by Alexa Dare
“He was ill? How so?”
“Don’t know. Cantrell never let us see. He said he got a sickness after he went into Darcy Lynn’s grandparent’s house.” When a silence dragged, breath held, he leaned forward.
“Junior, what I need for you to do, is to come out and leave the toy behind.”
“I won’t.” He tossed the dog onto the tank top again and dove off the toilet. In a lunge, he shoved the wooden door and slammed it closed.
Under the soles of his feet , the floor trembled. He slipped on the baggy boxers beneath the towel. Next, he held the socks near his legs. They came within an inch of his knee. The feet looked too big, like the toes would flop.
The floor jiggled. Pebbles fell from overhead. Soil rained down over him. Not a thing wrong with getting dirty.
“Junior,” Nora, from outside the bathroom, called out.
“You’re not getting the toy.” He breathed in the flavor of rich black soil. As if he played musical toilet seat, he plopped down on the lid. Quick. Jerking his knees away from the tug and give of the ground, he hugged his legs.
“Keep on,” Nora said, “and it’s the suit for you.”
“No suit. I want my shirt and britches and the marble bag that was tied to the belt loop too.” He lifted his feet higher even though the earth pulled at him like a magnet. While sitting, he put on the borrowed shirt and pants. Bare toes wiggling, he tossed the socks into the shower stall.
“You need to calm down ” Nora said. “The toy could make Darcy Lynn, you, and all of us sick. There might be possible germs or viruses on it. Do you understand?”
The dog, with splayed-out front and hind legs, waited on the tank lid.
“If she doesn’t get her little toy dog, I’m not going to be happy.” He put down his feet and raised his hips to finish pulling on the pants. Beneath his foot soles, the floor bucked and tilted. The sink lifted a good six inches, while the shower stall sank a step. He hopped atop the toilet seat. Curling the edges of his toes around the front edge, he gripped the wobbling commode as if his life depended on it.
A button-eyed gaze judged from the commode back.
Atop the swaying toilet bowl, he rolled up the pant legs three folds. Very little pain throbbed in his knees.
The ground settled, while the wooden door creaked. The sweet smell of earth choked him.
The doorknob turned. Someone banged against the door’s other side. Nora said, “The door’s stuck. We’ll have you out soon. Just stay put and do not, I repeat, do not shake the ground again.”
Locked in.
Like in his aunt’s cellar.
He couldn’t get out. Just like in his aunt’s cellar.” Junior didn’t need to give or take energy. He just needed to be.
Should he try to bust out, he might knock down the ceilings.
His breath chased his darting gaze around the room’s smallness. Bigger than the cellar yet shrinking smaller and smaller as each second passed. The flavor of dirt edged his tongue. A tunnel rat that made plants grow and rumbled the earth, afraid of getting trapped under the ground...
His neck beneath the metal collar continued to tingle. Only a little joint pain, yet he was no longer able to control his ability so well. His chest squeezed, and his breath raced hot.
The toilet shifted to the right and settled. Water sloshed, and a chlorine odor wafted out and up.
He curled his toes and knelt low. All he had to do was step down. From inside himself, he would reach down deep and break out. Even a couple of feet above the floor, the massive power of the earth called to him. The nearness prodded him to connect. To be close to, part of, the earth.
Again, he glanced back at the dog.
Could a thing so little and cute, and, yep, stupid, be dangerous?
If a toy makes us all sick—
“Get me out. Now.” His huffs sounded as if filled with quicksand. Even in the chill, a long slick drip of sweat slid along the front of his earlobe.
The ceiling overhead sifted sandy gravel from newly formed cracks in rushes of dusty billows.
Head ducked, he spit out the sweet yet bitter taste of soil. His neck and shoulders took the impact of falling earth and rock. He swiped salty drops from his lips and forehead with his wrist and forearm. Brown smudges smeared his arm.
Outside in the main doctoring place, a strong shake rattled, then a rumble echoed.
Cave-in.
In the boom of the falling rock, a woman screamed.
Junior charged the door. Hands fisted, he pounded the painted wood. “Let me out. Anybody, please.”
“No time. Stay calm. Don’t... We...” Smashing and breaking buried the woman’s voice.
Rubble fell in the other room like a waterfall roar. Boom. Shatter. Tremors from the crash knocked Junior off his feet. In a crawl, he rode the dip and wiggle of the floor.
By holding on to the doorknob, he dragged himself upright. He kicked the wood slab with his bare feet. Yanking the useless knob, he put his foot on the doorframe and pushed. With blunt nails, he dug at the door seam.
The stuck-solid door top bowed from the weight of the bent frame.
Junior crouched beside the commode. Head tucked, he broke into a run, hit full out with his shoulder. When he bounced off, a bucket-load of hurt stabbed in his upper arm and neck. “Miss Nora? Nurse Weems?”
Fists banged the outside of the door.
“Get back, Junior,” Nora yelled. “We need you. Now.”
Junior huddled next to the toilet. Sick making or not, he scooped the stuffed animal from the tank and held on tight.
Loud slams and a cracking noise sounded.
Wood split. The sharp metal of an axe blade broke through. More hits. Finger-sized splinters shot out and pelted him. Turned aside from the sting, he shielded the dog.
A wrenching crack blasted a hole in the door’s middle. Chunks fell. Whump. Bang. More hacks widened the opening. The axe chopped, ripped, and broke wooden pieces free. Jagged bits piled in the floor. Woodchips flew and spread all over the room. Sharp bits smacked him and stung.
Stuffed dog shoved into his lap, he grabbed the toilet tank lid. The heavy porcelain, held out in front, shielded him and the dog from the pieces of wood. Chunks of rocks plummeted from the ceiling. Tank lid held overhead now, he cringed as pebbles clanged.
Nora’s flushed and sweaty face showed up in the kid-sized opening. She tossed the axe aside. “Darcy Lynn’s trapped. Her air’s running out.”
In a rush, Junior stuck the toy beneath his arm. Nora hauled him through the hole like a sack of potatoes. He yanked free of the splinters and shrugged away Nora’s clawing gloved hands. With each stride, he pulled—must not push—energy from the ground.
Rocks and dirt mounded along the back wall of the Medical Bay. Only the top outer edge of the chamber that held Darcy Lynn rose out of the pile of man-tall rubble.
No air.
More rock, in clumps and chunks, fell.
My fault.
Chapter 6
By late morning, Brody swayed on his feet in the middle of the militia camp. A gut punch of awe ramped his shock at seeing two men die right in front of him.
Dozens of green tents and brown cabins hid within the trees.
Why didn’t Cantrell tell me about this place?
Filled with kooks. With Cantrell being one of them? Were these jerks the reason Brody’s brother got worse lately? Damn them for putting ideas in Cantrell’s head.
Among the morning bird songs, low murmurs from the groups sent chills racing up Brody’s back. Off to the right, axes chopped, and split logs clunked.
Even after the cave, the spaced-out banked fires held promise. So did the aroma of something cooking on the fires. Ham, rabbit, venison, maybe squirrel, and corn on the cob.
His belly tilt-a-whirled. Nope, food was so not on the list after what happened back at Devil’s Ridge.
“Welcome to our base.” Yates tossed his rifle to one of the camo-wearing dudes and led Brody deep into the camp.
“Where’s Cantrell?” Brody cast sideways looks. Fatigue from the walk weighed his muscles like bricks, and his knees wobbled weak.
“Under the weather,” Yates said. “You get started. Then we’ll check to ensure he’s up to guests.”
“How bad off is he?”
“For now, focus on why we spared your life and what you’ll be doing for us.” Yates’s face eased into affable creases, though the cutting gaze of his eyes never thawed.
Brody’s swollen foot, the one not healing quickly after being sliced by tin, pressed tight against boot leather. Flares of pain hit like steady hammer blows on an anvil through his toes. Bone-deep throbs lanced through his gunshot shoulder, so that he walked in a sideways tilted hopping lurch. “I don’t know how I can be of any use to you.”
From treetop rays, sun dots danced over Yates’s bald dome. He aimed a pistol at the upper bridge of Brody’s nose. “Nothing to offer, then we got zero to give.”
Guts crimped, Brody stopped in his tracks.
The gun barrel, stinking of gunpowder, gun oil, and metal, loomed as big as a saucer only inches from his face.
“Wait—”
“You either have a skill we need, or you don’t.” Yates waved the metal barrel in a shrug. “Every member of the Mountain Militia has a use.”
The click of the firing hammer jolted Brody’s bladder.
The man’s bullets meant business. On Devil’s Ridge, he recalled Tuck lying on his back, with hair smoking, on the other side of the fire, while Helmsey lay on a stone ledge with a hole in his head.
“I’ll do what you need me to do.” Brody fisted his hands.
“Your effort, no doubt, will please your brother,” Yates sneered, “but until he’s well, you’ll carry his weight.”
“I want to see my brother.” He dry gulped. “Now.”
“No can do. You’ve got work ahead of you.”
Captive, bossed around, used. Again. He swiped a hand along his chin. “What do you want me to do?”
“First up, gain control of the computers in the Briar Patch lab.” Yates angled the gun away.
A gluey lump like day-old oatmeal settled in Brody’s gut. Not that hole in the ground. Again. “Man, you don’t’ want to go there. The pox—”
“They have what I want.” Yates freed the pistol’s hammer with a dull click. “We caught one of their men. With the serum from his blood, we’ll create a cure soon.”
Brody eyed the gun-toting militiamen milling around.
“We need to gain control of their systems.” Yates steered him forward with the tap of the gun barrel on his upper back. “And, with your skills, you’re going to do that for us.”
“That place went into lockdown, didn’t it?” Brody limped toward a string of cabins on a low rise. “If so, there’s no way—”
“From outside in, you’re going to reboot their system and then mine for the data we need. Then we’ll use their communication grid to get our message out.”
“Message?” He hated how his voice broke.
“We locals have a lot to say.” Yates smirked.
Brody half swung and half dragged his hurt foot. When he bore weight on it, pain blasted all the way to his tailbone, which also absorbed the stab of the swing of his shoulder.
At least three dozen folks met near a small cabin. From atop the roof, a mega satellite dish dwarfed the log house.
“Man.” He couldn’t force his Adam’s apple down his neck to gulp. “This is about more than tapping into the covert facility or sending out manifestos.”
“Should you need electronic gear, we’ll get it.” Yates tilted his head, urging him onward. “At day’s end, if you’ve done your job well, you’ll visit with Cantrell.”
“Is he okay, um, health wise?” Thoughts of the way his brother hid in the brush claiming to be sick played through Brody’s mind.
Yates blinked his too-heavy eyelids.
Brody sighed and pulled the syringes from his pocket. “One of these is for him.”
“Had we known you were going to bring a sample of the serum along, we wouldn’t have had to kill that soldier to reverse engineer his blood after all.
***
In no time, Brody sat before a monitor. Even his forced labor didn’t dampen the appeal of the setup. His fingers typed before the tips touched the keys. High-end gear filled a living room rank from the smell of old cheese and onions. “I’ll need two more flat screens.” Brody peered at the hookups. “Twenty-inch plus is better.”
“We’ve got all we need right here.” A scruffy guy emerged from a small second room. The fuzz on his face looked more like dirty smudges than a beard. From below a wiry brown mop, he shot glances Brody’s way.
“Delbert,” Yates said, “this here’s Cantrell’s brother. I imagine Brody’ll teach you a thing or two.”
Delbert’s moon of a face flushed red. At six-foot-plus, the big man blinked behind wide round lenses set in thick black frames. His moon pie face appeared stripped of color and of muscle so that his cheeks sagged.
“Delbert can forage parts here in camp.” Yates, while the others stayed outside, gripped his pistol. He stood just inside the closed cabin doorway. “If need be, we’ll get gear from town. Even have stuff shipped there within a few hours.”
“You have dampers and blocks in place, right?” Brody asked. “To prevent others from homing in on your location.”
“He’s yanking your chain, boss.” Delbert thumbed his black frames up his nose. He opened a large jar on the desktop and fished out a pickle. Dill fumes filled the small cabin as he chomped around his words. “The noob doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Sweet baby dills were more to Brody’s liking. His stomach growled. Though dill wafers on a thick, juicy burger might be good. His stomach rolled, and he forced a thick swallow. “High voltage signals deep in the woods can be traced.”
“You should have realized the risk, Delbert. Your first task is to get us hidden. Next, tap into their system. Got it?” Yates’s stony face set in a scowl.
“We’ll be cloaked in the next few hours.” Brody’s head filled with lines of code. Although still a tad queasy, hunger ached in his upper belly. “You don’t suppose there’s leftovers from lunch?”
“Delbert, feed him. Get him anything he needs. Or else you deal with me. Got it?”
“Yes, sir, boss.” Delbert’s bulgy eyes sheened with terror.
Brody stroked keys. “I’ll give Delbert here a list.”
The terror in Delbert’s gaze glinted to malice once aimed at Brody.
He halted his typing and rubbed the smooth dip of the keys. “Mr. Yates?”
“Yates’ll do.”
“Yates.” Brody pushed the words out in a rush. “You’ll see that Cantrell gets the vaccine as soon as possible, right?”
“You’re awful high and mighty,” said Delbert.
“He’s using his smarts. We need more of that around here.” Yates grinned. “Don’t worry about Cantrell, son. I’ll inject your brother myself.”
“Yates, I don’t mean to stir up sh—, uh, conflict.” Brody huffed. “How do I know you’ll do right by him? For real?”
“Show some respect.” Delbert smacked the back of Brody’s head.
The sting of the hit shot Brody to his feet. A bump of his legs rolled his office chair across the floor. The anger burning in Brody’s chest warred with the inflammation of his injuries.
“Boys, play nice.” Yates’s shot him a warning glance. “I need your skills so that ensures that Cantrell receives the shot, don’t you think?”
“As long as you have use for us, you’ll look out for us.” Brody stomped, at least with his one good foot, to the chair. Bracing on the back, hobbled over and plopped down again at the terminal.
“I’ll take you to visit your brother just after sunset. He does better after dark.” With that, Yates left.
The sulking dude Delbert hovered nearby. Shoving yet another pickle in his mouth
, he crunched.
As he dove into coding the signal damper, a shroud of unease, tainted by dill stink, settled over Brody. What would it be like to once again face the person to blame for getting him into this mess in the first place?
My own brother.
Chapter 7
In the nurse’s area, half the ceiling piled on the floor. At the edge of the rubble, Junior tugged at the collar they used to shock him and make him do bad things. Juiced mulberry kept riding from his upper belly into his throat as his worry for Darcy Lynn surged.
“No, leave the collar on.” Nora knelt along the wall farthest from the fallen ceiling.
The medical bay, with its metal tools and trays, looked more like a cave-in of rocks atop dented metal and busted equipment. A woman’s white pant leg poked out from under a waist-high pile of rocks.
The mostly buried chamber held Darcy Lynn.
“Working with the earth doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to with the collar.” The burn and the prickle of his skin caused the collar to ride tight. He tugged until the smooth metal pressed into the back of his neck.
The ring was made of natural stuff from the ground.
There had to be a way—
More rock from the unstable ceiling shifted. Stones, of all jagged shapes and sizes, and soil clumps fell. Drifts of silt hit his face like rolling firewood smoke, and dust stuck to his sweaty skin. Where wafts no longer flowed out of vents, gravel dropped in quick sharp smacks.
Nora ducked and pulled him by the hem of his shirt to the wall. “The new collar is slowly making you stronger. You’re not hurting in your joints as much, are you?”
“Nope. I’m not hurting so bad.” He flexed his fingers. Just a bit of an ache in his knuckles. “It’s holding me back though. I’m having trouble...” No way could he explain his earth bond. He lowered to the gravel-strewn floor. Cold seeped into his shaky palms and soles.
What was left of the ceiling drooped. Beneath the rubble pile, cracks spread.
“There’s no oxygen in the chamber. What few troops that are left are on their way, but it might take hours to dig her out. Time Darcy Lynn doesn’t have.” Nora stooped in front of Junior. “You have to do this. Go slow and easy. Can you lift the debris off them somehow?”