by TM Catron
Three sets of footprints dotted the area, along with the remains of a campfire. One set of prints definitely belonged to Williams. Calla studied the others. Another set matched Williams’s tread exactly, but it was bigger and lighter. The other, smaller set belonged to a common hiking shoe. Eventually, the larger and the smaller parted ways, with the smaller tread heading up the mountain. Calla ignored those and followed the larger prints along the ridge line, away from the explosions, until they disappeared an hour later on a rocky outcropping. Calla’s three rejoined her as she searched for the lost trail.
She stopped momentarily to look at them. Only three, no one else. She clenched her fist as she anticipated their excuses, but asked anyway.
“Where’s Halston?”
One shook his head. “Ran off during the fighting. Must’ve got wind of the Condarri.”
“And the other?” She slid her hand along her knife handle.
“We never found another.”
“Thompson.”
“The man they were voting on? How do you know?”
“Dar Ceylin.”
“You got false information. Thompson is just a regular guy.”
Calla pulled her knife and rushed him, intending to kill them all for their insolence and incompetence. But the male did not flinch. “It is the Condarri who have failed, not us.”
Calla stopped with her knife inches from his neck. “It is treason to say so.”
“Yes, but killing us will not change your orders, only make them more difficult to carry out.”
“I can summon others.”
“Will they be as loyal? We have returned to you,” he said spitefully, “despite the possibility of death. Too many are turning their backs on the Condarri. Whom will you trust?”
“I trust no one. They will answer for their treasons.”
“Yes. And we will help you with that,” he said simply. “Not many others will.”
Calla did not want to be seen wavering, but his words rang true. They were loyal. She sheathed her knife and said, “Williams was already dead when I found him. Did you kill him?”
“I did not.” The other two shook their heads.
“We must find Halston.”
“Yes,” said the male, adding, “I don’t trust Dar Ceylin.”
“He is worth more than all three of you. And he is loyal. We need him.”
DAY 80
MINA WANDERED FOR SEVERAL DAYS after leaving Doyle. She half-heartedly thought of going back over the ridge to check the damage, but couldn’t stomach the thought of what she might find there. So she crossed to the next valley and headed south.
Her next move was to try to find Atlanta, or at least the area surrounding it. Lincoln might be long gone already, but after months of distractions, Mina would at least have a place to begin her search. Without a map or even a sense of her current location, the old idea of following the mountains south seemed smartest.
She dared not light another fire. At least once a day, a huge black ship flew silently over the area, the only sign of its approach a looming shadow that blocked out the daylight. Mina racked her brain for the reason for these daily flyovers. The ship must be searching for survivors. The smaller ship she had seen the night she met Doyle would have been better able to maneuver in the tight valleys, but what did she know about alien logic? But after three more weeks, the ship still combed the area, and the daily duck and cover left Mina weary and fearful.
Summer had finally settled in the mountains after the last cold snap, and she enjoyed the warm days and pleasantly cool nights. The rain, no longer chilling, turned the valley’s forests into humid pockets of dense undergrowth.
Traveling by herself was different from traveling with Doyle, and Mina realized quickly how much she had come to depend on him. Now she had to make all the decisions—where to sleep, how far to travel, where to rest, where to search for food. She also appreciated how well Doyle had avoided other people. Far more refugees were hiding in the mountains than she had guessed, and it seemed like she saw more every day. The first time she spotted a campfire, Mina ran in the opposite direction, thinking of the daily patrols. She no longer worried about warning others—anyone could see the great black ship in the sky. But after her first two hasty retreats, Mina realized she was wasting a valuable resource—communication. At his towering height, her brother attracted attention with his very presence. Anyone who had seen him would likely remember.
But still, she wasn’t too keen on running into another Reed or Williams, and so she carefully observed the other refugees before choosing to make contact and kept her pistol under her shirt. If they carried too many weapons or woefully outnumbered her, she retreated. So far, she had seen mostly ragtag, unarmed sorts who backtracked quickly. To encourage conversation, Mina always shared her food, and helped them find more in exchange for information. But so far, no one remembered Lincoln or had seen anyone fitting his description. No one had any outside news, either—nothing to tie her to the world beyond the mountains.
Despite her anger, Mina often wondered about Doyle. She had met more people in the past two weeks than in the two months she had spent with Doyle, but Mina missed his quiet companionship. He didn’t fear her, didn’t shrink away as the other refugees did. Her mistakes angered him, but he also accepted her frustration in return. Doyle respected her, it seemed, or he would not have helped her. During many sleepless nights, Mina reevaluated her decision to leave, but she always reached the same two conclusions—she didn’t want to be associated with a murderer, and Doyle didn’t want her company or he would have stopped her from walking away.
After days of wandering, Mina stumbled upon a family hiding in a shallow cave—a man and his wife with two small children, a boy and a girl. Pale and skinny, the children hunkered in the cave while their parents roasted a deer haunch outside. When Mina offered to provide greens for their meal, the family agreed to share their meat. Mina accepted the invitation. Joking cheerfully with one another over their meal, they seemed like the sort of people she could have been friends with in her past life. But before long, the lighthearted conversation took a darker turn.
“I just wish we knew why the Glyphs keep flying over,” Mina said as they sat eating near the mountain stream. The woman, Catherine, who had long dark hair and warm hazel eyes, shared a log with Mina. Her husband Howard and the children sat on the ground on a ragged blanket. The stream burbled happily in the sunlight.
“Maybe the invaders are on the move,” Howard suggested.
“To where, and why? We still have no idea why they’re here.”
“I doubt we'll ever find out,” said Catherine. “I’m just thankful they’re leaving us alone.”
Mina’s mind raced with memories of all she had seen since early spring, yet she could hardly believe any of it had happened at all. “I wish we knew more.” She wiped her fingers on her jeans. “Have you met anyone else lately?”
“We’ve seen a few people,” answered Catherine. “But we keep out of sight mostly. I’m pretty surprised you found us. This spot’s pretty sheltered.”
“I’ve been looking for someone. My brother. About six-foot-six, wavy auburn hair?” Mina looked from Catherine to Howard.
Howard frowned and shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar. What about you?”
“No. I’m sorry.” Catherine turned to Mina. “Where was he?”
“Atlanta.”
“Oh.” Catherine turned toward her children, who had shoved down all their food and were now brandishing sticks in a mock sword fight. The sharp raps of the branches echoed through the little cove. “Put those down. They’re noisy.”
Howard cleared his throat, redirecting Mina’s attention. “What part of Atlanta?”
“The airport.”
“I’m sorry. All of Atlanta’s destroyed. The invaders burned the airport first, I think. We passed the rubble on our way here.”
Mina had heard this news before, but somehow Howard saying it made it seem real. An
d yet the realization did not fill her with dread. If anything, she felt better hearing the news from someone who had seen it firsthand. No more conjecture. No more what-ifs.
“You’re from Atlanta?” Mina asked.
Catherine turned back to Mina and attempted a smile. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry.” Mina didn’t know what else to say.
Catherine sniffed and said, “I’ll pray that you find your brother.”
“Thank you.”
To thank them for the meal, Mina shared some of her knowledge of roots and berries. Catherine asked her to stay, but Mina insisted on heading out alone. Still, Catherine walked with Mina awhile as she left, promising to show her something.
“It’s beautiful here,” remarked Catherine. “We’re going to stay as long as possible. Plus, it’s difficult to move around much with the children.”
“What about the Glyphs?”
“If there’s one thing we’ve learned how to do, it’s hide.”
Up ahead were the waterfalls that fed their stream. The first large fall dropped straight into a deep natural pool, which then spilled over smooth, bare rocks into a more shallow pool at the bottom.
“The second waterfall would be perfect for sliding down into the lower pool,” Mina commented.
“Yes. The kids do it sometimes. We bathe here, too.”
Catherine stayed by the lower pool while Mina climbed over large slippery boulders and followed a half-hidden path to the top of the falls. The shallow stream moved slowly here, different from the turbulent rapids she had expected. The roar of the falls disappeared, and the sunlight played through the trees. Sunbeams reached the forest floor and glinted off small white flowers blooming next to the water. Clumps of tiny purple butterflies gathered on the rocks and fluttered away when Mina moved close.
She sat quietly by the stream for several minutes, sleepy in the warm sun. Finally, she stood up and looked around. The path she had followed up disappeared, but seemed to reappear beyond the stream. She knew it was not a real trail, but she walked along it anyway, exploring.
As Mina turned to head back to where Catherine was sitting, something glistened far off through the trees. Mina walked closer to get a better look. The sun shimmered, as if illuminating another waterfall. But as Mina approached, she saw not water, but stone. She stopped cold. A golden-grey giant stood with its back to her. A shudder ran the length of Mina’s spine, raising goosebumps on her arms despite the heat of the day, and a familiar knot of anxiety rose in her throat. She backed away slowly, hoping the Glyph had not heard her stomping through the woods. When it remained stationery, Mina turned and hurried as quickly as she dared back down the path to the bottom of the falls.
Catherine sat by the pool with her feet in the water, wringing her wet hair. After a moment of oblivion, she noticed Mina’s frantic motioning and scrambled to her feet. She grabbed her shoes and met Mina at the edge of the trees. Mina glanced back at the top of the waterfall and mouthed, “Glyphs.” Catherine’s tanned face turned white and she hurried with Mina into the trees.
“Where to?” Mina whispered when they had moved a little farther away from the Glyph.
“Away from camp,” answered Catherine, keeping her voice low and pointing in the opposite direction from the cave. They ran, Mina’s boots thumping loudly in the dirt, her heart beating in her throat. They had not run far before a great crashing noise on their right made both women jump. The ground shook, and they ran faster. The terrain rose swiftly. They would need to climb. Before they began the ascent, Mina heard a sharp intake of breath and turned. Catherine gaped through the trees at a small clearing, where a creature stood calmly on two legs, towering over them. Was it a second one? Or the first?
Its skin shone like yellow sun on hard grey stone. Strange and terrible symbols covered its entire body, etched in like circular hieroglyphs. Except the symbols shifted and moved, seemingly on their own. The creature’s eyes gleamed pitch black. As Mina stared into them, fire flickered and swirled where the pupils should have been, then disappeared. The Glyph regarded them for a moment, and the clear day around them seemed to darken.
The Glyph lunged. Mina couldn’t think. It was seconds away. Run. Where? No time. Mina drew her gun and pointed it straight at the Glyph, her finger shaking as it found the safety. She fired once. Twice. The creature roared with a low, throaty voice. Mina braced herself for the onslaught as Catherine turned and ran to the right.
“Catherine! NO!” Mina shouted. She had counted two Glyphs, and Catherine was heading straight for the other one.
But Mina’s warning went unheeded. The Glyph swerved toward its prey. Catherine ducked as the creature swung its massive arm at her. Mina raised her gun and fired again to distract it, and this time the bullets bounced off its thick, stone-like hide. Mina shot at it again, backing away up the slope as it turned toward her. Catherine was off, running the other way.
“Mina, run!” a voice called from somewhere behind her. She pulled her eyes away from the Glyph, half expecting Howard, but she saw no one. Mina turned back to the creature, which was clambering up the slope toward her, impossibly fast. How did it move so quickly?
“RUN!” the voice called again, and this time she recognized it—Doyle. Mina looked around wildly. He came up behind her, grabbing for her and pulling her to the side. As he did, Mina grasped his shirt, her eyes wide.
The world shifted. She saw Doyle, standing between her and the Glyph, and at the same time the Glyph charged with its great arms raised, ready to crush them both. Then they both lay dead on the ground. But Doyle was still standing somehow—she felt him next to her. And the Glyph had halted: it was studying Doyle as if sizing him up for some hideous duel. The creature’s mouth opened and it made sounds like Mina had never heard, almost identical to the waterfall not far away, but with distinctive patterns and variety. It’s speaking to Doyle. Then Doyle ran for the Glyph, forcing Mina to let go of his shirt. The world shifted back to normal again.
As the creature charged, this time for real, the image of herself and Doyle lying dead on the ground consumed Mina. She aimed her gun at the creature’s head and fired again and again, this time into its cold black eyes. Her aim was everywhere, but she continued firing until she’d emptied the magazine.
One of the monster’s eyes exploded with a sickening squelch, and the invader lurched forward. Its claws tore at Doyle, hooking into his shirt. Mina stopped breathing. But Doyle somehow got free and rolled out of the way. With a loud crash, the Glyph landed in a young tree, causing it to sway dangerously. But the creature swiftly rose to its feet again, a silvery substance flowing out of its damaged eye socket. It still possessed one good eye, and with a howl, it reached for Doyle with its massive claws. Doyle dodged it just in time.
The Glyph swept around for its prey again. Doyle did not step aside this time, but charged the creature with his knife in hand, ducking the outstretched claws. Somehow Doyle’s blade easily pierced his opponent’s hide, sliding through to flesh and bone. The Glyph screeched and reeled back. Doyle pulled out the knife and stabbed again. Thick, silvery blood spurted from its wounds, but Doyle did not stop. He punched through the Glyph’s body in every place he could reach. In its desperation to get away from Doyle, the creature made straight for Mina, but it was slower now, clumsy. The Glyph grasped at Doyle a final time, attempting to crush him as it fell. Doyle avoided it easily, but the creature’s outstretched arm tagged Mina and sent her sprawling. She landed at the base of a tree a few feet away, conscious, but unable to move.
Doyle walked up to the creature’s head. Its good eye followed him as he stood over it. Doyle’s lips moved, but Mina could not hear what he said. Then Doyle plunged his knife straight through the good eye. The Glyph went still, its hot lifeblood flowing out of its wounds and soaking the rocky ground.
Mina moved her arm to rise but a stabbing pain in her chest stopped her. She crumpled back to the ground, unable to breathe without pain. Doyle knelt beside her, checking her body for
injury. He seemed unhurt, except for his torn shirt. His face swam in front of her.
“I was too slow,” she said.
“You weren’t too slow.”
“Where’s Catherine?”
“She ran off. We need to go, too. More of them will come.” Doyle sounded far away. He picked her up, and the pain in her chest intensified as she wrapped her arms around his neck. As Doyle held her close, she felt the strange shift again. She saw the creature’s body, but she also saw more Glyphs running to this spot, and a great black ship hovering over the valley. A tall, fierce woman watched over all of them. A woman dressed in dark clothing and armed with the same kind of knife Doyle carried.
Mina shivered despite the warm afternoon sun, and she nestled her head in the crook of his neck. Her body sagged against him. Doyle gripped her more tightly. Mina wanted to protest, to tell him she could walk, but all she could do was brush her lips against his neck.
“You’ll be okay,” he said. It was the first time he had ever tried to comfort her.
“I lost . . . my bag . . . by the waterfall,” she said haltingly, unable to find her breath.
Doyle carried her through the trees, his chin supporting her head against him. His short beard tickled her forehead. “We can’t go back for it,” he said. “I still have mine.”
“It was all I had.” What a ridiculous thing to worry about.
“I know.” He kept walking, carrying her deeper into the trees. Mina closed her eyes.
What started out as pretense ended with another earnest look at the hieroglyphs. On the evening the team had discussed how to get away from Captain Baker, Lincoln had off-handedly mentioned looking for larger patterns as a way to cover up the group’s real conversation. But once Lincoln and the team realized what he was suggesting, they all felt a bit foolish. Lincoln’s father would have called it “missing the forest for the trees.”