Children Of The Mountain (Book 2): The Devil You Know (28 page)

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 time. 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.’

*

I
N 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.

I feel a sudden weight across my shoulders as it lands on the back, and a second later I hear the snapping of jaws inches from my neck. I’m pitched forward; I feel my shoulder bounce off brace wire, but somehow I manage to stay on my feet. I know it can’t last. It’s lunging forward again and again, straining to get inside the parka, but my hood and the backpack are getting in its way. I’m trying to free myself from the straps but when I reach down I realize they’re not straps but its arms.

And then finally I lose my balance and I’m pitched forward, and suddenly I’m no longer in the tunnel but tumbling out into gray morning light between two crumbling gateposts. I don’t need to read the sign on the flaking paintwork to know where this place is. My boots sink into the drifted snow and I fall forward, flailing in the deep powder.

Behind me the fury’s keening and howling like an animal caught in a trap. Its emaciated arms are wrapped around its head and its face is pushed into the gray snow, like it’s trying to burrow its way out of whatever torment it’s suddenly found itself in.

I look down and realize I’m holding Marv’s gun. There’s only one bullet; I can’t afford to miss like I did in the tunnel at Mount Weather. I take a step closer, using my other hand to steady my aim. My finger slips through the trigger guard and I take a deep breath. There’s a sharp crack as I squeeze. The grip whacks itself against my palm and the pistol rears up. A neat black circle appears in the back of the fury’s head and it stops moving.

The thick, sulfurous smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils and for the first time I begin to realize something’s very wrong. I let the gun fall from my fingers.

I look down again. The fury’s head is shaved on both sides. But in the center there’s a familiar strip of hair, once so dark it was almost black, now shot through with white. Blood, thick with the cold, wells up from the hole the bullet has made. It trickles down her neck and drops into the gray snow.

I wake with a start. Hicks is standing over me shaking my shoulder.

‘Time to get up. Lot of ground to cover today.’

I blink sleep from my eyes. The dream’s evaporating, but not quickly enough. I look around. It’s still at least an hour ’till dawn and cold. I banked the fire but it’s died overnight. There’s no wood left so I pull on my boots and parka and head outside to find some more. When I get back Mags is awake, sitting up with the sleeping bag pulled tight around her.

I dump the meager collection of branches I’ve gathered on the ground and busy myself with the fire. The wood’s damp and won’t light but for once I’m glad of it. The fury’s gone, and soon I will have to tell her. I don’t know what Hicks said to make it leave but I can guess. When he came back from behind the altar I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. But I heard it, soon after, making its way to the back of the church. I didn’t stir from my sleeping bag as the door opened and it stepped out into the wind.

I fiddle with the branches for longer than I need to and then finally I use some of the gas and they catch. The withered limbs hiss as I feed them to the chary flames, sending up coils of dense gray smoke that smell of decay. I fill the tin mug with water from my canteen and place it among the smoldering branches.

What little heat the fire’s offering draws Mags closer. She sits next to me, cowled up inside the sleeping bag, the faint light playing across her features. I don’t want to look at her but I can’t help it. The circles under her eyes are almost black now, and underneath her cheeks have sunken in, sharpening the angles of the bones there. The water’s starting to bubble so I mix in a packet of coffee and fish out the charred mug. She reaches for the cup she uses. As she holds it up so I can transfer the contents I see the virus’s scabrous advance. I doubt it’ll hold liquid much longer. The cup disappears inside the sleeping bag and she huddles around it, like she needs to extract every last ounce of the warmth that’s there.

‘How’re you feeling?’

She takes a sip of the coffee.

‘Yeah. So-so.’

‘Just a couple more days. Hicks reckons we can be there tomorrow night.’

I take a couple of MREs from my backpack and start unwrapping them. She shakes her head.

‘Not for me.’

‘Mags.’

‘It’s too early, Gabe. I’ll eat later, when we’ve been on the road a while. Promise.’

I hand her one of the plastic containers. She picks it up, unscrews the cap and raises it to her lips. She hesitates a moment and then knocks it back with a grimace.

‘Have you given Johnny his yet?’

I don’t know what to say, so I stare down at the MRE that’s hissing away at my feet.

‘Gabe?’

Hicks voices carries over to us from somewhere behind me in the darkness.

‘It’s gone. Left in the middle of the night.’

‘Gone where?’

Hicks steps out of the shadows. He’s holding the thermos in one hand.

‘Can’t say that I know.’

Mags throws back the sleeping bag and gets to her feet. She has to steady herself on one of the pews.

‘Didn’t you try and stop him?’

But she doesn’t wait for a response. She’s already pulling on her boots.

‘Mags. Maybe it’s for the best.’

She stops what she’s doing. And what scares me then isn’t the dark circles under her eyes, or the way there are hollow shadows where her cheeks used to be. It’s the way she’s looking at me, like I’ve said something that has surprised her, and now I’m being re-evaluated.

‘He’s not a bird with a broken wing, Gabriel. He’s a child, just like we were, when Kane took us.’ She points at Hicks. ‘And when I was in that cage and one of
his
soldiers wouldn’t let me have Gilbey’s medicine that child gave me his.’

She reaches for her parka and then turns around to look at me again.

‘Don’t you see? We can’t allow ourselves to think like them, like there might be some reason that makes it okay to do bad things to people.’

She goes back to gathering up her things. I stare down at the floor. I doubt I could feel any worse than I do right now. Hicks looks at her like he’s just starting to figure out what he’s gotten himself into.

‘Alright, calm down now. It can’t have gone far. I’ll go find it.’

‘No.’

‘I thought you wanted it back.’

‘I do want
him
back. I just don’t trust
you
to do it.’

She looks back at me.

‘Are you coming with me?’

I don’t know how I’ve let it come to this but there’s only one thing now that might save us. I look up at her and slowly shake my head.

‘No, Mags, I’m not.’

*

I
SAY GOODBYE
to them by a faded red Do Not Enter sign just as another gray dawn’s taking shape over the lifeless hills to the east. Hicks passes me a handful of the plastic containers. I ask him how many he has left for Mags and he says plenty but I make him take them out and show me anyway. He says they’re going to try and make it to a place called Falling Waters by nightfall. It’s a little town just off the interstate a mile or so shy of the Maryland state line. There’s a small church that sits at a bend in the Potomac; they’ll wait for me there ’till sunup. He sets off down the off-ramp. Mags hangs back.

‘Thank you for doing this.’

I look down at the snow.

‘I knew-’ I realize I’m about to say
it
but at the last minute I stop myself ‘-he was going to go. I didn’t stop him either.’

‘Yeah, I figured. Thanks anyway.’

She reaches out one mitten like she means to take hold of my hand and then thinks better of it. She’s about to pull it back when I grab it. She looks up at me.

‘Take care, Gabe. Find him quickly and catch us up.’

She turns around and sets off after Hicks. I watch her making her way slowly down to the interstate as I hike across the overpass. The wind’s picked up. It swirls the snow around her. The highway curves around to the east as soon as the off-ramp joins it. Within minutes she’s gone.

I turn my attention back to finding the kid. I told Mags I’d know where to look for him, that I’d find him faster on my own. But that was just to get her to leave with Hicks. The truth is I’m no Marv, or Truck. And whatever tracks the kid might have made a few hours ago the wind’s long covered them.

I tell myself it’s just another puzzle. All I have to do is put myself in his shoes and try and figure out where he would have gone. Truck’s hot on our heels so I doubt he’ll have gone back the way we’ve come. He knows we were headed north on I-81, so it’s unlikely he’d choose that way either. Taking the interstate south would certainly get him out of everyone’s way but as I look at it stretching out for miles behind me I figure he’ll have passed on that too. He’ll only have had a few hours to find somewhere to hole up before it got light and there’s nothing that might pass for shelter that way as far as the eye can see. That only leaves east. The map says there’s a town on the other side of the highway. I tighten the straps on my backpack and make my way down towards it.