boots and Jax eat a supper of cold franks and beans. I tear the wrapper off a HOOAH! for dessert and Jax stares at me like the world�
�s largest, dumbest wolfhound. I break it in two and toss one half over. It disappears into his beard and I have to hold my hands up so he’ll believe I’m not holding out on him.
Hicks returns a little while after. He doesn’t bother with dinner or the fire, just walks past us and up into the shadows by the altar. He eases himself to the ground and sits with his back to the pulpit. A quart bottle of bourbon appears from the pocket of his parka and he unscrews the cap. Boots is staring into the dwindling flames absent-mindedly picking at a scab on the inside of his arm. He looks up at the sound but Hicks makes no move to offer it around.
The church has a small organ balcony, so I figure that’s where Mags and I will sleep. As we get up from the fire Boots tears his eyes from the flames; I can feel his gaze following us as we head for the stairs. I unfurl the sleeping bag and lay it on the dusty floor. Mags has been quiet over dinner and she still hasn’t said anything as we climb inside. She lays still for a while, her back to my chest, but I know she’s still awake. Eventually she whispers:
‘We should hide the map. It has the code for Mount Weather on it.’
I nod. She closes her eyes and rests her head against my shoulder, like having decided this is a comfort. But it’s a long time before she finally drifts off.
I wake from an uneasy sleep sometime in the middle of the night. The fire’s gone out so there’s little to see, but something’s stirring down below. I hear footsteps as someone makes their way down the aisle and then the door at the back of the church opens and from outside there’s the sound of retching. After a while it stops and then for a long time silence returns to the darkness.
I’m beginning to think whoever it was has snuck back inside without me noticing when I hear the door opening again. I ease my arm out from under Mags’ head. She mumbles something and then shifts in her sleep, like whatever’s troubling her has found its way into her dreams, but she doesn’t wake. I slip out of the sleeping bag and creep over to the balustrade. My eyes have adjusted as much as they will but without a fire there’s nothing but inky blackness. I strain to hear. Whoever’s moving around down there seems to be retracing their steps up the aisle. There’s a pause and some shuffling sounds as they settle themselves, then the dry rasp of a lighter wheel being struck and Hicks’ face suddenly appears out of the darkness as he holds the flame to the end of a cigarette and draws on it. He’s about to extinguish the lighter but then something causes him to stop and he turns and looks up in my direction. I suddenly feel the need to announce my presence; like I’ve been caught spying on him. I raise my hand to wave down but then I feel foolish and stop myself. I’m hidden behind the balustrade in total darkness; there’s no way he can see me up here. After a moment he lets the lighter go out so that all that remains is the glowing red tip.
I creep back to the sleeping bag and climb inside.
HE’S THE LAST ONE NOW.
Still they keep the lights off. He’s told them they don’t bother him, that he’s not like the others, that he’d rather have them on. He’s told them more than once; he mentions it every time one of them comes down. He wants them to believe it, even though it’s not really true anymore. When they put the flashlight on him it hurts now.
He doesn’t have a name, or if he does he doesn’t remember it. He’s heard the doctor refer to him as Subject 99 and sometimes the mean soldier sings snatches of a tune that has the words Johnny 99 in it. He wonders if his name might be Johnny. The mean soldier doesn’t have a nice voice but the boy who might be Johnny likes the song anyway. Sometimes after they’ve gone he hums it to himself in the darkness, even though he doesn’t know what an auto plant is or if Mahwah’s even a real place or for that matter what Ralph was thinking mixing Tanqueray and wine if it can get you in that kind of trouble. He asked the doctor once whether his name might be Johnny but when she wanted to know why he couldn’t think of a reason other than the song and so he said he wasn’t sure. The doctor never answered him. But after that the mean soldier didn’t sing anymore. And the next time he came down he glared into his cage like he was mad at him for something and then he put his food tray on the ground and spat in it. He had to eat the food anyway, even though he wasn’t really hungry. Because not eating your food is a sign, like not looking at the doctor’s flashlight, and he doesn’t want to go to the other room.
He’s been here a very long time. He doesn’t know how long exactly, because days don’t mean much with the lights off. But definitely a long time. He wasn’t always here. He’s sure of that, even though he doesn’t know where he might have been before. He doesn’t remember anything about it. The doctor says he needs to try and he wants to, he really does, and not just to please her. But it’s no use. It’s like whatever was before is behind some thick gray curtain in his mind and there’s just no way to pull it back, no matter how hard he tries.
He thinks the room he’s in now is underground. There are no windows, although of course he knows that doesn’t prove anything. It’s definitely at the bottom of a long flight of stairs though, because he can hear the soldiers’ boots ringing off the metal each time they descend. Sometimes he counts the steps. The highest he’s ever got before the door opens is eighty-nine, but the first ones are always really faint and it’s possible there are more that he’s not hearing.
He can always tell who’s coming. The mean soldier’s boots are the loudest. He can hear their lumbering thunk-clang echoing down the stairwell for ages before he reaches the bottom. It’s the mean soldier he sees the most, because he’s the one who brings his food. He always carries the stick and he looks at him like he’s some sort of dangerous animal in a poorly built cage. He doesn’t need to be afraid, though. Johnny 99 would never hurt him, ever, he’s told him that. But still he makes sure to keep all the way to the back of the cage while the tray gets pushed through the slot at the front. They don’t bother to heat the food but that’s okay; they’re still bringing it, which is the main thing. He always eats everything they give him, even if he’s not hungry, or if he suspects the mean soldier has done something to it. That way they’ll know he’s still fine and doesn’t need to go in the next room, with the others.
The other soldier’s footsteps are much quieter; sometimes he makes it all the way down the stairs without Johnny even hearing and the first thing he knows the door at the end’s opening and he has to scurry to the back of his cage. The other soldier doesn’t bother with a stick or even a flashlight. He just sits on the ground opposite and stares in at him. The mean soldier sometimes calls him names but the other soldier never says anything. He just sits there in the darkness, studying him through the bars. When he’s done he gets up and leaves without saying a word.
The doctor’s the only other person that visits him. She doesn’t come as often now there’s only him left, and sometimes when she does she just shines the light into his eyes and then leaves without saying anything and he’s disappointed. But other times there are questions. He has to answer them as truthfully as he can, which he does, he always does, even though most of the time he just can’t remember. He’s not allowed to ask any questions of his own, even though he has so many and sometimes it feels like he might burst with the not knowing. That would ruin the experiment the doctor says. He must try and remember himself. It’s really important.
He knows he is sick, like the others were. That’s why he can’t remember. But the doctor says the medicine she gives him will make him better. He has to drink it all, every last drop, even though it makes him feel like he’s going to throw up. The medicine didn’t help the others, though. He watched each of them take it and one by one they all changed.
98 was the last, and she turned a long time ago now. Her cage had been directly opposite; she’d been there when he’d first woken up. He doesn’t remember much about before he got sick, but he remembers that. He had been very frightened then. He can see quite well now; his eyes have grown used to the darkness. But back then he hadn’t been able to see anything. He hadn’t known where he was,
or what he was doing, here, in this tiny plastic enclosure.
98 had calmed him down. She’d whispered that it would be okay, but for now it was important that he be quiet. That was one of the rules, she’d said. If the mean soldier caught you making noise he’d come down and put the lights on and even though Johnny 99 hadn’t minded the lights back then it would drive some of the others, the ones who were already turning, crazy.
Well, crazier.
Later 98 had taught him the other rules as well, like going to the back of your cage whenever the soldiers came down and never, ever putting your hand through the bars. There were more rules than that, but those were the main ones. You couldn’t forget them, even for a second. If you did the mean soldier was apt to pay you a visit with the stick.
He misses 98. She had been nice to him. It had frightened him when the doctor had come down and shone a light into her cage and he had seen her for the first time. How could anyone’s eyes be like that? But after a while he had gotten used to it and then it hadn’t bothered him so much. He wonders if he looks now like 98 did then. There aren’t any mirrors in his cage, no surfaces that might give back even the faintest reflection, so he doesn’t know. His arms and legs seem very thin and pale but then he is small, and it is always dark down here, so maybe that is normal.
98 lasted a long time, longer than any of the others. But then one day the mean soldier started taking her food away untouched, and a little while after that she had started acting up whenever the doctor had shone a light into her cage. Johnny 99 had tried to calm her down, just like she had done when he had first arrived. That had seemed to help a little, at first. But then the doctor would come down with the flashlight and that would set her off again. After that Johnny 99 knew it wouldn’t be long. There’s never much time left after you change.
