Dawn of the Yeti (2 page)

Chapter Four

Meredith
senses the urgency and moves even faster, our breath and the crunching snow
competing with one another to be the loudest. The sun disappears behind the
horizon, letting the world wake up from its heat induced slumber. And the cold
sets in. And far off, I hear a Jo-Bran bellow. We keep running, even after
Charles mutters, “I told you so” and something else that I can’t quite make
out. The Spire is still too far, at least another half hour—if not an
hour at our current pace.

We run. There is
nothing else to do. I keep an eye out for any sign of the Jo-Bran or the
Banjankri, but in the dark, it’s impossible to tell the difference between the
shadows and the monsters.

We run. I think
that I can hear the Jo-Bran coming, loping after us on all fours like gorillas,
pounding the snow deeper into the earth, making sure the layer of frost never
disappears, securing their rule. But when I turn my head, the vision clears,
the sounds lift. There is only our pack.

We run. The full
moon guides us. For once, the illumination works in our favor, allowing us
enough light to keep moving at our pace without stumbling. The Spire is close
now. We’re almost there.

We run. It looms
before us, dark and black, a thorn protruding from the ground. I can already
smell the gas, the unused fuel, and my heart skips a beat. The live ones are
the best chance of us finding food. They are still ready to fire, like-new, but
were abandoned long ago.

We run. This time
I do hear the pounding of the Jo-Bran, a band of them on patrol, searching for
the stragglers. Their next meal. Us. We are so close that I can see the door,
and it looks solid. It isn’t hanging from the hinges or torn off them. And we
press on even harder.

Meredith reaches
it first, grabbing the handle and throwing her weight into it. At first, I am
afraid that it is locked, another pack already holed up inside and secured for
the night, because she bounces back, the door unshifted. She tries again, this
time with Angelo’s help, and the metal door screeches open, screaming like a
beacon for the surrounding predators. In the space between the dying sound of
the door and my heart beating, I hear another call from the Jo-Bran. The low
gravel growl of success, of dinner, of death.

They’ve found us.

*      
  *  *

With the door
closed, locked and barred, we’re safe—for now. We stand in the small
foyer, making a small circle, the four of us panting like sled-dogs that have
been pushed too hard. I gulp in the air. Swallow the traces of saliva my body
can still produce and wait for the inevitable.

Charles pants.
“What did I fucking say?”

I return his gaze
but keep my mouth open for breathing alone. I take in a few more breaths,
staring at him all the while, until he finally breaks my gaze. The room is cold
and sterile, same as the other Spires we’ve come across, like an old hospital
room. Though this one is cleaner than others, no blood on the walls, no claw
marks or bullet holes or scorch marks, just dark metal walls, slick and smooth,
and the smell of gasoline. Across from the entrance is another door, a large
wheel attached to the front, reminding me of a submarine hatch.

“We should get
further in,” I say.

Charles, his jaw
clenched so tight that I can see his temples pulsing with each flex, nods.
Angelo’s face is pale and glued to the front door as he backs up with slow
steps. And Meredith, her eyes darting around the room, shuffles along the back
wall. I amble over, trying to let my confidence seep into the others. “They
won’t get us,” I say. “They’ll forget we’re here. The gas will mask our scent.”

“They’re not
blind,” Charles says. “They could’ve seen us.”

“They didn’t,” I
say.

“They could’ve.”

I wait until he
meets my gaze. I can feel the others staring at me. “They didn’t.”

Charles and I
continue to glare at one another while I hear the door’s wheel groan under
Meredith’s strength. Again, Charles is the first to look away. I turn to the
now open door. There is a faint red glow coming from a small army of red
lights, fluttering and flitting from one console to another. But it is the only
light in the room, casting few shadows and a deathly color across each of our
faces.

“This is new,”
Angelo says.

I nod.

“I didn’t realize
any of these were still operational.” Angelo prods at one of the lights with
his fingers. “Thought the government shut ‘em down a long time ago.”

Charles knocks
Angelo’s hand away. “Don’t touch that. Who knows what the fuck it might start.”

“Alright,
alright.”

Meredith stands in
front of a wall of blinking lights. It reminds me of Christmas morning, my wife
standing at the tree and smiling, the greens and blues and reds shifting one
after the other. I can see my daughter, sitting at our feet, tearing into her
presents and giggling. I almost think I can hear the rustle of the wrapping
paper. I take a step forward, ready to wrap my arms around Meredith as if she
is my wife, but I stop just in time. She turns to me, frowning, her brows
dipping into her aqua eyes, then steps away. I glance around to see if either
of the others noticed, but they are too wrapped up in their surroundings. A
loud creak breaks into the air; a metal on metal shriek that sounds like the
whole Spire is shifting.

“What the fuck is
that?” Angelo stands, knees bent, holding out his hands to balance on the solid
ground.

“I don’t know,” I
stride over to the door we still haven’t shut. I pass through and stare into
the small porthole of a window on the front door. It’s a sphere of darkness,
the moon either blocked by some clouds or something blocking the window itself.

“What is it?”
Angelo’s voice is a hiss.

I just wave my
hand behind me, edging towards the black circle. My breath quickens; my heart races.
With every step I take, I wish more and more that I was heading in the opposite
direction. I’m only a few feet from the door, the darkness hasn’t changed. The
other three fill the door behind me, watching me with wide-eyed terror. Angelo
shakes his head, begging me to come back. I take a deep breath, steady my
nerves, shift another step.

I could reach out
and touch the thing if I wanted. But I don’t want to. And I don’t reach out. I
just edge closer. There is an indistinct ticking noise, almost like a clock,
but there isn’t one in sight. Tick, tick, tick. The others hear it, too,
cocking their heads, searching for the source.

The overhead light
starts to fizz and flicker, acting as a strobe, making the world feel slower,
stuttered.

Tick, tick, tick.

I inch forward,
pushing my face with every ounce of strength left inside, every muscle and
nerve and instinct telling me to back up and get out of there. With the
flickering light, its hard to make out any of the details, but it looks like
hair, though I can’t tell if it’s a Jo-Bran or human, it’s too close to tell.

Tick, tick, tick.

Slowly, I reach
for the door’s handle.

“What the fuck are
you doing?” Angelo’s voice cracks.

“I know what I’m
doing.” But I don’t. My body seems to be making decisions on its own, doing its
own thing, even though my brain screams at me to stop. It’s as if I’m
possessed.

Tick. My hand
grasps the door. Tick. I start to pull. Tick.

BOOM!

The door explodes
backwards, carrying me with it, and sandwiches me between it and the wall. My
sight blurs, and I can’t focus. Angelo is screaming. And I make out the colored
blob of Charles running through the, now gaping, door. The last thing I see is
Meredith bending over me, her shadow covering me like a warm blanket, an
inviting wave, lulling me to the ever-increasing darkness.

Then it goes
black.

Chapter Five

Shuffling boots,
the crunching of snow. My skull feels like someone has embedded an ax into my
forehead. And I almost wish someone would, make this pain end and the world
fade for good.

I roll my eyes and
can see Meredith, her hands tied, ropes wrapped around her legs, shuffling
behind me. On either side of her are men I don’t know by name, but I know by
reputation. The Banjankri. Their coats are covered in long white fur, made from
the coats of the Jo-Bran. The one on the right of her notices that I’m awake
and points to the other. He points at me and smiles, wide and full of his filed
teeth. A shark’s mouth, I think, but then he hits me with the butt of his club,
and it all goes dark again.

*         
*   *

The next time I
come to, there is a fire nearby, warm and bright. An odd smell fills the air,
one that I haven’t known in what feels like forever, the smell of meat. It
crackles and hisses, pops and spits. My mouth waters. My stomach growls.

Above the cooking
sounds, faint whimpers drift my way. I catch them like tiny bubbles, fragile
things that will disappear if I strain too hard to capture them. I look around,
trying to find the source, while simultaneously keeping my movements to a
minimum. My head hurts enough as it is, and the last thing I want is something
else smashing into my skull.

They sit around
the fire, the Banjankri, staring into the flames with religious fervor. A few
of them smile and their sharpened teeth glint and shimmer in the dancing light.

I search for the
rest of my pack, knowing that one or all of them are around. Moving at a snails
pace, I tilt my head up and find Meredith huddled against the wall, but she is
alone and doesn’t look my way. It’s then that notice where we are: a giant ice
cave.

It opens up above
me, tall enough for a Jo-Bran to stand upright. Icicles, thick as my arm, hang
from the ceiling, but for the most part, it and the walls are smooth, slick,
cold. I always figured that the Banjankri lived in caves, but I never figured
I’d ever see the inside of one. At least, I never hoped to see one. This isn’t
a place anyone wants to be.

A dialect, thin
and whispery, fully of drawn out “sss” and breathy “h” sounds, creeps into my
ears. I turn to see the Banjankri talking and gesturing to one another, their
lips barely moving. One of them with a long goatee stands and pulls the spit
from the fire, holding it up and examining the hunk of meat attached. I gag as
I finally realize what it is that’s caused my mouth to water, my stomach to
yearn. Goatee holds up a leg, eyeing it as if it were a roast chicken. His
mouth opens and he tears into the leg with his shark teeth, tearing away a
large chunk that stretches and holds fast to its remains. When the others pull
Goatee down and begin to pass the spit, I turn away.

The whimpering
continues, soft and even softer amongst the sucking and chewing of the others.
I wonder again at the source and hope that it isn’t the loser of the leg, but I
know it is.

Meredith still
huddles against the wall. Unlike me, she stares at our captors, watches them
eat. Her aqua eyes are fixed on them, trained like a hunter. And there is
something within them that I’ve never seen before. Hate. Violence. A strength
that I never knew she had. A strength that frightens me.

Laughter blooms
from somewhere behind me. I leave it be. I don’t want to see. God only knows
what the Banjankri find amusing. I shut my eyes, wishing I could shut my ears,
close the chewing and the laughter and crying. It’s amazing how all these
emotions can inhabit one space. And yet, the often do. As if pain and laughter
and fear have always gone hand in hand in hand.

*
   
*
        
*

My wife cries. My
daughter is silent. And the tears and screams fall from my eyes and mouth,
rolling into one. Somewhere in the background, I can hear the laughter.

The memories and
images shoot through my brain, splattering across my skull and the backs of my
eyes. The kind of memories that need to be peeled away, flake after flake until
your mind is numb and raw. It gives me something to do. And it changes my pain
from a pounding to an ache. I peel and peel until every trace of them are gone,
even though I know it will only take the slightest of jolts, the sight of a
tree, the smell of lavender, the taste of a noodle soup—and it will all
come back again.

When I finally
open my eyes, the fire has died down to embers, but it’s still light in the
cave. The Banjankri are curled up by the dying fire, hissing with each breath.
I shift positions and see sunlight spilling through the cave’s mouth. It isn’t
that deep of a cave, and the light fills the majority of it. Even Meredith is
lit up, and she’s pressed against the back wall.

There are a total
of five sleeping Banjankri, a small group, one that we should’ve been able to
avoid, or overtake. What was I thinking, going to open the Spire’s door? I
deserve to be in this position, to be captured. But not Meredith or Angelo or
even Charles. The sudden remembrance of the rest of my pack makes me search for
them.

Propped up, close
to the wall, is a shape resembling a human, but there is something not quite
right. It looks ragged, rumpled and unnatural. I squint. It doesn’t help, the
back light from the snow and sun makes it too bright and I can’t tell if it’s
Angelo or Charles or neither.

Turning back to
Meredith, I become acutely aware of the silence. She should be snoring if she
is asleep—as she appears to be. And I fear the worst. I whisper her name,
trying not to wake the slumbering enemy. She doesn’t move. I whisper again, a
little louder, and her tethered legs pop off the ground for a small second. I’m
not sure if she’s giving me a sign or if she’s just twitching in her sleep.
When I open my mouth to speak again, her eyes shoot open. The color washes over
me in a powerful wave, warming me and sweeping the pain from my head, my limbs.
She stares at me for a long time. She never blinks. And I understand the
meaning of her eyes, the sentences of her iris, the words of her pupils.

They tell me to
wait. That everything will be okay. To sleep. And before I realize what’s
happened, the world has gone dark once again, though this time I’m eased into
the darkness, lowering myself into the midst and finding a warm place to curl
and dream.