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by Matthew Costello

  She stopped for a second as the thoughts formed in her mind. Like storm clouds coming together.

  The day changing.

  “Or is something like that happening all over? Places like Paterville. A new type of Can Head. Looking like us.”

  “But not like us.”

  She shot Helen a look.

  “Or maybe exactly like us. Is this thing—whatever it is—spreading, changing?”

  Helen’s eyes had narrowed, her face frozen.

  Christie pressed on.

  After all, Helen had started the conversation.

  Started her thinking.

  “Yeah, spreading—or do you have to let it happen? Is it—God—a choice? Did those people in the camp have to let it happen, to become like the things outside the fence?”

  Then quiet.

  Christie realizing that her words scared even her.

  Because if they were true … if they were even remotely possible of being true … then what was this world?

  What was the future?

  For my kids?

  And if it was …

  “You see, if that’s true then there’s the other difference.”

  “Difference?”

  “Between the ones outside the fence, and the ones … inside.”

  “What’s that?”

  Now it was Helen’s voice that had turned hollow.

  “The ones inside could think. They could plan. They could seem like us. How would you ever tell? And one more thing.”

  A moment. Then, again, the question, quiet:

  “What?”

  “They’re smart.” A deep breath. Hands tight on the wheel. “They can be as smart as us.”

  And with that, they both stopped talking.

  23

  To the Mountain

  The gate leading off the Thruway to Exit 18 swung wide open, and this time Christie wasn’t surprised.

  Something happened, and it wasn’t just in Paterville, not just New York City; it didn’t just happen to us.

  “Little tricky here,” Helen said. “You could go straight through the town. But there’s a side road. Why not give that a shot?”

  She made it sound so casual.

  “Why not give that a shot?”

  Christie could read between the lines.

  Towns up here could be the least safe places, especially small ones like this with one narrow Main Street, and few side streets.

  Perfect for a human trap.

  “Just take the street there, and follow it around. You can pick up County Road 6, and take that all the way up to the mountain and the inn.”

  Christie drove at a steady pace, and she kept looking left and right as she drove, reassured to see Helen doing the same thing. Her gun lowered, barrel pointing down.

  “There—this is it. County Road 6. Goes all the way up the mountain.”

  “We’re going … up there?” Simon said.

  Simon leaned forward to get a better view of the mountain ahead of them. The sheer cliff rising up nearly straight, hitting the deep blue of the afternoon sky. Near the top, the roofs of the inn’s buildings juttted out, just below the peak.

  Helen turned around to him. “That’s the place. It’s something, hmm? The Mountain Falls Inn.”

  “They built it right on top of the mountain?”

  “Sure did. A Victorian castle built in 1851.”

  Christie looked in her rearview mirror. Kate hadn’t said anything. No excitement from her. No questions.

  Though awake, she sat with her lips pursed, eyes narrow.

  Looking out the window.

  But not at the mountain, at the great building ahead.

  Christie started up the mountain road, suddenly twisting, curving, cut into the ancient granite, with only a small rock ledge at the side to stop a car from veering off.

  She slowed even more.

  “Only this one road up there?” she said to Helen.

  “Uh-huh. Guess that’s why it’s a good redoubt.”

  “What’s a redoubt?” Simon said.

  “Well, the way Mr. Field explained it to me, Simon, is that it’s like, well, a fort. A place to be safe. A good thing.”

  Finally, Kate spoke.

  The word flat. Loaded with doubt.

  “Safe?”

  Christie saw Helen still looking at the back.

  She hesitated answering. Then:

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “We’ll check it out,” Christie added quickly.

  Her eyes shot to the mirror, meeting Kate’s.

  Kate held the look for a moment, then glanced away, back to the windows as the car traveled the narrow serpentlike road up to the mountain inn.

  * * *

  Near the top, the road straightened a bit, and they passed signs.

  Signs. About parking. And registration. One with an arrow pointing to a lake.

  And Christie immediately felt that this was all wrong.

  So goddamned familiar.

  And then … what must the kids think?

  Maybe this was all a bad idea. There had to be other places to go.

  Though the place might be nothing like the Paterville Camp with its collection of small cottages, how could they not be thinking about it?

  But before she could let those thoughts sink in, to process what she thought, to figure out what her options were, she took one last curve, and came to a small cabin beside a metal barrier.

  A fence led from either side, not high, but it ended where it joined the mountain.

  Certainly didn’t look terribly … safe.

  Men stood there with guns.

  Men with guns. A constant in this world.

  Everywhere. The barrier remained in place, and the men made their weapons tilt up a bit.

  Christie did the only thing she could do.

  She slowed, then stopped the car.

  * * *

  Before the first man got to the driver’s window, Helen said quietly … “Let me do the talking.”

  Christie hit a button, and the window came down.

  “You folks lost?” the man said.

  Helen leaned across so she could get a look at the man.

  “Afternoon. Is there somebody we could talk to?”

  The man smiled. Shook his head. A glance back to the others behind him.

  “You’re talking to me.”

  Christie saw Helen smile. Holding it together.

  We’re not exactly being welcomed, Christie thought.

  “Right.” Helen said. “My name is Helen Field, and these people, this … family, they’ve been through a lot. We were hoping that—”

  The man cut her off.

  “Sorry. No one gets in here without prior approval. Kind of full up. Now, to turn around—”

  At that, Helen pulled back from Christie and popped open the passenger car door, and got out.

  The men to the rear came forward, guns at the ready.

  Helen paid no attention to them, but walked around to the front of the car, where the man she had been talking to stood.

  Christie watched them talk.

  Both standing in the brilliant sun.

  The man shaking his head.

  Helen gesturing with her arms, hands … in a way that Christie now expected.

  It went on.

  Kate spoke: “Mom, what’s wrong? Won’t they let us in?”

  Christie shook her head.

  “I don’t know.”

  Had this all been a waste? The gas wasted, the time. Now here—and where the hell were they?

  She thought of how many times she had said those words in the past days …

  I don’t … know.

  Finally, she saw the man give one last shrug, and with the barrier still down, he walked over to the small cottage near the barrier, and went in.

  Christie saw him pick up a black phone.

  They have phones, she thought. That’s good. Maybe things aren’t so bad here.

  Helen looked ov
er to her. A small smile. A little widening of the eyes.

  The expression said that she had given it her best shot.

  And it all depended on what happened in the little toll cottage by the barrier as the man spoke on the black phone.

  Finally he came out, and as if it was no big deal—

  No big deal …

  —he gave a signal and the long metal barrier began to rise.

  The guns lowered.

  Helen gave him a pat on his right shoulder to which he didn’t react, and then quickly ran back into the car, slamming the door behind her.

  “What did you tell him? We’re in?” Christie said.

  Helen looked first at the kids, then Christie, her tone almost suggesting that this was some kind of adventure.

  Rather than what it really was—

  A matter of life and death.

  The woman took a breath.

  “Not exactly…”

  24

  The Interview

  They followed a young man—couldn’t have been more than seventeen … eighteen—who led them into the castlelike building.

  “Wow,” Simon said, looking around at the mammoth main complex flanked by two other buildings.

  Inside—though the overhead lights were off—enough afternoon sunlight poured through the massive front windows that overlooked the very top of the mountain, the lake, and the sheer cliff that faced the inn.

  “This way,” the young man said with no warmth.

  “What a joint, hmm?” Helen said.

  The man walked to a great staircase and started up the steps.

  The inn was the kind of castle one might see in Europe; in fact, the whole setting seemed like they were in the Alps.

  At the top of the stairs, the man turned, walked down the hallway a few steps, and knocked on a massive wooden door.

  He stood there, his face blank, not registering anything as they waited.

  The hallway also had no lights on.

  Probably on a generator. Watching their fuel, Christie thought.

  Someone opened the door, and the young man gestured for them to go inside, not following them, his escort duties apparently over.

  Christie looked at Helen, who took the lead and walked in.

  * * *

  The room, an office—all dark wood, giant windows, bookcases on all the walls, and a massive desk surrounded by heavy chairs—smelled musty.

  Behind the massive wood desk, a man in khakis sat wearing a green and gray camouflaged cap with large black letters—USMC—arms resting on the table, hands folded.

  Christie saw someone else standing to the side. Another man, not in khakis, but holding a gun.

  The man at the desk spoke first.

  “Helen Field. God, didn’t expect to see you up here.”

  “Hi, Bill.” She looked around the room. “Nice digs.”

  Christie saw that Bill didn’t react to the light tone.

  He also didn’t offer them seats.

  She turned to see Simon and Kate still taking the room in.

  “After what we heard about the city. The problems they had with the electricity, then the damn Highway Authority. Thought things had finally gone over the top.”

  “That’s kinda why I’m here. I know that you and Henry used to talk. And when he learned about what you were doing up here, he thought, maybe, some day we should come along.”

  “He should have.”

  Christie noticed the use of the word he.

  Did Bill like Helen, or was he only connected to her now-dead husband, part of a band of brothers that didn’t suffer females?

  And now he had three of them in his office.

  Helen smiled. “Guess I wasn’t up for leaving. And then when he died—”

  The man looked away. “Tough thing. Sorry I didn’t get down for the service—”

  “Wasn’t much.”

  A pause.

  The man’s eyes turned to look at Helen, then Christie, eyes boring into her.

  Should I say something? she thought.

  And then another …

  Do we even want to stay here?

  This dark, cold castle?

  Maybe there were other options.

  “Look, Bill—as you—”

  The man behind the desk cleared his throat.

  “Helen. Hang on a second. They call me ‘the Colonel’ here. Helps keep things … orderly. I say things, things, they get done.”

  Helen smiled. “Sure, Colonel, I was hoping that I, my friends here … we could stay. For a while. Until things settle down.”

  Bill—now “the Colonel”—stood up.

  “Settle down?”

  He seemed angry at the thought.

  “You think that things are going to … ‘settle down?’”

  Simon had been wandering around, looking at the rows of books, a painting of the inn above a giant fireplace.

  Now, though, he came close to Christie.

  The man with the gun had his eyes on her, watching.

  No, she thought. Maybe this is all wrong.

  The Colonel gestured to the outside, a wave of his hand.

  “Tell you what, Helen, just like I told Hank years ago. This thing isn’t going to … settle down. It’s a war. And to fight a war, let alone win it, you got to survive. Which is why we’re here.”

  The Colonel stood up and walked under the giant painting of the inn.

  “When they abandoned this place, we came in. Started making it safe. None of that electric fence crap.”

  Christie imagined that his language could get even more colorful.

  And standing here …

  With a couch dotted with maroon pillows only feet away.

  It would be so good to just sit, lean back.

  Simon’s hand found hers.

  Another gesture from the Colonel, a dismissive wave at the world outside.

  “We set up real patrols. Boots on the ground. The perimeter guarded. Only one way up here, and we guard it. Lay in all the provisions we could. Scavenge. Recover. Get food, gas. We even found plots of ground during the summer where things grow. And thank God for that lake outside.”

  Helen nodded, shooting Christie a quick look. “You’ve done well. Hank always said—”

  She kept playing the name of her dead husband, as if that ancient bond might help.

  “We have. We have a system. Everyone follows that system. If there’s a way to get through this, we’ll be here. Surviving.”

  He finally stopped.

  Then, walking away from the painting, planting himself in front of his desk, leaning back so he could rest while they remained standing, as if ready to be interrogated, the Colonel finally asked a question.

  “So what is it you want from me, from us?”

  Helen started to answer …

  * * *

  But Christie—on impulse—rushed to answer.

  “We need a place to be safe.”

  She wanted to tell him what she and her kids had been through, what they lost, the horrors—

  But she couldn’t summon that in front of the kids. Somehow, they had to get past all that.

  “We just—don’t have any place to go. When Helen said—”

  The Colonel put up his hand.

  “Look—I have thirty-eight souls living here, under my leadership.”

  Souls.

  There was somewhere else they used that word, Christie thought.

  But where?

  Souls …

  “And keeping them alive, and healthy, and fed—I take that very seriously. Our resources—they’re strained already. And four new people? Three of ’em people I don’t even know? How can I do that?”

  Helen cut him off.

  “You know me, Bill.”

  Stopping, for the moment, the “Colonel” horseshit.

  “And you and Hank were more than buddies. That is—” she shook her head—“unless the stories he told me, about you guys … in Iraq … in Afghanistan … weren’t
true. Were they, Bill?”

  Brave, thought Christie as she took another deep breath, the musty air in this room now feeling even more close, more stifling.

  “They were. And some you probably never heard.”

  Christie caught Helen’s drift.

  He owes Hank, and therefore … Helen.

  But what about us? Strangers?

  Then:

  “Can I have a word with you alone…” Another small smile … “Colonel?”

  He nodded, and the man with the gun led Christie and the kids to the hallway outside.

  * * *

  Simon sat down on the rug, a swirling carpet of curlicues and pear shapes, a dark rug that made the unlit hallway even bleaker.

  “Mom,” Kate said, “maybe we shouldn’t stay here.”

  Christie looked at her.

  They had followed Helen up here, looking for a place to be safe, even for just a while. Now, unwelcomed, this mountaintop castle didn’t feel like any kind of safe place.

  “Maybe—” Christie said “—you’re right. I just don’t know what else to do.”

  Simon, on the carpet, had begun tracing the outlines of the swirling dark shapes on the rug.

  “I like it here. It’s big.”

  Christie nodded at Simon, who hadn’t looked up. Kate rolled her eyes.

  Good, she thought. A bit of my normal Kate.

  That’s what I want back.

  The Kate who complained, who bickered with her brother.

  Sweet … normalcy.

  “I’m not sure if we have much say in the matter. The ‘Colonel’ may not let us stay. But where do we go then? He seems to know what’s been going on in the world. I think we need to know more—before we go anywhere.”

  Then she looked right at Kate. Not a demand but a genuine question.

  “At least for a little while?”

  Kate took a long moment to respond.

  Then:

  “Okay.”

  That was all. An agreement, again reminding Christie that they were now a team.

  “Still, he might not—”

  The door opened.

  “You can come in,” Helen said, her eyes on Christie, wide but revealing nothing.

  25

  The Rules

  The Colonel had gone back to the seat behind his desk.

  “Helen has explained your situation.”

  He looked at Christie, then down to her kids, his face set.

  “Been through a lot?”

  Christie nodded.

  The question … almost stupid.