Children of the Mountain (Book 2): The Devil You Know

by R. A. Hakok

  My eyes are burning but I refuse to let the tears come. That’s for children and there’s no place in the world for those anymore. So instead I scream. A long, throat-rending howl, wordless and incoherent; nothing but anguish and rage. I yank the canteens out of the water and pummel the wet river gravel with my fists. I keep it up until my arms ache, until my lungs burn with the effort.

  But there’s no one listening. No one to bargain with, no one to curse, no one to whom she even matters other than me, and I gave up whatever power I had in this when I handed her the last of the containers. I stand up and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. Behind me the wind gusts. The fence wire’s cold and it creaks in the staples. If there’s a more godforsaken sound I’m not sure what it is.

  When I get back to the farmhouse Mags has already packed her sleeping bag and is lacing up her boots. She’s freed the fury and taped its mittens. I hand her one of the plastic canteens.

  ‘Thanks. Hey, I thought I heard something outside. Everything okay?’

  I nod and then busy myself with my backpack, not trusting myself to speak. Her MRE lies untouched next to the remains of the fire.

  The Appalachians rise up in front of us. At first the gradient’s not that bad but then it steepens and even though the snow’s settled since whenever it last fell the going’s heavy. The road sweeps one way then the other as it winds ever upwards, but always it seems the wind is in our faces.

  The morning’s no brighter than the ones that have gone before but the light seems to be troubling Mags now. After an hour we stop for a break. I tell her it’s time for frostbite checks but she just shakes her head and asks for the tape. When I hand it over she tears a couple of strips and starts masking her goggles, just like I did with the fury’s. We set off again as soon as she’s done.

  Sometime around noon we come to a deep ravine. A single collapsed column is all that remains of the bridge that once spanned it, its rust-streaked concrete sides jutting from the snow at the bottom. We make our way down towards it. The slope’s steep and the fury struggles from the get-go. It reverts to the crouch it had when we first stepped out of The Greenbrier, nervously inching its way down between the black, gnarled trunks that push their way up through the gray. I watch as for the third time it stumbles and mires itself in a bank of deeper powder. Mags starts to turn herself around to help it but I can see she’s exhausted. Inside my mittens my hands tighten into fists. We don’t have time for this. I tell her to keep making her way down; I’ll go dig it out. I climb back up, but with each step I feel the frustration that overcame me down by the river returning, and now it has a focus. I bend down, grab the throat of its jacket and yank it out of the snow. It weighs next to nothing; I lift it clean off its feet as I haul it upright. And for a second I hold it there, as another thought slips darkly into place. This thing has no future; in a day or two it’ll change and then we’ll leave it tethered somewhere or maybe it’ll surprise us and I’ll need to pray I’m quick enough to put the bullet Hicks gave me in it. But meanwhile I’m letting it destroy what little chance I have left of saving her. I glance down the slope. It’s still a long way to the bottom. Beneath me the bridge’s one remaining support rises up from the ravine floor. Long, twisted spines of rusting rebar poke through its crumbling concrete sides.

  ‘Gabe.’

  Mags has stopped and is looking up at me.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  I nod, slowly setting it down. I pick up its poles from where they’ve lodged themselves in the snow and hand them over.

  It takes us an hour to make our way to the bottom, another two to climb back up the other side.

  After that the road narrows. It continues to ascend, more sharply now, and for hours we hike slowly, ever upwards, towards a ridge that never seems to get any closer. As we get higher the wind strengthens. It whips the snow into eddies, sending it dancing in gray flurries around us, filling in our tracks almost as soon as we make them. Finally, just as dusk’s slipping into the sky, the way flattens a little and crests. A large rig lies on its side, the timber it was carrying scattered across both lanes. We sit with our backs to the giant logs for shelter, our breath escaping in frosted plumes as we sip water from our canteens. The fury picks a spot on the far side of the road and hunkers down, watching me suspiciously from inside its hood. I could care less. I’m well beyond worrying about its feelings now.

  I gaze out into the failing light as the wind swirls snow around me. The jagged peaks that rise up on the other side of the valley are the Blue Ridge Mountains. I reckon we’re no more than a day’s hike from Mount Weather.

  Except that’s not where we’re headed; our destination’s still several days’ hard hiking to the north. I look beside me at Mags. Her head’s resting on her knees, her arms hugged tight across her chest. An emptiness colder than the coming darkness settles inside me as I realize we’re never going to make it.

  The night’s already drawing down behind us as we set off again. I check the map while I wait for Mags and the fury to get to their feet. The first place we’ll come to is called Devil’s Backbone, but we still have a way to go to get to it and I can already feel the temperature dropping.

  The road snakes along the spine of the ridge for a while and then we begin our slow descent into Virginia. I spot our shelter miles before we reach it: a long, low building with a tall spire that juts up into the darkening sky like a needle. An enormous storage tank sits on the other side of the road, a narrow staircase spiraling up around its ribbed metal sides.

  By the time we finally hike down off the mountain the day’s long gone and what’s left is iron cold, kettle black. Mags is stumbling through the drifts now, and for the last hour she’s been coughing inside her respirator, just like Marv was doing, right before he quit. I try and put that thought from my mind and concentrate on following the flashlight’s pale beam into the darkness. Getting us to our next destination; that’s what I need to focus on now. I don’t care to think about what happens after that.

  As we turn off the highway a voice from somewhere just beyond the reach of the watery cone of light startles me back.

  ‘Turn that damn thing off.’

  I point the flashlight at the source of the growled greeting and look up. A lone figure sits next to a large sermon sign. Some of the plastic letters are missing but enough remain to make out what it used to read: The Devil’s Backbone Church of Christ. His one good eye squints back at me as he stands.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see a person.

  *

  HE RAISES THE THERMOS to his lips and takes a sip.

  ‘Yep, I saw your sign.’

  It’s just Hicks and me, sitting on either side of the fire. Mags is curled up inside her sleeping bag, already fast asleep. I made her eat some of an MRE after she took the medicine Hicks brought with him, just so she’d be able to keep it down. The fury’s in a room behind the altar, cable-tied to a radiator.

  ‘Gilbey had herself kittens when she found out you’d busted the girl out of the bunker. Truck was none too happy you’d fooled him either. It didn’t take no orders from the Doc; I’ve never seen him so keen to head back out. He tracked you as far as Covington but lost your scent soon after. I wanted to follow you up 220 but he was headed back that way to try and pick up your tracks and I figured that was my chance to cut free. I told them I’d continue on to I-81 in case you’d gone that way while they doubled back to see if they could pick up where you’d gotten off.’

  ‘How’d you know to wait for us here?’

  He takes another sip from the thermos.

  ‘I didn’t. I took a chance that your Eden was a place called Mount Weather and that’s where you were headed. Round about here’s where you’d be thinking of getting off if that were so.’

  I shake my head, perhaps a little too quickly.

  ‘I don’t know about any Mount Weather. We’re going further north.’

  He squints at me over the thermos.

  ‘Wel
l, I guess I called it wrong then. Not that it matters, seeing as I found you.’

  ‘Where are Truck and the others?’

  Hicks shrugs.

  ‘Can’t say for certain. My guess is he picked up your trail out of Covington, followed you up the mountain road. Boots will be slowing them down some, but I’d say they’re half a day behind us at most.’

  ‘You had no problems getting more medicine?’

  Hicks shakes his head.

  ‘Doc wants you both real bad. She doesn’t want the girl turning before she can get her back in a cage.’

  He looks over at Mags.

  ‘She doesn’t look good. How long was she without meds?’

  ‘She had none today until you got here. A half dose yesterday and the day before.’

  He whistles softly through his teeth.

  ‘Doc said Truck might have been holding back on her too.’

  I look up at this.

  ‘She’ll be alright, though, now that she’s got more of Gilbey’s medicine.’

  I say it as certainly as I can but there’s a plaintive tone to my voice. I’m not asking a question; I’m a child seeking reassurance.

  He takes a sip and puts the thermos back down.

  ‘Doc’s medicine don’t work like that, son. It holds back the virus, slows it down. It can’t undo the damage it’s done. We’d best get her to this Eden place soon as we can. How much further is it?’

  ‘Ninety miles. Mostly interstate.’

  ‘And you’re sure you can find it? Without a map or nothing?’

  I do have a map; it’s in the inside pocket of my parka. But I don’t need it now.

  ‘I scavenged that area for five years. North of Hager I know like the back of my hand.’

  ‘We’re going to Maryland?’ He says it Merlin, just like Marv used to.

  I shake my head.

  ‘Pennsylvania. Just over the state line.’

  Hicks rubs his jaw, like he’s working something out.

  ‘What kind of time you been making?’

  ‘Maybe thirty miles a day.’ In reality it’s been more like twenty. On a good day, twenty-five. Only we haven’t had so many of those lately.

  ‘Three days. She ain’t got that long. Can’t you go any faster?’

  ‘I can.’ My feet are mostly healed now; Marv and I could do forty miles in a stretch if we had to.

  ‘And the girl?’

  I nod, but only because I need it to be so. This last couple of days Mags has been struggling, and I know it won’t get better until I get her to Eden. I think of Marv on that last hike out to the Blue Ridge Mountain Road. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. She never weighed much, even before, and I’m used to hiking with a full backpack. If I have to I’ll carry her.

  ‘So what’s been slowing you down?’

  I don’t say anything but my eyes flick in the direction of the altar.

  Hicks takes another sip from his thermos. He stares back at me for a long moment.

  ‘Alright then. Well if we push I reckon we can be at this Eden place night after tomorrow. It’ll involve a couple of long days and we’ll have to hike through the night some, but I’m guessing you’ll not object to that.’

  He screws the lid back on the thermos and stands up.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  But he doesn’t answer. He just nods at my sleeping bag.

  ‘Best get some rest, kid. Early start tomorrow.’

  *

  THE DOOR OPENS and the boy watches as the soldier enters. Light from the fire seeps into the room, for a moment bringing with it traces of color. The soldier closes the door softly behind him and everything is gray again.

  The soldier’s carrying a flask. He sets it down on the ground. The boy wonders whether he means to just sit and watch him, like he used to when he was in the cage. But then the soldier reaches into his pocket. When he pulls his hand out he’s holding something between his fingers. He draws his thumb over it and a short cruel-looking blade folds out of the handle and clicks into place.

  The boy tugs at the cable tie binding his wrists but the soldier has ratcheted them tight and they don’t budge. He shuffles backwards, pushing himself further up against the radiator.

  The soldier crouches down in front of him.

  ‘Don’t worry. I ain’t here to hurt you.’

  The soldier doesn’t smell like the boy, or how the girl used to, but there’s the trace of something on his breath. The boy feels dizzy for a moment. Something unwelcome wakes and stirs inside him.

  ‘Hold still now.’

  The soldier slides the point of the blade between his wrists. The blade must be sharp because it slices through the hard plastic without the soldier having to work it much. The cable tie drops to the floor. The boy places his hands in his lap and rubs his wrists.

  The soldier examines the knife for a moment and then tosses it away like it is no more use to him now than the thing it has just cut. It skitters across the floor, bounces off the baseboard and comes to rest in the corner. He steps back and sits down opposite, next to the door. As he leans back against the wall his parka falls open. The shadows are dark but the boy can smell the oiled metal that hangs there.

  ‘I figured it was time we had ourselves a chat.’

  The soldier reaches up and flips his eye patch and the boy sees now why he smells different. The soldier is like him. Or at least part of him is.

  The soldier reaches for the thermos.

  ‘You like the girl don’t you?’

  The boy nods his head warily. He does like the girl. She got him out of the cage. She’s going to bring him somewhere and fix him. He only hopes it won’t be much further.

  The soldier picks up the thermos. The fingers of one hand close around the lid while the other steady the base. He starts to unscrew it.

  ‘You know she’s not well don’t you?’

  The boy nods his head again. He’s sorry about what’s happening to the girl now. He remembers what it was like. The headaches. The pain. Like the blood in his veins had been drained and replaced with molten metal. But he knows that soon it will pass.

  The lid completes its final revolution and the soldier places the thermos carefully to one side. He pulls back the parka and now the boy can see the gun nestling in its holster. The soldier removes the lid and places it on the ground.

  It takes a second for the smell to drift over but then the boy’s jaw clamps shut and the muscles there clench in a long, shuddering spasm. He feels something flare and writhe inside him, a compulsion so fierce, so complete that it threatens to bend his very bones if he does not obey. The fingers that were resting in his lap a moment ago curl into claws. He places them on the ground in front of him and tilts his head, scenting the air. The smell hangs so heavily that he can taste it; it feels slick in his throat. The thermos sits only a few feet in front of him. He leans forward towards it, the way a ravenous dog might approach a wounded prey.

  He is almost lost to it now but the part of him that is still the boy is vaguely aware that the soldier’s hand has reached inside his parka. With an almighty effort he pushes himself backwards. His fingers will not unbend so he places them in his lap and pulls his knees up so they cannot be seen. The soldier’s hand lingers a moment longer over the pistol then he slowly withdraws it.

  ‘Not as far gone as I thought you’d be by now.’ After a long moment he picks up the lid, places it back on the thermos and begins to screw it shut. ‘All the same, you ain’t got it in you to make it where we’re headed.’

  The smell recedes but still it lingers. The soldier is talking but the boy can barely pay attention to what he is saying. He continues to stare at the thermos. The muscles along his jaw ache but he does not seem able to relax them.

  ‘Hey, stay with me now.’

  The soldier holds his hand in front of his face and clicks his fingers. The boy finally tears his eyes off the thermos and looks at him.

  ‘Thing is, the girl ain’t got much tim
e. If we hustle I reckon I can get her there before she turns. But not if we have to haul you with us. Only she’s not going to leave you behind. And the boy won’t go against her. So the way I see it...’

  The soldier leaves the sentence for him to finish.

  ‘You want me to leave.’

  The soldier nods.

  ‘I do. Find somewhere dark. Hunker down. It’ll be over soon enough.’

  ‘What will it be like?’

  The soldier doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stares at the child sitting opposite him in the darkness.

  ‘I’ve thought about that a lot. Can’t say I have an answer for you though. Don’t plan to find out myself.’ He pulls back the parka so the handle of the gun is once again visible. ‘Maybe it’ll be like going to sleep. Do you remember that?’

  The boy nods.

  The soldier pulls the patch down over his eye. He picks up the thermos and stands.

  ‘I’ll leave the door open for you.’

  ‘Are they going to fix you?’

  The soldier stops at the door. For a long moment he just stands there with one hand on the handle. The boy thinks he’s going to turn around but he doesn’t. At last he just shakes his head.

  ‘There’s no fixing me, kid.’

  *

  IN THE DREAM I’m back in the tunnel. The scuffling echoes towards me along the curved granite walls. I know it’s somewhere behind me in the darkness, but always when I try and see it something stops me; an invisible restraint that prevents me from turning my head. I reach down to wind the flashlight but when my fingers turn the stubby plastic handle nothing happens.

  I look up. I think I can just see the faintest glimmer of light, somewhere ahead of me in the distance. I try to run but it’s like I’m wading through deep snow. I hear it again, much closer now. The tunnel’s definitely growing lighter, but I know I’m never going to make it.