Lightning Child

by Hakok, R. A.

  I nod.

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it that way, but I guess you’re right.’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘I’m surprised anyone ever considered it a suitable book for children.’

  He runs his fingers over the cover and then takes a measured step closer, holding it out to me.

  ‘Why don’t you hold on to it tonight? The hours can be long after dark. It will help you pass the time till morning.’

  *

  WE LEAVE THE LIBRARY.

  The warden hands Knox the candle and then swings the door closed behind him, making sure to lock it. He returns the keys to the pocket of his suit and sets off down the passageway, back the way we came, heels and cane click-clacking off the dark stone. Tully picks the flask from the floor, gathers up its tether and sets off after him. We rejoin the hallway that led up from the kitchens. As we get to the end a door separates itself from the gloom. Knox hurries ahead to hold it open and I follow Finch through into another long corridor. This part of the prison is no more uplifting than the rest, but it does seem like it might have been more recently constructed: the walls and floor are concrete, not stone, and smooth; fluorescent tubes nestle in dusty ice cube tray fixtures set back in the low ceiling. At the end a guard booth waits, its thick glass reinforced with crisscrossed safety wire. Beyond, a large, barred gate. A sign above reads High Security; another Maximum Control Unit. A third warns against unauthorized entry.

  We step through into yet another corridor. Cells with narrowly-spaced bars line one side, the doors hanging inward on their hinges. The metal is smooth; the locks sleek; I see no hole that might fit a key. Behind there’s a small, windowless space, hardly big enough to be called a room. A narrow metal cot takes up most of the floor, a stainless steel toilet the only other furniture. It’s been a while since I had Claus inside my head, but now a memory of him stirs, shudders. This would not have been a good place to spend time.

  Finch turns to me, as if he’s read my mind.

  ‘Yes, it is rather unpleasant, isn’t it? What you have to realize Gabriel is that Starkly was where society sent its most undesirable undesirables, its most obdurate felons.’ I add obdurate to my dictionary list. ‘Most were housed upstairs, in the main cellblock, where we ate dinner earlier. But for some, the worst of the worst, the most irredeemable class of criminal, there was this place.’

  I stare through the bars. I wonder if any of the men I’ve just had dinner with were confined here. I guess some must have been. Goldie must have been a shoe-in for the Most Obdurate Asshole award; Blatch had a mean look about him, too.

  ‘And you just released them? Weren’t you worried what they might do?’

  Finch’s mouth stretches out in a curious way, that might perhaps have been meant for a smile.

  ‘Well, it was a risk, I’ll grant you, but a calculated one. I didn’t know each of the inmates personally of course, at least not at the time. But in my position I did have the advantage of access to their prison files, which in most cases were quite detailed. So I felt like I understood them, their strengths and weaknesses, their distastes and peccadilloes, how they had each come to be in a place like this.’

  Peccadilloes? If I get out of here and can lay my hands on a Scrabble board I reckon I might be unbeatable.

  The warden hobbles a little closer, leans over his cane.

  ‘Some were deeply unpleasant men, there is no denying it. Most, however, were merely unsuited for the world, at least as it was then. And there was a truth to be faced. The very nature of their incarceration had changed. The society to whom they had once owed a debt no longer even existed. There was no longer anywhere for them to escape to, either; no better place they were forbidden to be.’

  He holds one hand up.

  ‘Besides, what else was I to do? Leave them in their cells and simply allow them to starve?’ He shakes his head, as if answering his own question. ‘How inconceivably barbaric.’

  I nod. I remember how I had worried about leaving Weasel tied up in the KFC when Johnny and I were fleeing for Eden. As nasty a piece of work as he had been, I hadn’t wished that end on him either.

  Finch looks at me then, and for a second it’s like he’s just peered into my thoughts and read what’s there.

  ‘Good. So you understand.’

  He turns and continues down the corridor, the candle throwing long flickering shadows ahead. I take one last look into the cell and follow him.

  ‘Of course that’s not to say we haven’t had our difficult times. There have been misunderstandings. But I feel we’ve put those behind us now.’

  We approach the end of the row. The last cell door’s shut, secured by a length of chain and a heavy padlock. And now I understand the reason for the flask Tully’s carrying. It makes sense there might have been one or two of Starkly’s inmates who were beyond redemption; felons so dangerous not even a man like the warden could get comfortable releasing them. As we get closer I can see a strip of tape running down the center of the floor in front of the bars. Spidey doesn’t care much for that, but I tell him to hush; whoever’s still locked up back there, they seem secure. Ahead of me Finch stops. A chair has been placed in front of the cell, on the safe side of the taped line, but he chooses not to sit. Instead he turns to Tully, pointing to a spot on the ground with his cane.

  Tully passes the candle back to Knox and slowly starts to unscrew the lid of the flask. He places it on the ground, taking a surprising amount of care for a man of his size, then pushes it forward with the toe of his boot.

  For a moment nothing happens, then I think I see something shift in the shadows, but Knox is holding the candle too far back for me to see all the way into the cell. I lean forward for a better look, just as long, spider-thin fingers shoot through the bars towards me.

  *

  I STAGGER BACKWARDS, but something large, unyielding, blocks my retreat. I hear a grunted protest as I step on Knox’s foot, and then a rough hand plants itself between my shoulder blades and shoves me forward. My boots scrabble for purchase as I try and get out of the way, but the fingers that shot through the bars have already closed greedily around the flask. The battered metal container clangs loudly as it’s yanked back and then it’s gone, swallowed whole by the shadows, the only evidence there was anything there a small amount of whatever was inside that’s slopped over the rim, darkening the concrete. I take a breath, waiting for my heart to steady. It all happened so fast that if I’d have blinked there’s a good chance I’d have missed it. Except I didn’t; in that split second I saw what was there, lurking in the darkness behind. I look over at Finch.

  ‘You…you captured one?’

  ‘Well, it would be more accurate to say he fell into our lives.’ He turns around, gesturing with one hand. ‘Bring the candle over, Mr. Knox, so Gabriel can see.’

  Knox hesitates. He eyes the bars warily, as though for all his size he’s reluctant to come any closer. But after a moment’s pause he does as he’s bid and steps forward with the flame. The swaying light creeps into the cell. Spidey’s still sounding a klaxon inside my head, but this time I’m ready for it. My breath catches in my chest as the candle reveals the cell’s sole inhabitant, all the same.

  The men I met at dinner were all painfully thin, but this final specimen appears inhumanly so. Rags that were once clothing hang from its emaciated frame. Here and there gray skin pokes through, stretched tight over bones like sticks; the contours of its skull showing clearly through what little remains of its hair. Its eyes narrow to slits at the candle; it clutches the flask to its chest and tries to shuffle away. But there’s only so far it can go, so instead it turns and bares its teeth. The pupils that glare back through the bars are unmistakably dilated; they glow silver as they catch the light.

  ‘Yes, our friend was an infected.’ Finch turns to me. ‘In one sense we were fortunate, during those difficult times, in being so far out of the way here; we were generally untroubled by visitors of his kind. But somehow this one
found us. Or rather we found him, just lying out there in the yard.’ He looks over at me and says No, really, as if I had somehow challenged his account of it. ‘He had managed to scale the walls and I suspect was up to no good in one of the guard towers when something must have caused him to fall.’

  The creature in the cage raises the flask to its lips, which for some reason I can’t fathom sets off a fresh chorus of alarms from spidey. It tilts its head back slowly, continuing to regard us with animal mistrust. Drops of something dark spill from its lips and run down its chin.

  ‘It was Kane, scorching the skies. That’s what did it.’

  I say it mostly to myself, but after a moment I realize Finch is leaning forward on his cane, looking at me expectantly.

  ‘The missiles, the ones the President launched. The explosions caused some sort of pulse that was intended to defeat its kind.’

  The warden raises a finger to his chin, strokes it thoughtfully.

  ‘Why, yes, the timing would certainly fit. I didn’t witness that event myself of course; I was otherwise occupied at the time. But I’ve heard stories, from the men. And it was the very next morning I found him, just lying out there, in the yard, so still that at first I was sure he was dead.’

  I think of the little girl, in the closet in Shreve, and how peaceful she had looked, too. At least until Marv had held the knife with his blood on it under her nose.

  The fury drains the last of whatever’s in the flask and lets it fall to the ground. It clanks hollowly as it hits the concrete, then comes to rest. It’s hard to think straight, what with the sirens going off in my head, but there’s something very wrong about this; something that doesn’t sit with what I know of the virus.

  Tully steps forward and picks up the end of the cord. I watch as he reels the battered container in, pulling it back through the bars. He waits till it’s safely over the line then bends to retrieve it. Spidey kicks it up a notch as he replaces the lid, and now the sound inside my head’s like a fire truck, trying to force its way through a clogged intersection. A dark thought pushes itself forward. The flask’s ribbed metal sides are dented, scarred, but that’s the extent of the damage there. I look over at the bars. They’re smooth, untarnished.

  The room tilts on some axis I did not know it possessed. I feel the blood drain from my face. I hear a voice that might be mine, asking a question I’m not yet sure I’m ready to have answered.

  ‘It’s…it’s not infectious?’

  Finch turns to look at me.

  ‘Why, how very observant of you, Gabriel. Yes, our friend here can no longer transmit the virus.’

  ‘You…you’re certain?’

  ‘Quite. We had to be, before we could risk letting him into a place like this, which is why the poor fellow spent so long in the hotbox. Besides, he’s been down here for almost a decade.’ He taps the bars with the tip of his cane. ‘If he was still capable of passing on the virus I’m sure we would know about it by now.’

  I’m aware he’s still talking, but the warden’s voice seems to be coming to me from somewhere distant. My mind’s running around in herky-jerky little circles, trying to fit this new piece of information into what I thought I knew of the virus.

  The metal was how you could tell. Every time you go outside it was the same: you strip as much of it from you as you can, the rest you wrap in plastic. But there was always a single piece – a cross, dog tags – left exposed, worn next to the skin, so you would know if you’d been infected. That was how it always was, from my very first scavenging trip with Marv to the last time I saw him, on his knees in the snow, slinging the rifle off his shoulder.

  I look into the cell. The fury glares back at me through the bars.

  But this creature, it gives the lie to all that. And that can mean only one thing: the crucifix Mags wears, the one she took from Marv’s grave, it doesn’t prove a thing.

  Beside me Finch is still speaking. I force myself to pay attention; there may be something I can learn, something that might help make sense of it. I replay his words in my head.

  ‘What’s a hotbox?’

  He stops and looks at me, and I think his eyes narrow a fraction, like whatever he was just saying he might not care for my interruption. But after a brief pause he answers.

  ‘A throwback to an even less enlightened time in the history of our nation’s penal system, Gabriel. It’s a wooden box, little bigger than an outhouse, dug into the earth. Most institutions of Starkly’s vintage would have had one. Their position was chosen quite carefully; somewhere in the middle of the yard, a spot that would never catch the shade. A man shackled out there for a day in the Carolina sun would literally bake to death. The sun had abandoned us by then of course, so there was little danger of that fate befalling our friend here. I regretted it nonetheless; the hotbox is an unpleasant spot to spend any amount of time.’

  ‘When…when did he come around? Was it recent?’

  Finch looks at me quizzically, and this time there’s a longer pause before his answer.

  ‘A week before you arrived.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  I remind myself I need to be careful; he’s watching me closely now. I remember his comment about manners from earlier and add a Please.

  ‘Why as chance would have it I was right here when it happened.’

  He says it nonchalantly, like it was the funniest of coincidences, but I find myself glancing behind him to the chair pushed up against the wall, the seat shiny from use. I wonder how many hours the warden has spent down here over the years, just staring into that cell. He stares at the fury for a moment before continuing.

  ‘Not that there’s much to tell. One minute he was lying on the cot, the very same as he had been the past ten years. The next he’s crouched on the floor, wide awake, like someone had just flicked a switch inside him.’

  He tilts his head, leans forward on the cane.

  ‘I must say, you seem remarkably well informed on this subject, Gabriel.’

  I start to say something about it being a guess, but if that’s the story I’m selling I’m not sure the warden’s buying it. He starts doing that thing with his fingernail on the head of the cane again. It was Gilbey who warned me that we may not have long, but I don’t plan to get into that with Finch. I turn my attention back to the cell, keeping my gaze on the thing crouched against the far wall while I rack my brains, searching for some answer that’ll get me back on safer ground. The light catches its silvered eyes and it shifts its jaw, like it’s grinding its teeth. And for a second I think of Marv, as he was right at the end. I turn back to the warden.

  ‘I had a friend, once. He reckoned his kind weren’t altogether done for; that one day they’d rise up again. If it was the same thing put them all under, it’d make sense they’d come back at about the same time too. This is the first sign of it I’ve seen, and I’ve been watching. Makes me think it had to be have been recent.’

  Finch continues to stare at me, as if weighing the truth in that statement, and what else it might be I’m not telling him. There’s something in that piercing gaze that makes me want to keep talking. It’s like I can’t help it.

  ‘What Mac…Mr. MacIntyre said earlier, at dinner, about there being something in the city…’

  Finch’s hand shoots up before I have a chance to finish.

  ‘Mr. Knox, Mr. Tully, would you be so good as to give us a moment?’

  Knox and Tully exchange a look, then they turn around and lumber back in the direction of the guard booth.

  The warden leans forward on his cane.

  ‘You must forgive me, Gabriel; interrupting you like that was rude. But it is a little early to jump to such conclusions. If the men were to get wind of this – as yet unproven – theory of yours I suspect it would be difficult to convince any of them to return to Durham.’ He spreads his hands. ‘And we are rather reliant on the city for the few meager supplies it provides.’

  ‘I understand, Mr. Finch.’ I glance down the cor
ridor. Knox and Tully are out of earshot, but I drop my voice anyway. ‘If the furies really are waking up, though, we’re in for a whole heap of trouble.’

  He studies me a moment longer, then at last he switches his gaze back to the cell.

  ‘Yes, they are rather formidable creatures, aren’t they?’

  ‘That’d be one way of putting it.’

  The warden gives his head a little shake and smiles.

  ‘Oh you must look past that ferocity, Gabriel; those inhuman sanguinary appetites.’ He hobbles forward, shuffling across the line that’s taped to the ground, and points the cane through the bars. The creature crouched by the back wall glances up at this new intrusion and raises its lip in a snarl. But if Finch is afraid of it he gives no sign. When he turns to look at me it’s as if his eyes have brightened again.

  ‘Regard our friend here. Hardly much of a physical specimen, wouldn’t you say? And yet he was able to scale Starkly’s walls without difficulty, and even to survive a fall from one of its towers.’

  He holds the cane up a moment longer, then lowers it.

  ‘Physically we are such a sad case in comparison. Look at us. Frail, fragile things, with our small, blunt, teeth, our delicate claws. In a fair fight we have never been a match for any animal approaching our size. It was only our intellect that placed us at the top of the food chain. And see how precarious that position has proven.’

  He leans forward, his face only inches from the hardened steel. The fury curls its lip one more time, then turns its head to the wall. The warden smiles indulgently at it, as though it were a favorite pet.

  ‘Remarkable.’

  He shakes his head, then shuffles back over the line. He looks up at me and the smile broadens, revealing that perfect picket fence row of teeth. Later I tell myself it’s just the shadows the candle was throwing. But for a second it seems like there might have been a few too many of them.

  *

  WE MAKE OUR WAY BACK to the main cellblock, where earlier we sat for dinner. I follow the warden as he hobbles up the metal stair to the second floor, then makes his way slowly along the landing. Here and there back in the shadows a candle still flickers, but most of the cells are dark. He finally stops outside a barred door that hangs open. I look inside. There’s not much in the way of comforts, just a metal bunk with a threadbare mattress, a steel bowl for a toilet. I guess I should be thankful for small mercies. At least he’s not putting me down in the basement with the fury.