by Glen Krisch
He shifted at the sound of someone approaching him from behind. He turned quickly, ready to strike, but he relaxed when he saw it was only Delaney. She looked concerned—for him, for Jason, for herself? Perhaps for any or all of those reasons. Whatever the case this clusterfuck of a situation was all her fault. In a matter of seconds, at the inflection point between calm reasoning and irretrievable violence, Delaney had acted on impulse, taking the decision out of his hands. And in those few short seconds not only did Marcus lose one of his best men, but his brother had lit out for parts unknown.
"You shouldn't be near me right now." It was a warning as much as a statement of fact.
"He's gone, love." Delaney placed her hand on Marcus's shoulder.
"Don't say that." He shrugged her away. "Don't ever fucking say that."
Even though he rebuffed her, something in that brief touch subdued his urge to wreak havoc, at least temporarily. He walked toward the boundary between the fields surrounding Jerry's cabin and the woods, searching for some pattern that would indicate his brother's crazed route of escape.
"He's been gone, what, an hour?" He rubbed his face roughly with his palms until he saw stars. "We're going to find him," he said resolutely. "We need him."
"We don't need anyone but us," Delaney insisted. "Just you and me."
"No, Deli, that's where you're wrong. I need Jason, and if I need him, that means we all need him."
Fear glimmered in her eyes and she lowered her gaze. "Right… you are so right, Marcus."
He supposed she would fear him just as much or more than he feared her, and he did fear her and her unpredictable, violent ways. But could he keep her in line? Could he afford to not have her at his side, especially if Jason wasn't around? No, he wouldn't allow the idea to cement in his mind; Jason would be back in the fold, and soon. There was no room for contingencies.
"I need you on board with this, Deli. It's what I want."
"I'm sorry… for everything." She looked up from the ground, her every action demure, contrite. It was hard to reconcile this gentle soul with the woman who had so ruthlessly cut down Austin Collins little more than an hour before. "Yes, we'll find him. I have faith—in you, in the Arkadium, in our survival."
"That's my girl."
Delaney nodded and brushed lank wet hair back from her forehead. She ran her finger along his chin and then placed her hand over his heart.
"I love you, Marcus. That will never change."
Before he could reply, she left him standing in the middle of the field of rain-soaked flowers. As she headed around the side of the cabin, she cupped her mouth with her hands.
"Jason!" she shouted. "Please, it's okay to come out! We need to stick together!"
While Jerry had retreated to the dry confines of his cabin, everyone else had fanned out in search of Jason. After seeing Delaney so viciously attack and kill Austin, no one argued, falling robotically in line. He supposed they all needed something to do.
"Jason!" Marcus screamed for the hundredth time in the last hour, unable to hide the emotion from his voice.
He sensed hurried strides and saw Hector rushing back toward the cabin.
"Hector!" he called.
Hector spotted Marcus and sprinted to him.
"I found something, Marcus!" He came to a stop to catch his breath.
"What is it?"
"A trail… going off into the woods. It's all over the place, clumsy, but it's fresh. I found some boot tracks, bent grass."
"Show me."
"Can't see for shit in this mess. We'll lose the trail in fifty feet, and if we do that, it'll be no good."
Marcus glared at him. "Fuck that. Get me some light out here. Make torches. Do something."
"Torches won't last in this rain," Hector said, thinking out loud. His eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers. "But you know, that old man, it looks like he's using a lantern in his cabin. I bet he's got extras we can, you know, borrow."
Marcus nodded appreciatively. "What are we going to do, Hector?"
It was a weighted question, and for a moment Hector didn't understand he was being tested. Then again, his eyes lit up, understanding. "We're going to do whatever it takes, sir. Whatever it takes."
"God damned right we are." Marcus headed over to the cabin door.
When he had nearly reached the cabin, Eldon, Mandy, and Linda Dwyer exited the woods nearby. They saw Marcus and fell in step with him. Besides being soaked, they were covered in mud.
"Were you three rolling around out there? Don't tell me you three were…?" He looked to each of them in turn. No one understood the implication.
"We had to bury him, no matter how vile his actions," Eldon said.
"I told you to find my brother, not bury some rapist scum."
"I can't track anyone in the woods in the middle of the night in a rainstorm," Linda said. Mandy remained silent but nodded enthusiastically. "I'm a housekeeper, not a green beret."
Marcus felt like giving her the back of his hand, but Hector's news was more pressing. "Fuck it. Hector found his trail anyway. We just need some lanterns to light the way. Gather up everyone else. We'll be ready to go in five minutes, tops."
Marcus pounded on the cabin's door. Thin bands of warm yellow light glowed between the cracks in the walls. "Jerry, open the fucking door!"
There was no immediate reaction from inside. It was almost as if the old man had disappeared along with Jason. But then Marcus heard hushed conversation, whispering, shushing sounds.
He pounded again, shaking the door in its frame. "You got about two seconds before—"
The door opened a few inches, just wide enough for the old man's bearded face to show.
"Yes?"
"What the fuck's going on in there? Who are you hiding?"
"Nobody."
"You said you were alone."
"I was… I mean, I am. All alone. Just me."
Marcus didn't want to hear another sniveling word.
"We need lights. Lanterns. Now. Everything you have."
"I don't got any to give—"
"I'm not asking." Marcus kicked in the door. It whipped open, catching Jerry square in the nose, smashing it flat with a satisfactory squelch. The old man covered his face and screamed incoherently as blood seeped between his fingers.
Marcus stepped inside the cabin with Hector a stride behind him. It was a one room catch-all. A cook stove stood in one corner with a set of shelves on either side filled with dry goods. Stringers of early garlic and herbs were set up to dry near the shuttered windows at the front of the cabin.
"Turn the place over."
"You got it," Hector said.
As Marcus scanned the cabin for anything useful, Jerry edged toward the bed tucked in the far corner of the room. There was someone lying under the covers, bundled up to her chin.
"You lied to me, old man."
"No, it's nothing. Nobody. Just a bunch of blankets. I swear!"
"Pay dirt!" Hector grabbed a couple of lanterns from a cabinet near the front door. Along with the one sitting on the small kitchen table, that made three. That would do just fine.
"Take those two outside. Give one to Eldon, and keep the other for yourself."
Hector nodded and left Marcus alone with Jerry.
Marcus could feel his rage return, and it wanted an outlet.
"Nobody fucking lies to me." Marcus stepped toward the bundled shape and Jerry moved to block his path.
"You cain't!"
Marcus took hold of Jerry's beard and pulled down on it hard, like someone trying to bring an excited dog to heel. The old man cried out and Marcus slapped him across the face.
Jerry fell to his hands and knees, but as soon as Marcus made a move toward the bed, he grabbed onto his leg.
"Jesus Christ…" Marcus yanked his leg free and then pulled the blanket away from the bed, revealing the corpse of an old woman. She was quite peaceful looking in her sleeping pose but still quite dead, as she had been for a long time. Mar
cus stepped away, smelling the faintest hint of dry, earthy rot on the air.
"Elena!" Jerry pushed by Marcus to the bed. "You okay, dear?"
The old man stroked her arm. The skin of her face had withered to a leathery brown mask, and her eyes were closed. Her hands were tucked up under her chin as if she were merely trying to get more comfortable.
Jerry pulled the lip of the blanket back over her.
"She's been unwell." His gruff whisper verged on cracking. He didn't move, just stared down at the unmoving corpse.
"I see that," Marcus said. "But you're taking care of her?"
"Yes! She needs me, so I take care of her." He smiled and turned toward Marcus. "Now, if you don't mind, she ain't feeling up for company."
Marcus knew that he should just take the third lantern and leave the crazy old man to his small, isolated world. "You know she's not sick, right, Jerry? Your wife, she's dead. From the looks of it, she has been for a long time."
Jerry raised an index finger to lips covered in blood from his ruined nose and shushed him. "Please, I'm beggin' nice-like. Don't wake her."
"It'd take a little more than me raising my voice to do that." He went over to the foot of the bed and kicked the wooden frame. "See?" The body shifted in the bed. He kicked it again and the body slumped over on its side. "See what I'm saying, Jerry?"
"Stop it!" Jerry slammed his shoulder into Marcus's ribs, but he barely moved. He was seeing red now, his vision narrowing down darkening paths.
"Shouldn't have done that."
The old man pulled back his fist to punch him, but Marcus easily deflected the blow with a quick backhand. He then landed a punch of his own in Jerry's belly, and then followed it up with an upper cut to the chin. As Jerry wobbled on his feet, ready to fall, Marcus smashed a heel-strike into Jerry's Adam's apple.
Someone knocked on the door. "Marcus, we better hit the trail while it's still fresh."
"Be right out, Hector."
Jerry's face turned from bright red to purple. His eyes bulged in their sockets as he scratched at his damaged throat. He slumped over on the bed, reaching for Elena, wanting to be close to her in the end.
"Fucking tell me not to wake your fucking dead bitch wife." Marcus stalked about the cabin, glancing from the door to the bed, wanting to punch a hole through a wall. "Fucking touch me?"
He needed to rein in his anger. Before meeting Adam and becoming a member of the Arkadium, when his rage reached a certain level, the only thing to bring it down again was a needle in his arm. But he'd quit smack. And even if he wanted to, which he God damn wanted right now, he wasn't carrying.
"Fuck!" He headed for the door and grabbed the lantern sitting on the kitchen table. He liked the weighty sloshing, like a controlled cataclysm at his command. Like the heavenly succor of uncut H. He took one stride toward the door, then looked back at Jerry. The old man still twitched, weakly, still holding on to life. He no longer worried over his collapsed esophagus, instead, placing his hand on his wife's cheek.
Marcus's vision swam in red, reveled in it; he chucked the lantern and it shattered against the headboard, showering burning fuel and jagged debris over Jerry's writhing body.
"Fucking tell me…" he muttered. "No, I fucking tell you."
Marcus headed out the front door, not bothering to close it.
"What the hell happened in there?" Hector asked, his lantern washing his brown skin in warm yellow.
"It slipped." Marcus shrugged. His rage, while still humming just below the surface was now under his control. He looked around and saw Delaney staring into the spreading flames that guttered and roared inside the cabin. He liked seeing the fear in her eyes. It would help keep her in line.
Eldon looked ready to run inside the cabin, but Linda and Mandy held him back.
Such a shame, Marcus thought. He's too kind to last long in this world.
"Where's everyone else?" Marcus said. "The girls? RJ?"
"Haven't seen 'em," Hector said.
"Fuck them. Show me this trail. Find my brother, Hector."
"Let's move out!" Hector called out.
Chapter 17
1.
When Jason woke his lips were cracked and bloody, and his tongue had dried to the roof of his mouth. He tried to swallow, but couldn't. He pried himself up off the couch, forgetting about his injured ribs. Pain coursed through him, but he muscled through it until he was able to stand. Pale light dimmed the windows. He could've slept a normal night's sleep or he could've been out for a whole day and the following night, he really had no way of knowing. From the floor near his feet, the cat meowed at him, as if it had been waiting for him to stir the whole time he slept.
"Good morning," he croaked.
He shuffled over to the kitchen sink, the cat scampering ahead. It hopped onto the counter and waited for him.
"Persistent, aren't you?"
Luckily, the water still flowed from the tap. He eased his mouth under the faucet and let the water splash across his parched lips and throat. It tasted like rust, but he didn't care; he drank and rinsed his mouth and drank again. Finally, he splashed water on his face until it felt somewhat clean. His face was no longer sandpapery but an actual beard. He would either have to shave soon or get used to the itching as it grew out.
An empty cereal bowl was in the bottom of the sink. He filled it with water and placed it on the counter before opening two more cans of cat food. The cat padded over, but before it would partake, it meowed at him. Jason rubbed it between the ears, trying to flatten the goofy cowlick. The weird spikes sprang right back into place. The cat leaned into him, enjoying the contact. Only then did it turn toward the bowl. He was starting to think it wasn't suffering from the worst case of feline bedhead but rather an odd quirk of genetics. Regardless, it gave the cat a silly charm.
Jason went to the front windows over the couch and spread the blinds. The sunlight sent shooting pain through his eyes. He winced and looked again. The water hadn't receded yet, which was a good thing. It meant he was safe for the time being, and hopefully, wouldn't have to worry about any unexpected visits from his brother.
The apartment's furnishings were all worn and decades old, but besides the smell of cat urine, the place was clean. The walls were dark wood paneling, and the floors were covered in thick golden shag. A picture frame stood on a small end table next to the couch. Jason picked it up to get a closer look. It was a portrait of a beautiful blonde woman. From her bouffant hairdo and the way she was propping her chin with her thumb and index finger, it looked like it was taken by a mall photographer sometime in the 1960s. But her smile made him pause; it was the beauty of that smile beyond any other detail of the photo that transcended time. She was definitely a looker.
He set the picture back down where he'd found it. A cabinet-style TV, so old it still had a rotary dial to switch the channels, was across from the couch. He wondered if it had still worked prior to the EMP, or if it was merely used to display the myriad houseplants forming a small jungle across the top of it. The world would never relearn such mundane facts. In a way, these small failings of civilization left him feeling empty inside. When Jason left the living room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror.
He stopped and stared, still in the hallway, not wanting to get any closer. He touched the scrapes on his cheek and forehead. Probed the lip that Marcus had split while trying to coerce a first entry of the New History out of him. He looked like a homeless tramp after a beat-down from a pack of frat kids out on a cruel dare. He involuntarily shook his head at the sight, and the movement only confirmed that wretched creature staring at him was his own reflection.
When he headed to investigate the bedroom, the cat nearly tripped him as it scooted out from under his feet.
"Geez, cat," he muttered.
It was sitting at the foot of the bed. It licked one paw casually as if it had been waiting there all day. The bedroom looked similar to the time capsule that was the living room. More photos were ar
ranged on top of a low dresser. In one, the blonde from the living room photo was sitting, not posing, but actually sitting on the hood of a red convertible that was parked at a scenic overlook. She was smoking a cigarette, trying to blow smoke to the wind through her widening grin. Another picture showed her wedding photo. Even though her new husband was dressed in a tux, the man was average-looking, and had obviously out-kicked his coverage. Another showed her in a red blouse with Kettle Creek Supper Club stitched over one breast.
His journalist's curiosity was getting the better of him and he was losing track of time. He could wade through these people's effects all day, could learn more and more about them, but the learning itself felt like a criminal act. Even if they were no longer alive—and he had no way of knowing—he should respect their privacy.
Jason left the bedroom, waited for the cat to follow, and then pulled the door closed behind him. After filling a water glass and taking more ibuprofen, he went over to his backpack. Hector had issued him the kit back in Concord, and in the meantime, Jason hadn't had time to take stock of what he'd been lugging around all this time. There had never been a lull, had never been a moment when he didn't feel like he might die the next.
He brought his pack over to the couch. The cat hopped up next to him and watched his every move, its tail twitching, curious.
"Let's see what we've got here."
He unzipped the pack and just now noticed it was waterproof. "That's good to know."
The cat meowed.
"I know, right?" Jason rubbed its head and then went back to his inventory. He found a small canvas bag with a few medical supplies that were similar to what he'd seen in Mandy's kit. Besides bandages and gauze, he noticed little bottles with pictograms instead of words. There were a couple of changes of clothes. Everything was hand-sewn and made from natural fabrics, but it all looked like a perfect match for his size. There was also a basic set of fishing tackle—hooks, lines, and bobbers—as well as a collapsed fishing pole made of fiberglass.
