“Well then,” Smelt said, “you can lead the way.”
Expediting cautionary steps, the five men whittled a path into the bowels of the crumbling city.
CHAPTER TEN
Fabal halted at the precipice, peering over the ridge. “It’s a faraway dip before it straightens out some, don’t you think, Tibbles?”
“Riff”
“It’s pretty clear going down. Not too steep.” He leaned into the bear’s wooly fur like two mutual friends discussing a proposition. “The snow’s starting to melt and I don’t see any nasty stumps.”
Tibbles beady eyes moved right and left.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Fabal toed the snow, scooping it over the ridge and watched it roll. “It might not work, though.” As if reading his mind, Tibbles scrabbled to his belly into the snow. “Alright, let’s do this.” He scaled the bear like an expert. Once straddled, Fabal knotted his fingers into blue fur. “Ready—Set—Go!”
Gradual at first, the beast’s muscular chest seesawed on the precipice. Tibbles lengthened his arms while his rear paws dug into snow and earth.
Swish—Like a bizarre animal toboggan, beast and boy went at a breakneck speed.
“Yahoo!” Fabal’s hooting stirred a nearby owl. Cool breezes slapped his face as his fingers clasped tighter when they skied on an icy plot of land. “Yippeeeee—” Molding himself into the bear’s spine, becoming one, they picked up velocity on the sheer drop before reaching the leveling plain.
Tibbles surged over a minor swell of land and clawed to a stop.
“That was brilliant.” Fabal pet his buddy’s broad shoulders. “We should do it again.” Careful not to gouge Tibbles with his heels, he slid into slushy snow. “Good thing we didn’t go any further. Lots of boulders and ditches down below.”
“Fabal—” He rotated to the sound of his name being called. Standing on the upper precipice, looking smaller than ever, Swan’s head of hair radiated like a halo in the sunshine.
“Stay there,” he bellowed, “we’re coming up.” He swerved to his buddy. “C’mon, let’s give Swan a ride. She’ll scream her head off.” He chuckled under his breath and noticed sloppy patches of mud and tamped weeds. “The snow’s getting mushy. We might not be able to slide down a second time. What’d you think?”
“Erh,” Tibbles replied while Fabal reclaimed his seat on the bear’s backside.
It took longer than expected to hike the incline.
“Hey, Swan. How’d you find me?” He hopped off of Tibbles. The bear instantly rolled onto his back for a necessary respite.
“Very easily.” Her eyes, the color of a robin’s eggs, peered at him. “You left tracks in the snow. And you’d have to be blind to miss Tibbles prints.” She folded hair behind her ears. “Knox is getting antsy. He needs company.”
“We’ll go back in a minute. First let’s have some fun.” He stared at the evidence in the snow, a clear indentation of their slippery plight. “Tibbles will give us a ride.” He glanced over his shoulder to where the bear sprawled. “Are you rested yet?”
Flat snarls generated up the beast’s esophagus.
“He’s tired,” Swan said. “Besides I don’t want to.”
“I knew you’d say that.” He lightheartedly bumped her shoulder with his hand. “I dare you.”
“I don’t care if you triple-dog dare me. I’m not going for a ride on Tibbles down that hill.”
“It was a blast, ask Tibbles, he’ll tell you.” The bear snorted hearing him. Fabal grinned and squinted to look at Swan, a rosy tinge spread beneath her freckles. “You’re such a baby.”
“I am not a baby.” She flaunted her bottom lip in a pout.
“Then show me.” He liked teasing her.
She crossed her arms over her tattered coat, a mulish expression waxed her face. “Okay—”—eyes tapering—“Let’s go.”
“Yeah, man! C’mon, Tibbles.”
The bear appeared visibly nonresponsive.
“Tibbles, once more, and then we’ll go back and you can sleep all day.”
A bigger than life bear juggled to his feet and stretched. The children stood in his shadow if a stranger happened by it appeared they were doomed to be his dinner. Following a beneficial stretch, he flopped to the ground.
“Let me give you a lift.” Fabal bowed, fortifying his fingers together like a stirrup. “Step up.”
The last time Swan rode the bear, she embarrassingly fell off into Fabal’s arms. Now getting the drift on leveraging her body on the hulking beast, she shambled over his ample backbone by operating the long fur as rope pulleys.
Once she was astride, the experienced Fabal mounted. “Okay, we’re ready to go.” Straddling frontward, his chest to Swan’s back, he linked an arm around her waist and said into her ear, “Hold on tight.”
On his belly, the bear performed a snowy breaststroke and teeter-tottered on the rim. Tilling his toes, he pushed. Hill and dale absorbed Swan’s heralding screams, coalescing with Fabal’s joyful whoops. Slicing the snow-laden mountainside Swan tunneled her head into the bear’s shoulder blades.
Whether conducive to a slick spot or the extra weight, instead of petering out at the bottom they jostled over the plain. Quashing his joyful cry, Fabal sighted looming trees. “Watch out,” he shouted. Tibbles attempted a navigational turn to impede the risky descent.
“Whoa—!” He clutched Swan’s tiny waist buckling her to the bear’s spine. “Don’t let go.” Buried in fur, he raised his head to peek. A dizzying blur cramped his stomach as he pressed his knees into the bear’s flanks. They spun out of control.
“You’re heading into the trees!” he screamed.
Jetting a padded paw, Tibbles hooked a tree trunk. Chunks of snow rained from quivering pine boughs as they swirled to the left. The feat forced Fabal to spool, head over heels into the air.
***
“We’re watching appetizing treats walk right below our noses.” Smelt aimed his rifle. Rats the size of small dogs scuttled underneath a fissure in the concrete. “Meat for supper tonight, boys.”
Doogan knocked Smelt’s elbow before he had a chance to fire. “You hit it with buckshot there’d be nothing left. Leave the rats for the people trying to survive here.”
Smelt’s irritation paraded over his ruddy complexion. “Give me your revolver, Fulvio. I’m gonna git us some fresh meat. I don’t care what he says.”
“He’s right. Let them go. We have food in the wagon.” Fulvio’s fingers tapped his Glock hanging in his holster. “Besides we have enough to carry without lugging dead rats.”
“Just ‘cause your son is a physician don’t mean he knows everything.” Smelt clicked the safety on his rifle. “Ever since we rescued him from Tallas he’s been acting high and mighty. When he should be thanking us he’s alive. He darn near got everybody killed.”
“Smelt, that’s enough.” Fulvio repositioned a heavy sack over his shoulder. “Doogan saved Knox. Those doctors were ready to cut him apart just to see if they could put the boy back together again, and then they’d let him die. Just like the rest of them. And Doogan’s shouldered as much of the burden as the rest of us.” He glowered at the hawk-nosed man. “Right?”
Smelt swiped his hand over his brow, a defined sulk to his mouth.
“Fulvio, I don’t need you sticking up for me.” Doogan balanced his rifle on what once was a traffic stop sign. “I’ve been able to take care of myself without your help.” He emitted pure muscle and strength from years of self-preservation. His square shoulders reached Fulvio’s height, though; his girth didn’t come close to his hulking father.
“Hey, that’s right,” Gus broke in. “Fulvio’s been in these mountains as long as I can remember. I didn’t even know he had a son until a year ago.” He stepped over a crinkled railing and nearly lost his footing. “So, Doogan, how’d you manage all alone?”
“He wasn’t exactly alone. Hmph,” Fulvio said. “We both agreed on the plan.”
Smelt
and Gus looked baffled.
“Now’s not the time to discuss this,” Doogan said while squirming through an aperture of a demolished hospital. “Gus, come with me. Everyone else stay put.” He managed to wiggle into what looked like a foyer lined with broken tiles. A veritable quandary of metal and downed beams made their excavation treacherous. He produced a flashlight, showering insipid light over their surroundings. “This is a wild goose chase. I doubt if we find anything worthwhile or feasible.”
“It’s always worth a look, see.” Gus’s tone sounded muffled.
Struggling like gummy worms amid cinderblocks and an unsafe edifice, they barely coped through the labyrinth. Breathing filth, Doogan’s raw sandpapery lungs hardened as sweat riddled his body. He peered behind him to witness Gus in the same predicament, gasping for air. “Look for a sign that says pharmacy.”
“What’s a pharmacy?” Gus swiped at an intricate spider web with his hand.
“It’s where medicinal materials are kept.” Doogan revolved to shine the light in the boy’s direction. “Gus, there’s a spider on your shoulder. Get rid of it, might be poisonous.”
“Cripes.” He batted his shoulder, flinging the leggy creature. It landed in front of Doogan who mashed it with his shoe. Gus said, “I think it bit me.”
“Are you sure?”
“My hand stings.” Gus winced. “And now it itches.”
“Oh shit. Don’t touch it.” He snatched Gus’s hand for a quick once over and then dropped it. “We better get out of here.”
“No—not yet. We didn’t come all this way for nothing.” Gus flexed his fingers, appearing to resist the urge to scratch. “Keep looking for the pharmacy.”
Perturbed, Doogan sucked in his lips and nodded.
It seemed like forever, virtually slinking through the rubble. He recognized a faded broken sign. PHARMACY. “Eureka!”
They worked at displacing huge chunks of cinder and then chopping at a peculiar root structure that laid claim to every segment of the city. Doogan picked up the flashlight that he’d set down, cutting the light over an array of bottles and paraphernalia. “You still have that empty sack?”
“Yes sir, I do.”
“Fill it with everything you can lay your hands on.” Doogan bent down to unearth a section of containers. “And don’t call me sir. Doogan, just Doogan.”
Hauling overloaded sacks, they began to retrace their bungling steps. The earth below their feet trembled. Gus’s eyes popped, his neck twisting to Doogan. “What the hell was that?” A downpour of grime sprinkled their head and shoulders, adhering to their sweaty bodies.
“I don’t like it.” Doogan pushed softly on Gus’s backside. “Hurry it up, before we’re buried alive.”
The itch and sting of his hand forgotten, Gus dodged, crawled, and squiggled under and over metal beams and mounds of jagged stone. Sometimes having to tow the sack in his wake, he turned to glimpse Doogan. “You okay?”
“Yep. I see light up ahead. We’re almost there.”
Another minor tremor shook the ground, causing them to temporarily halt. A solid crackling and splintering noise resonated. The building moaned.
“Go—Go—Go—!” Doogan yelled.
Frightened, Gus felt the sack ripped from his fingers.
“Hurry—get out...” Doogan voiced from behind. A hailstorm of construction rained down.
Like a human javelin, arms first, Gus soared outside into a pile of wreckage. His movement’s rapid, twisting to see the aperture ousting a bomb of sooty particles.
“Where’s Doogan?” Fulvio asked.
“Right behind me.”
Overwrought, Smelt, Fulvio, and Gus gaped at the outlet, now an obscure mess. Anxious minutes passed. A burlap sack parted the mortar, plopping in front of them. Hearing a hacking cough, they neared the site. Mooring hands under Doogan’s armpits they dragged him from the disintegrating hospital.
“You are a sight for sore eyes, my son.” Fulvio clapped him heartily on the back creating a laurel of plaster.
Doogan bowed at the waist and roughed fingers into his hair, releasing a blur of grime. He then sought the eyes of Gus. “Are you alright?”
“I’m good.”
“Let me see your hand.”
“Which one,” he joked. In the confusion, Gus had disregarded the annoying spider bite.
“Smart ass.” Doogan reached for his hand. “Let me take a look.”
“What’s wrong? What happened to his hand?” Smelt observed the pinkish, swollen hand. Sympathizing with the teen he ballooned his cheeks, puffing breath. “Ouch.”
“Itches like a mother,” Gus said.
Doogan touched the puffy hand leaving behind white dots before it tinged back to pink. He looked to Fulvio and said, “Spider bite, a big sucker.”
“Hmmm...” Fulvio pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hopefully you found useful antibiotics. If not, I know of a root that will help to draw out the poison.”
“Poison?” Gus unconsciously scratched his forearm.
“Venom, poison.” Fulvio’s brow creased. “Whatever the spider injected into your hand is percolating into your veins.”
“Oh great. Thanks for telling me that.” Gus gawked at his swelling fingers.
“And stop itching.” Doogan swatted Gus’s hand. “You’re making is worse.”
The ground vibrated like a shivering body of land. Heads turned looking from one to the other. “What’s happening?”
Rodents, slithering snakes, and animals of various sizes charged from nooks, crannies, and vegetation. Chaotic squawking invaded the air as birds flew from jittering tree limbs that swayed to and fro like a precursor to a violent storm.
“This doesn’t bode well my friends.” Fulvio grasped one of the burlap sacks, tossing it over his shoulder looking like a version of Santa Claus. “Let’s skedaddle.”
Pacing swiftly to where they left the helio, truck, and horses, the men began to jog. Everything seemed to hush. The ground and trees stilled. The men stalled, a qualm spread over them.
“Slow down,” Smelt panted, lagging behind. “What’s the rush?”
The fleeting calm suddenly evolved into a major tremor.
“Earthquake—!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Clad in a sheath of fox fur, Paniess reclined on the second-floor balcony of the mansion. The balcony overlooked a sparse stretch of land with a highly traveled roadway, which led toward the vale. A handful of men had been assigned to harvest the grapes tomorrow, before the killing frost. They’d be guarded by a staff of Mediators, that meant the hunt for Fulvio had been called off, at least for now. Pomfrey liked his wine and ale and a season lacking his flavorful amenities would not suffice.
Paniess hugged the collar of her toasty sheath to her chin. The sun had set hours ago and the nights were getting colder and colder with each passing day. She wondered if Fulvio had received her messages and was becoming increasingly worried without a report. Clive recently admitted that the Mediators had found a remarkable hidden cave, and believed it had once been Fulvio’s hideout. And that’s where they captured a couple of mutants hanging around. They were brought to the lower levels of the Infirmary. Paniess shivered just thinking what Dr. Merkle, Malkus, and Rayder had in store for them.
Dragging in a crispy cool breath, she pondered over her song and dance with Clive. Did he believe me? He caught her creeping into her bedroom window at sunrise and she nearly fainted seeing him lying on her bed. Hastily calibrating an excuse, it took hours of supplication and cajoling on her part to convince him she’d been visiting a sick citizen. A citizen Pomfrey wouldn’t approve of, so she did it on the sly. Seducing Clive was easy, despite the fact he never relented his tactical grilling. Afterward, he left her bedroom with a strange glint in his eye.
Paniess stared at the shiny moon and a host of constellations, a beautiful night. She heard movement behind her. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone to bed hours ago with Mom.”
“I coul
dn’t sleep.” Pomfrey touched her shoulder before striding to the balustrade. He laid his hands on the rail, gazing upward. “Chilly, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Her breath misted before her face. “I was just going in.” She waited for a second and when he had nothing to add, she gathered her coat and started to rise off the lounge.
Without turning or looking at her, still concentrating on the amethyst dome, Pomfrey said, “Do you have anything you’d like to share with me?”
Did Clive snitch?—she thought— Does Pomfrey know of her early morning tryst? “What would you like me to share?” Paniess steadied her voice. Standing, she girded the collar of her wrap tighter around her neck.
Measuredly, he turned. “You’ve been avoiding me. You didn’t join us for dinner and Gwin suspects something is wrong.”
“I...I haven’t been feeling well.” She sounded unsure, even to herself. “Mom hasn’t been herself since her surgery. She’s been addled brained.”
Poised, leaning his back on the balustrade and his hands gripping the rail. Pomfrey smiled, a shark’s smile, like he held a secret. “Addle-brained. I think it’s more than that. She keeps asking for Doogan. What have you been telling her?”
“Me? I thought we agreed to tell her the truth. That he left Tallas.” She ringed a piece of hair behind her ear. “Doogan removed the tumor from her head, and it’s only natural for her to want him to—”
“It’s more than that.” Pomfrey chafed his hands together. “She’s asking me all sorts of questions. Questions about the past. Like she’s just remembering.”
“Perhaps her brain is healing and she’s regaining some of her lost memories. I don’t know what else to say. Why don’t you call in Doctor Riggley to take a look at her?”
Balancing on the rail, her father folded his arms over his chest and crossed his ankles like he was getting comfortable. She took this as her cue to leave him to brood on his own misgivings.
“Paniess,” he said her name subtly. “Malkus Bucklebee is your escort for the Harvest Dance. It’s all arranged.”
Snow on Cinders (The Tallas Series Book 2) Page 6