Viral Airwaves

by Claudie Arseneault

  Andeal ran a shaky hand through his matted hair. “You’ll find your way, won’t you? I need sleep.”

  He spun on his heels and backtracked up the corridor—the opposite direction from his bedroom. Vermen watched him disappear and rubbed his forearm, uneasy. He’d never been good with comforting others, and always ended up standing there with nothing but an urge to help.

  “We’ll figure it out,” he said, though he knew that in order to give Andeal what he wanted, Hans might have to give up a lot of his own life.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Captain Vermen lifted his bright globe and examined the shaky railing. Lack of wood had prevented the rebels from solidifying the structure. In the first week, Andeal’s pet project had stalled. No materials, no work. But the engineer had poured hours over his plans and redesigned the slide leading the balloon’s basket to its lift-off ramp so it’d ‘use wood in a more efficient way and remain as solid as before’. The return of regular work was welcomed by everyone. When they hammered planks together, they forgot their empty stomachs.

  Examining the result, however, Hans Vermen doubted Andeal’s estimations were right. Fatigue must’ve inserted mistakes in his work. The railing would never hold. A good thing they tested it now, before they truly needed to take off.

  He searched for signs of doubts in the rebel next in line: his favorite red head. Except he’d shaved the bright red rastas and a tiny brown stubble began to grow back. The Burgian kept rubbing his temple where Vermen struck him—one of many scars he now sported. His left arm hung limp at his side, either broken or badly damaged. He had been part of the failed supply run weeks ago, that had so upset Andeal. Joshua seemed in a strange daze, like he could barely bring himself to care about this test.

  Quite the opposite from the man on his other side.

  Henry Schmitt would never voice a doubt about this enterprise. He clutched his bright light with a wide grin, staring up the tunnel at where the basket would come from. Of everyone held prisoner under Mount Kairn, Schmitt had adapted the best to their recent problems. Skipping meals seemed to suit him fine.

  A refreshing breeze wafted through the tunnel and their lights swayed. Twenty something rebels had lined up next to the railing, spread on both side of the wooden structure. He’d been placed in the middle of everyone at Seraphin’s express demand but Vermen didn’t complain—at least they hadn’t stuck him in his cell. Vermen tapped his foot on the ground and the nervous habit clanked his chains on the floor. Accusatory looks turned his way. What was Andeal waiting for?

  The engineer’s warning call echoed down the hall, followed by excited whispers. The railing shivered; they must be pushing the basket. Wheels creaked as they carried the apparatus forward. Everyone held their breath. Vermen’s heart sped and he extended his arm, spreading his lamp’s light further.

  The vibrations turned into a worrisome rumble. Tac-tac-tac, the basket’s wheels clipped nails in their wild slide down. Vermen gritted his teeth as the rattling bounced around the walls and rang his ears. In the swaying lights, he’d swear the mountain itself shuddered and rumbled. Henry Schmitt took a sharp breath as the contraption appeared.

  It sped past them, shaking Vermen’s bones and creating a draft of air that drew a squeal of glee from Schmitt. The captain snorted. Once you saw a man frozen in terror, noodles hanging from his mouth, it became hard to take him seriously. It did not help that Schmitt ran after the basket like a child. Perhaps he worried it’d crash through the barriers erected at the end of the track.

  Andeal sprinted on the other side in a useless attempt to keep up. He bumped into the still Burgian on his way, waking him from his torpor. All the rebels followed and Vermen found his strides leading him toward the cliff’s edge. Fear lit their gazes. The basket rushed too fast. Everyone would be needed to reel it in.

  * * *

  As the captain reached the tunnel’s end, the heavy contraption crashed into the end barrier. It had been built to keep the basket from flying off the cliff and crashing into the mountain side. Andeal cringed at the snapping sound of breaking planks and skidded to a stop. One long nerve-wracking creak followed. Everybody froze. Would the blockade hold? Or would their only basket go through it and tumble down Mount Kairn’s steep cliff?

  Vermen didn’t wait to find out. He strode across the launch platform, strong gusts whipping his chains around. He grabbed the basket with both hands and hung all his weight to hold it back, pulling it back down the slight, upward launching slope. Before long a lithe form jumped in to help. Hans glanced aside, ready to mock the lightweight trying to contribute. His gaze met Seraphin’s and he bit his tongue, a dizzying wave of heat spinning his head. Holt’s proximity upset him. Hans tried to ignore it. Soon others brought assistance and they pulled it back.

  When the basket rested safely on the railing, everyone heaved a sigh of relief. Vermen crouched and rubbed his ankles, where the chain scraped through his pants.

  “Speed is good,” Andeal said. “It’ll carry us further away from the cliff.”

  Henry crept closer to the edge and risked a glance down. Andeal’s comment pulled a nervous chuckle from the future pilot. Seraphin clapped his hands to catch their attention.

  “All right, everyone inside. We’re a shining spot on the mountain side right now.”

  They gathered in the great cavern but their minds remained on the breathtaking trial run. Smiles decorated the emaciated visages for the first time in weeks and pride straightened their back. Vermen leaned on the wall, in the background. Holt had found a crate to climb upon. Every day made him more skeletal.

  “There’s a surprise for you in the mess hall. Food’s been scarce but tonight we all deserve a bit of celebration. Besides, it’s not like we’ll need to drink a lot to feel it on our empty stomachs, is it?”

  The rebels laughed and converged on the exit. Vermen briefly watched the flow and shook his head. Let them party. He had work to do. He found the closest spools of rope and slung them over his shoulder, then grabbed a toolbox. He’d need all night to dismantle the barricade and camouflage the exposed railing.

  The thundering echo of twenty-something walkers died as he prepared to leave to cavern room. It had muffled another conversation, which now carried through clearly and Vermen stopped in his tracks. They might be whispering, but Andeal’s and Seraphin’s words were audible by all.

  “Let them clean up. You’ve worked non-stop for weeks. You deserve that drink more than anyone else.”

  Seraphin’s concerned tone unsettled Vermen. This man could hold another’s gaze and blow his brain out. He was supposed to be all ruthless efficiency, not a kind man insisting his friend rest. It reminded him too much of the Seraphin atop Mount Kairn’s summit, the one who’d saved his life.

  “Not yet,” Andeal said. “I need to inspect the railing and note the weaknesses for tomorrow. Besides, that basket is almost as tall as I am. Three won’t be too many to drag it back up.”

  Three? Vermen glanced around and spotted Henry Schmitt. The man waited near the railing, his own toolbox in hand. Great. A babbling fool was exactly what he needed to make his night better.

  “All right,” Seraphin said. “Don’t take too long. I miss trouncing you at the bags’ game despite my horrific eyesight.”

  The tease brought defiant laughter out of Andeal. “Oh, I’ll beat you one day, you’ll see. Give me an hour and take a drink or ten while you wait.”

  “What, and improve my aim?” Seraphin clapped Andeal’s back as he started out of the large cavern. “Can’t wait to see by how many points you’ll lose tonight!”

  The Regarian’s steps smacked on the stone floor as he followed the rest of his troops out. When Andeal approached them and clapped his hands, Vermen forced a neutral expression to his face and tried not to seem bothered by the friendly exchange.

  “Let’s go,” Andeal said. “We have work to do.”

  Lots of it. They traveled down to the launch platform. Vermen set his toolbox down and
handed one of the ropes to Andeal. He tied one end to the basket’s upper-right corner while the engineer looped the other spool to the upper-left corner. They advanced on each side of the railing until the ropes were taut.

  “Schmitt,” Vermen called. “You push.”

  “Yes sir!”

  Vermen didn’t bother to hide his smile. Noodle Man was the only rebel who treated him like an officer and the captain enjoyed striking fear with a few well-placed commands. The undignified shackles at his feet did not suck away all his prestige and authority.

  They pulled and Henry pushed, up the slope. The wheels creaked and refused to roll smoothly, adding friction to the basket’s weight. Despite their combined strength, the task proved harder than the training Vermen had gone—or put trainees—through. He strained his muscles, ground his teeth against the building pain in his arms, and legs and forced his breath to come in regular bursts. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and into his thick beard. He could no longer feel the cool night’s air beyond his burning skin.

  But he wasn’t alone. Henry panted so hard it covered all other sounds, except when he stumbled. Andeal’s blue skin had turned almost purple. His blond hair stuck to his forehead and sweat drenched his short-sleeved shirt.

  Ten meters left. Ten meters of laborious slope before they finished. Vermen gave a final pull, taxing his muscles to their limit. All three added their energy and their joint efforts brought the basket over the ridge, to the flat ground where it rolled with ease. Andeal sat down and rubbed his hands while Schmitt fell to his knees. Vermen paced around the cavern to still his breath. The ropes had dug red marks in his palms and he massaged them.

  “My head’s swimming so much I can barely see straight,” Andeal said. “If I go now, no amount of alcohol will save me from public humiliation.”

  “I don’t think the party will die anytime soon,” Henry answered between two short gasps. He rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t even have the energy to go back to the launch site.”

  Vermen stretched his arms up and smirked at them. The army’s rough training sessions had their benefits and he’d been careful to keep his physical shape intact. Andeal wouldn’t mock his daily exercises now.

  “You two take a breather. I’ll scrap the blockade. The basket did half my job anyway.”

  Neither of them protested. Andeal raised a fatigued hand to wave him good luck. Vermen picked a small and protected lantern to light his way. His eyes wandered across the railing’s shabby frame. How had these men built such a solid construction? Not just the rebels. Him, too. The captain frowned and gave a little push to the wooden plank. It creaked and held. He’d helped with the redesign, same as everyone. He repressed the rising pride and quickened his pace.

  The sweet breeze calmed his thoughts as he arrived at his destination. His heart throbbed as he glanced up, but the low clouds blocked the stars. Another time, if he could convince Andeal to accompany him. The captain was reluctant to ask for this favor. The more bridges he built with the rebels, the more confused he became.

  He picked up a crowbar and hammer, eager to work and forget. After dragging the balloon’s basket all the way up, disassembling the blockade was a child’s game. Vermen worked in short bursts, taking a few planks down at a time and throwing them upon a pile. He allowed himself small breaks to stretch his muscles and enjoy the cool night. No need to push his strength to the limits. He was in no hurry to return to the mountain’s still air and bleak tunnels. Even less his cell.

  By the time he threw the last broken slab upon the junk pile, he contemplated climbing down the cliff to escape. His chained legs and the almost vertical drop forced him to discard the idea. He flattened himself at the cliff’s edge and stared down. The mountainside disappeared in the darkness.

  “Scary, isn’t it?”

  Schmitt’s voice startled him. Vermen pushed himself up.

  “Terrifying. I judged you for a coward on our first meeting, but I was wrong. Launching off takes a specific form of suicidal courage.”

  “No, coward was about right.”

  The answer took him by surprise. Not that he doubted its truth, but few men would admit to a lack of courage. Saying it out loud was a form of audacity in itself. Henry picked up the lantern and approached to examine the launch rails. His face remained red from the earlier effort.

  “Why fly it, then?” Vermen asked. “You don’t seem the type to throw your life away, pathetic though it is.”

  Schmitt’s expression darkened. He stopped his inspection to lean on the structure and reached inside his pocket, removing an old dirtied cloth from it and handing it over. Vermen squinted at it, made out scribbled words, but the dim light prevented any reading.

  “My father wasn’t that type either. Not until he overheard the Clarin twins say they’d created the Plague to grab power. Not until he understood they were doing it again. Changes your perspective of what qualifies as reasonable risk.”

  Vermen staggered a step back. In a single casual sentence, Henry Schmitt had thrown to his face what Andeal had spent the last weeks trying to show him. The enormity of the accusation registered.

  “Lies,” he called it. “Laughable lies.”

  “He recorded them. That message you hold is the last thing my father wrote before dying. It told me where to find the disc.” Henry pushed himself away from the railing and stomped to the pile of planks. “Gathering proof is all the rebels did in—”

  “Shut up.”

  He’d heard a soft whirring in the sky, far above them. He scanned the clouds.

  “No, you listen—”

  Vermen sprung forward and clamped a hand over Schmitt’s mouth. He dragged the astonished man back to the tunnel before he released him.

  “Not a word. And douse that lamp!”

  It took all the commanding strength he could muster to turn his whisper into an urgent order. Schmitt cowered and did as told, wide-eyed. He switched off the light and froze in place. Vermen’s heart thundered and he could hear Noodle Man’s panicked breathing. It took all his will to focus on the sounds outside.

  The engine’s buzzing and the soft hum of a zeppelin’s electric system were unmistakable. And whoever said zeppelins always meant Union army. Vermen swallowed hard, gave Henry’s rag back, and stalked to the tunnel’s entrance. He risked a peek up.

  Where there was nothing but clouds an hour ago, he could now distinguish the shape of a large and flat warship. It flew lower than standard and lingered above Mount Kairn. The captain allowed his eyes to adjust. His gaze went to the telltale containers on the front and aft of the ship and he backpedaled inside.

  Bomber blimps did not hover above targets by coincidence.

  “Run!”

  Schmitt remained rooted to the spot and Vermen held back a curse. What wouldn’t he give for disciplined soldiers now?

  “Get your ass moving Schmitt! In twenty minutes, tops, they’ll drop all the holy explosives they have on board and if that balloon isn’t ready to launch before then, it never will. GO.”

  This time Henry spun on his heels and sprinted. Vermen did his best to follow but every time he lengthened his strides, the chains went taut and impeded him. He stumbled more than ran, scraping his hands on the rocks and railing as he caught himself and pushed onward. Each step caused the shackles to bite into his skin and pain flared up his legs. Warm blood trickled from his ankles. By the time he reached the balloon’s grand cavern, it had soaked his socks.

  Henry and Andeal had packed the propane tanks in the basket and now heaved the one crate of emergency provisions left untouched. When Vermen emerged in a cacophony of rattling chains, Andeal whirled about and threw a small metal object his way.

  A key. The captain caught it midair and knelt. His hands shook as he inserted it in the lock. He could barely breathe through the lump in his throat. The shackles opened with a soft clink.

  “Go warn the others!” Andeal called.

  Vermen dashed off without wasting a
second. His ankles throbbed but nothing hindered his movement now. Adrenaline carried him down the network of caves. Tomorrow he’d have bloody messes instead of feet, but tonight he could not stop. They counted on him.

  As the thought struck, he slowed his pace. If he alerted no one, these caverns would collapse on the heart of Holt’s band. He could scramble for an exit and leave his fellow soldiers do their work. Then all this nonsense would be over. No more wild conspiracy theories. No more Seraphin.

  He ought to ditch them. He was a proud captain of the Union Army. He’d vowed to defend President Kurtmann, to avenge his brother. His task was to take out the White Renegade’s group, not save them. A special permission granted by General Omar Clarin. He’d never asked why. He should have.

  A wild cheer traveled up the corridor and filled his ears. Vermen refused to be used to silence these men and women. He refused to let Andeal die trapped in the mountain. His heart hammering, he whispered an apology to his brother and sped up again.

  And how easy it was! His strides had none of the heavy fatality burdening him as he brought a dying Andeal to his wife. In choosing the rebels—even only one of them—over his duty, Vermen had set himself on a path he could not counter. His sprint lined up with a reality he’d denied for weeks: he had already betrayed his vows. He could not return to the Union’s army.

  Instead he burst into the ongoing rebel party and killed the mood. Half of them jumped to their feet and reached for possible weapons—anything from pistols to mugs and forks. They froze when he remained in the doorway, hands on his knees, out of breath. His lungs burned and pain scrambled his thoughts. He focused and formed a coherent sentence.

  “There’s a bomber blimp over the mountain.”