Monsters (32 page)

They walked out into the compound, leaving Gainsborough in full flight as he continued to stir up support.

“You see,” she said, finding a seat to rest on the far side of the courtyard. “This is how it starts, with emotion and excitement. And yet listen to what he’s proposing, he’s going to plunder the countryside. This isn’t about taking back Washington from the monsters, this is about finishing what he started on Bracken Ridge.”

That got James’ attention. “He was there?”

“He’s told me stories,” Lisa continued. “I think he was a captain, serving under some other nameless general, some other mindless dictator hell-bent on conquest.”

James thought back to his father and the uncle that died in his arms. He remembered the stories his father had told him of those days, words spoken not to instill a sense of adventure in him, but to warn him of the folly of war.

“Leave,” Lisa said. “Go. Get out of here. Do whatever you have to, but don’t go with him. Don’t buy into the lie.”

“What about you?”

In that moment, she seemed to realize why he’d stayed so long. It wasn’t about the tablet. It wasn’t about the camaraderie. It wasn’t the promise of a new land. It had always been about her and he could see that realization dawning within her.

Lisa turned away from him, unable to look him in the eye.

“I won’t leave without you.”

Lisa turned back laughing. Tears ran down her cheeks. She slapped his thigh playfully.

“You never could keep your eyes off me, could you?”

He smiled, feeling embarrassed.

“What is it?” she asked. “Do you get a kick out of rescuing damsels in distress?”

“Something like that, I guess.”

“What? A bear and a pack of wolves isn’t enough for you? You want to take on my father’s army?”

He laughed. “You make it sound almost plausible.”

“I can’t run,” Lisa said. “I ran before, thinking I could put all this behind me, but I can’t run anymore. If I run, there will still be widows and orphans. Running will hide the problem, it won’t solve it. There has to be a better way. One man should not be the means to another man’s success in life. People aren’t stepping stones, something to be trodden underfoot to reach your goals. No, I will stay. I will continue to push for change.”

James was quiet.

“You should go,” she said. Her words were cold, and he knew she was right. He was a fool for staying as long as he had.

People began pouring out of the hall, excited at the prospect of adventure. They told James and Lisa the troop would leave within a week. James found a trader heading south and passed on a short written message to his father. He knew the trader would bring news of the campaign so all he needed to add were the two words his father would understand:
Bracken Ridge
.

James and Lisa walked along one of the prison corridors in the bright sunlight, past windows with rusting wire mesh where once glass had provided a view of the inner courtyard.

“He’s dragging me along with him,” Lisa said, limping as she favored her walking stick. “He’s going to take me on his crusade. I guess he doesn’t trust me. He thinks I’ll escape again. Listen, I appreciate all you’ve done for me. I appreciate how you’ve stuck around, but there’s nothing here for you. This place will kill you. Perhaps not physically, but it will suck the life out of you.”

James said, “If he’s dragging you along, I’m going too. I’ve already signed up.”

“Why the hell did you do that?” Lisa cried. “You don’t owe me anything. What is this, some crazy, stupid illusion of love? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m no romantic fool. You’re a nice guy and all, but think about this, it could cost you your life.”

“I know,” James replied as they walked past a bunch of kids playing in the hallway, kicking a can around like a soccer ball.

“What if I said I didn’t want you to come?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“So why? Why are you doing this?” Lisa asked.

He’d expected her to call his bluff, but she didn’t. That she didn’t was telling.

James laughed, trying to make light of the situation. “For the same reason I shot at that bear. For the same reason I waved that burning branch around at those wolves. For the same reason I wouldn’t let Winters take your leg.”

“And that is?”

“Because you shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“I don’t understand,” Lisa replied, pausing and turning toward him.

“Your father might be wrong about a lot of things, but he’s right about one thing: We shouldn’t be here.”

James gestured to the walls around them, with large flakes of paint peeling off the aging concrete.

Cracks ran through the support pillars, marking where water-damage was undermining the integrity of the building.

An old lady hung wet clothes over the railing of the walkway above them, oblivious to the rust eating at the bolts anchoring the walkway in place.

Mold crept along one wall, slowly, imperceptibly spreading throughout the building.

A boy of no more than eight or nine dodged between them, chasing after a tin can as it skidded along the corridor. A horde of other children chased after him, yelling and screaming as they played their impromptu game.

“There has to be more to life,” James continued. “Your father was right: We can’t go on living off the past. As much as I love reading, we need to write a new future. The past is crumbling around us. Sooner or later it will be gone, and then what?”

Lisa tried to say something, but James kept talking.

“When I saw you lying there in the snow, with your leg caught in that bear trap, my heart went out to you. I wondered, how could this happen? What hellish nightmare drove such a beautiful, young woman to be out in the wilderness alone? But then I realized, it wasn’t just you, it wasn’t just then. How did any of this happen? Once we had mastery of this world. Once we soared through the sky, travelled to the moon, but now we hide in rundown buildings, afraid of the monsters lurking outside. We struggle for life.

“When I released that bowstring, and sent that first arrow hurtling toward that bear, I wanted to change all that. I still do.”

“You think you can change this?” Lisa asked, looking deep into his eyes. In that moment, the roar of sound around them faded. The echoes and laughter, the chatter and yelling became but a whisper.

“No,” James replied. “But if I am to die, I will die trying. That’s what I was thinking when you first saw me. That’s why I fired at that bear, because I couldn’t stand by and do nothing, even if it cost me my life.”

Lisa rested her hand on the side of his cheek and leaned in, kissing him gently on the lips. She was smiling as she said, “You really are the most wonderful of fools.”

James started to say something, but she added, “As much as I like you, I don’t think you realize how much you sound like my father, and that scares me. Just when I think you’re about to sweep me off my feet, you remind me of all that is wrong with this prison.”

“You said you want to see change,” James replied. “Me too. I don’t understand, how is that wrong?”

“Change must come” Lisa replied. “But not like this, not at the cost of your life or any other life. There has to be a better way.”

And with that she limped away toward the prison entrance.

Gainsborough mounted his horse, surrounded by almost a thousand soldiers.

Cheers resounded through the decrepit prison.

James lined up with his squad, looking over at Lisa as one of the guards helped her mount her horse. Her rider sat a few feet in front of her, his hands on the reins, ready to move out. There were two guards armed with crossbows sitting on an auxiliary saddle at the rear of the massive horse. Lisa was the only one James could see who wasn’t cheering, and he understood why.

The army marched by day, pitching camp in the early evening in carefully selected, defensible positions.

McIntyre worked with the scouts to identify locations in advance, favoring exposed hills with clear approaches. It meant some days they’d march barely five miles while other days they marched twenty-five, with the advance teams going on ahead to set up camp before dark. From what James could tell, they averaged about fifteen miles a day, which was physically taxing on the soldiers, but it was a march, not the more aggressive attacking run he’d witnessed on the road to Richmond. Gainsborough was pacing his men.

McIntyre adopted a rotating flank as they moved through the countryside following an overgrown interstate highway. He kept the officers in the heart of his battle formation, with individual squads spending no more than four hours patrolling the fringes at any one time.

Gainsborough wanted a compressed group rather than one that stretched out over a half-mile. He said this would reduce the possibility of attacks from the rear. The downside, though, was that the force couldn’t fit onto the interstate and so the flanks rode the berms on either side of the road, with ground troops spilling into the woods and fields.

Animal tracks, culverts, dried up stream beds and the occasional access road running parallel to the interstate kept the tangle of undergrowth at bay, but the foot soldiers on patrol were perilously exposed.

Against the advice of his troop commander, James selected a long bow for his defense instead of a crossbow. When quizzed about it, he insisted he could cycle through arrows faster and with greater accuracy with a bow. As any conflict would be at close quarters, probably with swords and pikes, his commander relented, so long as he carried a sword as well. For James, it was a simple calculation, his odds improved the more he worked with familiar weapons. The last thing he needed was to deal with a jammed release or a broken crankshaft in the heat of battle.

The sky was overcast. His troop was two hours into a patrol when they came to a bend in the road, forcing them into a light jog to cover the additional ground following the outer rim of the corner. They were running along a track in a dark wood, following the rough contours of the uneven ground.

Through the trees, James could see the main force moving ahead of them on the interstate.

“This isn’t good,” James said between breaths. “They're moving too quickly.”

The soldier beside him grunted in response.

James dropped back beside his troop commander, Davis.

“Sir, we’re being followed.”

“Nonsense,” Davis replied.

“Back there,” James said as they both slowed a little. “In our blind spot.”

The commander looked over his left shoulder into the dense forest. He stumbled, catching his foot on a root, but didn’t fall. The commander slowed to a march and the troop matched his pace.

“There’s nothing there.”

“I’m telling you,” James insisted. “Something’s been following us for at least twenty minutes. I thought it would drop off, but it hasn’t.”

Davis was scared. James could see it in the whites of his eyes. Fear gripped the young man. His pupils were enlarged, but he wouldn’t admit what he was thinking and James wondered whether this man’s pride would be the death of him.

Was James being paranoid? Over cautious? He checked his own motives. He had been hunting long enough to know when it was his nerves playing on him. Although he hadn’t seen a monster, he was sure it was there, pacing along with them, stalking them. James couldn’t articulate precisely why he was so sure, but he trusted his instincts, not some irrational fear.

The wind picked up, causing the trees to sway. The rustle of the spring leaves hanging heavy in the trees set his nerves on edge. Over the sound of his own heavy breathing, James swore he could hear the monster growl and he knew he was being hunted.

The smart thing would be to come to a halt, form a defensive position and send in scouts with their long pikes out in front of them, but that would mean pulling the convoy to a halt. There was no way a troop commander was going to make that call, and James knew it.

James felt his heart pounding in his throat. He wanted to stop. He wanted to listen. He wanted to smell the breeze and consider his options, to think about strategy before he was forced into reacting out of necessity. Monsters were defeated with skill and dexterity, not force of arms, and his father had drummed that into him from an early age.

“What do you think it is?”

The foot patrol continued to wheel, following the outer rim of the interstate bend, but at least the commander was listening. That gave James hope.

“I don’t know,” James replied. “A bear wouldn’t have been able to keep pace with us. Dogs move in packs. A mountain lion would have attacked by now.”

He was breathing hard. The lead scout some fifty yards ahead slowed as the road they were moving parallel with straightened. That would at least give them a chance, figured James.

“A lone wolf?” Davis asked.

“Wolves tend to stick to the hills,” James replied. “Whatever it is, it’s in no hurry. It’s enjoying the chase, looking for an opening. It’s playing with us, like a cat with a mouse. It’s got us right where it wants us.”

Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Shadows flickered through the thicket of trees and branches. The tall grass swayed in the breeze. Davis whistled, signaling that his troop should close ranks, reducing the spacing between them as they marched along. He turned, looking at the three troops bringing up the rear, but there were only two of them.

“Where’s Jones?” No sooner had he asked the question than one of the two remaining soldiers disappeared in a motion so swift he almost missed it. The soldier, barely twenty feet away, was carried into the undergrowth in the jaws of a big cat, just a flash of fur darting between the trees.

“What the hell was that? A leopard?”

“No, it was a jaguar,” James replied.

“What the
fuck
?” Davis cried, his voice breaking in a quiver.

“I’ve seen them before in the south,” James said. “But never this close, never this aggressive.”

Davis turned toward the main road, raising his hands to his lips, about to blow a wolf-whistle and bring the convoy to a halt. James raised his hand signaling for him to wait. He was staring intently out into the forest, looking through the thicket of trees for movement.