by Kurt Newton
Pike knew that without the frequencies running interference, the cougar would soon feel every torn tendon and raw nerve ending of its amputated foot. In addition, the cerebral damage incurred by the experiment would undoubtedly create disorientation, paranoia, and increased aggression. Whether it survived was up to the strength of its own resolve. The probability of that survival was slim to none.
Pike breathed a you-win-some-you-lose-some sigh, and then retired to his bedroom for the night.
The cool night air rushed through her fur. An even cooler feeling encased her front paw, as if she had stepped in water. It was an odd sensation, one that forced her to shake her leg to try and rid it of the feeling. But it was secondary to the knowledge that she was once again free.
Lights blinded her momentarily as she loped across the stone ledge and stumbled through the scrub. She soon found herself in the woods, panting heavily. Her foot grew increasingly cold as she followed familiar scents. She didn't know why the trail was familiar or where it led, all she knew was it took her away from where she had been.
She approached a den hole and tiny growls assaulted her ears. They came at her from all directions and she lashed out. One by one, she batted them down with her one good paw and sank her teeth into their necks to make them still. She stilled them all before recognizing their scent was her scent, the taste of their blood her own.
Ethan was once again awakened from his sleep. This time however it wasn't the roar of a low-flying aircraft, but the sound of a wild animal shrieking in the night. It was the most eerie and pain-filled sound he had ever heard.
He pulled the rain parka he was using as a pillow up over his ears, and fell back into unconsciousness.
11
The mist hugged the surface of the lake, making it difficult to see. The island was up a head; he knew it. And so was his brother.
Ethan swam as fast as his ten year-old legs could propel him. "James...wait up!" He received a mouthful of water, and struggled to keep afloat...to keep from panicking. His legs were so tired.
"Over here..."
James' voice cut through the mist, and up ahead the island appeared. The stones that Ethan remembered were gone. In their place a sandbar rose above the surface of the water. James stood near shore dressed in Marine camos, flak jacket and black boots. A thick mist swirled around him.
Ethan quickened his pace but it brought him no closer to shore. The water seemed to weigh him down, sapping what little strength he had left in his legs.
"Here..." his brother called, removing the flak jacket. "You're gonna need this." He tossed it to him.
As the jacket arced through the air, the sound of an incoming mortar shell accompanied its descent. Ethan stared at his brother, no longer concerned about drowning, knowing that his brother was going to die any second.
His brother simply waved...
Ethan opened his eyes to a haze-filled morning. The hum of the power lines matched the rush of blood in his ears.
He laid for a moment staring up at the black lines that laced through the mist overhead, the dream of his brother still fresh in his mind. He tried to imagine what his brother's thoughts were during those final moments as he lay dying. Did he think of their mother and how his death was going to affect her? Or were his concerns more immediate, more selfish? Did he turn to God between those last shell-shocked breaths and ask for forgiveness? Knowing his brother, Ethan guessed it was none of these. His brother's last thought was probably, "Oh, crap." Because that was James. His life was crap. His death was crap. It was what he expected, and what he received in the end.
Ethan sat up and stretched. The Natchaug State Forest dipped and rolled like a mottled green carpet below. The sky hung so low it nearly scraped the treetops. And through it all, the power lines cut a clean, smooth path. A railroad track stretched like taffy. An erector set left behind by giant children. The imaginary possibilities were endless. Ethan expected a lot more out of life than to be a victim of its random uncertainty. It was a good day to be alive, he decided. Any day was a good day to be alive. It was best to make the most of it.
He got to his feet and stretched. His body crackled with energy. He must be feeding off the power lines, he decided, like those fluorescent light tubes that kid on the dirt bike spoke of yesterday. He could almost feel the electrical current coursing through his nervous system. Either that or it was because he had to piss real bad.
He walked into the scrub. He knew it was foolish to think he had to hide all the way out here. Victim of habit. All too often our lives are spent closing doors and drawing window blinds against the world, he thought. But was it privacy from our neighbor that we're seeking? Or are our actions an attempt to separate ourselves from some invisible presence, an ever-watchful eye? Ethan's bladder was much too full to think so deeply this early in the morning. He unzipped his fly and with a satisfied "Ahhh" watered the bushes with his stream.
Though the sun had yet to break through the haze, the insect chirr had already begun. The scent of wildflowers mixed with juniper clung to the air. It was going to be another hot day, so Ethan decided he had better get an early start. He packed his bedroll and bagged the remaining litter. When he was done he rewarded himself with a breakfast bar, washing it down with some night-cooled water. He then checked his map, adding a red X where he had just camped. According to the satellite images, the power lines crested the ridge above and made a dogleg turn west toward the Southbridge substation. He tucked the map away and hoisted the backpack onto his shoulders, pulling the two ends of the waistband together and snapping the clasp shut. He craned his neck toward the summit of the ridge and, with a deep breath, began climbing.
Ahead, the next pair of towers straddled a jagged ravine that cut into the hillside. Giant cement blocks anchored the towers into the bedrock. Further ahead, the ravine deepened until it reached the summit where two more towers stood, head and shoulders above the mist. Ethan committed himself to the right side of the ravine where the tiers of scrub growth allowed for better footing. It probably wasn't that steep by mountain climbing standards, but for Ethan it was like scaling Everest. Right about now he wished the power lines were a ski lift. In fact, for the first time, the thought crossed his mind that he could actually get hurt doing this.
Lindsey stood in the early morning fog, bare feet ankle deep in the cool, damp grass.
The sky crackled and hissed.
Lindsey looked up, straining to locate the source of the sounds. It was as if the fog was charged with electricity.
She sensed movement behind her. Before she could turn, a voice very close to her ear whispered: "Hear that?"
Lindsey woke with a start.
The sun bled through the window blinds into her bedroom. On the floor lay Kirsty, Hayley, and Saga. All were still asleep. Kirsty and Hayley had ended up face to face, their noses only inches apart, close enough to breathe in each other's morning breath. Saga had slipped off her inflatable mattress and was curled into a ball on the floor her butt crack showing. Lindsey reached for her cell and snapped a couple of incriminating photos. She reviewed the pictures and grinned, but her grin quickly faded. She put the phone aside and lay back.
It was still early. The dream had left her with an unsettling feeling. It wasn't the first dream she'd had about her father since his death, but it was the first time she'd heard his voice. Her father was usually a distant figure in her dreams, a phantom presence moving just outside the perimeter of her awareness. Although he was much like that in real life, always toiling away on one project or another, when he was home and Lindsey needed his attention, he always took time out to provide it. Their bond was much closer than what was displayed by either the time they spent together or the words they shared. She was his Angel Spice, his Little Firecracker. She meant the world to him, and she still felt that bond, even though all that remained was ethereal.
Outside, Lindsey heard a car pulled into the driveway. The soft thud of a car door was followed by quick, shuffling footste
ps on the stone walkway. The front door opened and Lindsey listened to the footsteps as they entered the kitchen.
"Ey hola, chingala!"
Lindsey smiled. It was Maria, in to clean up the aftermath of last night's Richmond Extravaganza. The place must be a mess. Lindsey slipped out of bed and crept downstairs to greet her.
He was in the basement of the house he grew up in, working on his project for the Science Fair: a homemade Jacob's Ladder. It looked like a pair of television rabbit ears, only instead of receiving electrical signals it created them. The "rabbit ears" were made from metal coat hangers mounted on a firebrick. A neon sign transformer powered the device, sending arcs of electricity traveling up the twin rails. The arcs buzzed and crackled along their short route, stretching and bending until the gap between the rails grew too great. The arcs discharged into the surrounding air with a crisp snap. He had worked on the project for months and was extremely proud of his final design. But something odd was happening.
The arcs, when they reached the end of the rails, began to lift into the air and float free like tiny neon parabolas. He knew this was impossible but he stared at the phenomena fascinated. The electrified creations floated upward and gathered near the ceiling like horseshoe-shaped balloons, collecting between the spaces between the floor joists and the copper plumbing. The scent of burning wood joined the smell of ozone.
He switched off the transformer but it was too late. Too many of the tiny floaters had huddled in one place. A gush of flames suddenly shot along the floor joists, crackling and popping. The smoke alarm began chirping frantically. He ran for the stairs
The basement door was ajar, but halfway up the stairs a large cougar blocked his escape. It opened its mouth, but instead of a growl there came a voice.
"Now look what you've done! I told you you'd never amount to anything!"
It was his mother's voice. The look in the cougar's eyes matched his mother's eyes. Just as heartless, just as cruel.
He felt the heat of the flames at his back. He turned to see what other escape options he had. Finding none, he turned to face the cougar but the cougar was gone. His mother was now at the top of the stairs, gazing down. She was herself again, which was somehow more frightening, because he knew what she was about to do next.
She slowly closed the basement door. The last thing he heard was the click of the lock.
Pike opened his eyes. He reached out and shut off his alarm. The musty darkness of the dream was replaced by bright antiseptic light. He examined the room for a moment, tracing the lines where the ceiling and walls met in perfect 90-degree angles, reestablishing a three-dimensional geometry to his life. He pushed back the covers and got up.
He started his day like every other, dressing properly, preparing breakfast, letting Wolf out of his pen to eat and roam the facility. As he went about his routine, his mind hummed with errant thoughts.
He hated his dreams. They served no purpose but to remind him of the things he could do nothing about. What did it matter that he had spent the majority of his formative years in the basement playing scientist while most kids his age were out riding their bikes or playing football? What did it matter that his mother invited a string of boyfriends into their home to act as pawns in her games of creative cruelty? What did it matter that one of these boyfriends whipped him with a lamp cord one afternoon when he accidentally blew the main circuit while the "big game" was on, and his mother stood by watching, a sadistic grin on her lips?
None of it really mattered now. All of it had long since been compartmentalized, placed into jars on dark shelves where things like the existence of God and the Meaning of Life were stored. Unanswerable questions that, if answered, wouldn't make a bit of difference in the way he conducted his life. All traded in favor of known quantities such as nano-seconds and sub-frequencies and Avogadro's number. The past was the past. To repeat the same experiment and expect different results was an exercise in futility. And boredom.
Movement on one of the outdoor monitors caught his eye.
The cougar had returned, wandering aimlessly across the terrain above, moving from one camera to the other. Confused. Perhaps remembering its stay, imprinting on the facility, but unaware of the reasons why. It could pose a danger. At the very least, it was an annoyance. Best to fix this problem before it became too bothersome. Pike enjoyed putting events into motion, charting their course, learning from what he observed. This particular experiment, however, had reached its end.
Pike commanded Wolf back into his pen. "Sorry, boy. There's something I have to take care of." He then exited by way of the corridor leading topside. He grabbed the rifle on his way out.
12
The climb had become treacherous. On the thin slippery soil that hugged the slope, Ethan's footing had given way twice already, sending him sliding down into the brush below. He didn't think he had enough strength in his legs to chance a third, so he moved closer to the ravine's edge where only lichen clung to the naked, jagged rock.
The thought that there were unknown creatures napping in the terrain's nooks and crannies — copperheads and timber rattlers were known to inhabit this area; and who knew what other creatures camped in the dark crevices of the hillside — but he was good climber; he'd just have to take special care where he put his hands and keep an ear out for any unusual sounds. In fact, he found the feeling of his heart pumping anxiously in his chest to be a rush. It was a long, jagged drop into the ravine. "If you're not bleeding at the end, it wasn't worth doing," his brother used to say. Ethan hoped it wouldn't come to that. If he made it to the top unscathed he would pull off a hangnail in honor of his brother's credo. Until then he preferred to have all of his skin intact.
When he had climbed to within twenty feet of the top, he heard the first movements. He listened for a moment, clinging to the rock face like a fly on a wall. It sounded like the shuffling echoes one hears while walking in a cemetery, a shadow sound, as if something was moving only when he moved. Ethan passed it off as just that: echoes bouncing back from the ravine, where loose stone and pieces of moss ended up as he set his footing. He continued climbing. Up ahead, the last hurdle: a wide ledge jutting outward from above.
He traversed back along the underside of the ledge until he found a stable toehold. With a slight scramble, he pulled himself up onto the ledge and rolled onto his back exhausted.
The twin utility poles towered above him, humming in the summer haze. He had made it. When he caught his breath again he got to his feet. The sweat on his brow dripped into his eyes, momentarily blurring his vision. As he squinted the sweat away he saw movement directly in front of him. A tan blur. At first, his mind refused to register what it was.
A cougar. And she was big.
Ethan could tell it was a she by the extra folds hanging below its midsection. She had given birth recently. Her ears were pinned and her face was stained a reddish-brown. A deep guttural growl came from her belly.
Ethan didn't move. He couldn't move. All he could do was stare at the cougar's eyes. Something about them wasn't right. Ethan sensed she was seeing him as something more than just a threat. Something more than just a meal. She stared at him as if he were a monster. Before he could speculate any more the animal suddenly launched at him.
Ethan was unsure what happened next. The cougar hit him with the weight of a duffel bag, but then was off him just as quickly. The impact had knocked him off balance and he had fallen backwards. He ended up clinging to the rock ledge, his feet dangling in the air. He realized his backpack was gone and so was the cougar. A quick glance below confirmed what he suspected. The cougar lay at the bottom of the ravine, her body broken. His backpack was wedged in the rocks not far from her.
Holy fucking shit! HOLY FUCKING SHIT! I almost fucking died!
Ethan hung onto the ledge just happy to still be in one piece. But when the adrenalin overload began to wane, so did his energy. What seemed like an easy task before — to pull himself up onto the ledge — now appeared nearl
y impossible. He didn't think he could maneuver sideways to get back to where he was, let alone pull himself up and over. Besides, there was a burning sensation in his shoulder and he didn't think it was muscle fatigue. The cougar had grabbed mostly backpack, but it had also raked his arm.
Pull yourself up, Private! No pain, no gain, remember?
Ethan heard his brother's voice again, commanding him to literally get a grip.
C'mon, we don't have all day. Stop sucking wind and move!
Ethan pulled himself up and, with a desperate attempt to keep from falling back, he reached out as far as he could...and found something to grab onto. A handle of some kind. His fingers curled around it and he dragged himself up onto the ledge, coughing up dust and gasping for air. When his breathing returned to normal, he sat up and stared at the handle. On closer inspection he discovered an outline of what appeared to be a metal door set in the stone.
That's when the shadow appeared. The shadow of a man standing over him.
Ethan looked up. Sunlight glowed behind the man's head like a halo. Ethan also saw what looked like a rifle butt rocketing toward him. He heard it hit his head with a thud, but didn't feel a thing. Then everything went black.
Lindsey greeted Maria in the kitchen. She perched on one of the island stools, her feet pulled up, knees to her chest.
Maria let the silence stretch. "How was the party?"
"It was okay," said Lindsey, slowly twisting back and forth on the rotating stool.
"Just okay? Your voice tells me you are not happy. Is something wrong?"