by T. J. Klune
He tasted the dusty tang of copper in the back of his throat. “Be ready,” he muttered to those at his side. “Be ready.”
And it might have ended there, this story, with the spilling of blood and the deaths of dozens in this little town on the border of a radioactive wasteland. Humanity, after all, cannot always contain the rage within. The hive could have split, and a swarm of bees could have descended and crawled on the eyes of all those present, clouding their visions from nothing but death.
It was close. The hive cracked. Voices raised. Fury spilled over.
But it did not happen.
Instead, Lucas stepped forward.
The town of Cottonwood sighed as they took a step back. Cavalo thought of the tree-wife who danced in the haunted woods. Cottonwood sounded like the wind through the tree-wife’s leaves.
Lucas lifted his shirt up and over his head. Gooseflesh raced along his arms and back. His breath streamed from his mouth. The fat scar around his neck paled sharply in the cold. He dropped the shirt onto the snow. The black tattoos on his skin were bright against white flakes dropping from the heavy clouds above.
He raised his arms and turned slowly, just as he’d done in the cell block before. And when his back was to the town, his gaze met Cavalo’s. A snowflake landed on the thick mask around his eyes. It melted upon contact, and a black tear tracked its way down his cheek.
As the town of Cottonwood looked on in horrified wonder, Lucas watched only Cavalo.
And Cavalo, knowing how truly pleasurable it was to burn, did not look away.
push
THERE WERE seventeen days left. Cavalo stood near the southern gates of Cottonwood, the sun not yet risen. Lucas stood behind him, twirling his knife, pack slung over his shoulder. Bad Dog sniffed the metal gate, anxious to get on the road.
“We’ll be back by tomorrow,” Cavalo told SIRS and Hank, tightening the strap of his own pack. “Afternoon at the latest, barring any storms. Are your people set?” He slid his bow over his shoulder. SIRS and Lucas had brought it down from the jail, along with his rifle.
Hank nodded. “Bill knows more about electricity and such than anyone else around. He’s kept the lights on this long. He’s the best we got. He’s taking his son Richie with him.”
“They know what to look for?” Cavalo asked, though he knew Bill knew his stuff. He’d come to the prison once to help Cavalo and SIRS with a short circuit that SIRS could not track down.
Hank shrugged. “As much as possible. It’d be easier if SIRS went with them.”
SIRS stiffened. “That might be so,” he said, “but the world is far too big and the chances of getting lost are extraordinarily high, and even if I wanted to—”
“Not an option,” Cavalo interrupted. “I need him at the prison. It will make things easier. They’ll have the walkies. You said they’re long-range. Are you sure they’ll work?”
“Never tested them that far,” Hank said. “I guess we’ll find out. They’ll be heading east, then north on the old US 12 toward what used to be Orofino. There’s a caravan route to follow. It’ll take them through higher elevations, but SIRS said we’re clear of any major storms for at least a week or so.”
“And who’s the third person going with them?”
Hank hesitated.
“Hank.”
“He’s a good boy, Cavalo. What happened was an accident. He asked to do this, and even though it goes against my better judgment, I agreed. I think he sees it as his penance.”
“Deke?” Cavalo asked. “Shit. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Not sure of much anymore.”
Cavalo felt the scrape of a knife against his arm. He had to stop himself from lashing out instinctively. He looked over at the Dead Rabbit. There was a question in his eyes. He made an L shape with his thumb and forefinger and pointed it at Cavalo.
“Yeah. That was him.”
Lucas glared at Hank. Jabbed the knife at him. Motioned between Hank and Cavalo. Jabbed the knife again. Pointed at Bad Dog.
Hank didn’t appear to be put off in the slightest. “What’d he say?” he asked Cavalo.
“Said you better make sure Deke knows if he’s going to point a gun at someone, he’d better be ready to use it.”
“That’s all he said?”
“Yes.”
Lucas scowled at Cavalo. Waved the knife again.
“That wasn’t all,” Hank said sagely.
“I’m not going to say that,” Cavalo told Lucas.
Lucas pressed the knife against Cavalo’s stomach. The tip poked through the outer layers and dimpled his skin underneath.
Cavalo sighed. “And if Deke ever points a gun at me again, Lucas will cut off his arms and feed them to Bad Dog.”
And I will eat them with great satisfaction, Bad Dog said with a growl.
“And Bad Dog will eat them.”
With great satisfaction, Bad Dog instructed.
“With great satisfaction,” Cavalo muttered.
“Duly noted,” Hank said. Cavalo could hear the hidden smile in his words. “Let’s keep that to ourselves. For now.”
“Tell Bill to keep his head down. They move quick and quiet. If there is any sign of trouble, they run.”
“Bill knows. Should take them five days or so. Couple of days there, a day at the dam, couple of days back.”
“And any caravans come through, you get all the ammo you can. And if they won’t stay and fight, you tell them to run.”
Hank was amused. “I’ll make sure.”
Cavalo nodded. “We should go.”
Lucas sheathed his knife and grinned at Cavalo. He turned toward the gate as it began to rise.
“Do be safe, Cavalo,” SIRS said. “This is the most excitement we’ve had in years, and I would surely hate it if it ended with all of your heads on a pike as a warning to others. I think that would be a most painful way to die.”
“Thanks,” Cavalo said. “I think. You know what to do?”
The robot’s eyes flashed. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m only capable of understanding complex quantum mechanics. I don’t know how I’ll ever shepherd a bunch of meat suits to my prison.”
“You understand quantum mechanics but can’t figure out the rest of the schematics?” Hank asked.
“You aren’t allowed at the prison,” SIRS said. He beeped loudly, and his eyes went dim. His head rocked back with a loud creak and he blared, “G.H. LEWES WROTE THAT THE EMERGENT IS UNLIKE ITS COMPONENTS INSOFAR AS THESE ARE INCOMMENSURABLE, AND IT CANNOT BE REDUCED TO THEIR SUM OR THEIR DIFFERENCE.” His head came forward as the lights of his eyes grew brighter. “Why are we all standing around talking?” he asked, sounding affronted. “We have work to do!”
“We’ll be ready,” Hank said.
Cavalo wasn’t sure if he believed him. “Alma?” he asked quietly.
Hank shook his head. “Give her time, Cavalo. She’s—we’ve made mistakes. Terrible choices. It’s hard for her. For all of us.”
“Could you tell her….” Cavalo stopped himself. He didn’t know what he wanted Hank to tell her. Words were frivolous things, and he’d used more of them in the past few days than he had in the past few years. He was tired of speaking.
“You can tell her when you get back,” Hank said quietly, as if he only wanted Cavalo to hear. “She’s just not sure about”—his eyes flickered over to Lucas—“everything.”
“It’s not—”
“He fits,” Hank interrupted. “Like the missing piece of a puzzle. He fits, Cavalo. With all of you. I can see that. And so does she.”
“It’s not…,” Cavalo tried again.
“It’s not what?” Hank asked kindly.
Cavalo didn’t know.
“You know what you have to do. You have to push.”
“Push what?”
“The Dead Rabbit. For everything he knows. It’s better if….”
“If?”
Hank looked away. “If it’s done away from other people.”
Cavalo understood. “In case he… reacts.” For a moment, he hated Hank more than he ever had before. It was a flash of white-hot rage where Cavalo almost shot Hank in the face. It faded as quickly as it’d come.
Hank gave a grim smile, unaware of how close he’d come to death. “Reacts. Yes. He knows, Cavalo. More than we ever could. If we’re to do this, we need to know what he knows. Every little detail. It’s our only chance.”
And that’s what worried Cavalo. How much the Dead Rabbit knew. How much he’d give up.
And if he’s really on your side at all, the bees whispered. Or if he’s playing you. Pushing his way in like a worm into a rotting corpse until one day, when you least expect it, you look down and see his knife buried in your chest, his teeth biting into your skin as he begins to feed.
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Travel safe.” Hank squeezed his shoulder.
Cavalo nodded tightly and turned toward the southern road, suddenly dizzy from the burst of bees in his head. He did not miss the way Lucas frowned at him, the knife again in his hand.
THEY FOLLOWED the southern road, or rather, what remained of the southern road. There were curious legends, faded green signs that let them know they were traveling on what used to be known as the US 95, back in Before. Mountains were in the distance to the west. Ahead of them and east stretched snowy white fields as far as they could see. They were out in the open, but they could see if anyone approached them. But it also meant they could be seen by anyone as they approached.
Cavalo could not remember the last time he’d traveled to Grangeville through the old farmlands as they did now. It’d been months. Possibly even a year. Surely before the snows fell last. Maybe a bit longer. Hank had said that the bigger town was still run by Cordelia, an older woman who looked like someone’s grandmother until you crossed her the wrong way and she brought out her gun. She may have been old, but she was a tough old broad who didn’t take shit from anyone. And for some reason, she liked Cavalo. He wasn’t sure why. He thought she’d help. Or she’d shoot at him until he left. For all he knew, she’d had a similar deal going on with the Dead Rabbits. Cottonwood and Grangeville were the only towns within a hundred miles this side of the Deadlands.
He didn’t know what she’d make of Lucas. Perhaps she’d shoot him and Cavalo would be rid of him once and for all. It would certainly be easier.
Bad Dog wandered ahead, his nose low to the snow, ears twitching.
Lucas walked beside Cavalo. The knife was still in his hand, his grip on it tight. Cavalo wondered who he wanted to stab. He decided it wasn’t an answer he wanted that badly.
They continued on in silence. Cavalo continually scanned the horizon. He thought he saw a smudge of black against the white clouds off to the east, but his eyes weren’t as sharp as they’d once been. It might’ve been nothing. Still, when US 95 turned east and the smudge was ahead of them, he couldn’t take his eyes off of it.
It was slow going, the snow thick under their feet. They kept to the road as much as possible, but the old highway was split and cracked, large chunks rising up out of the earth at sharp angles. The frames of farmhouses and barns stood off in the distance, some crumbling, some charred. Cavalo wondered, as he sometimes did, who had lived there Before. How had they lived? How had they died? These were questions he could not answer. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answers.
They passed a pile of wood sticking out of the snow. Lucas stopped, cocking his head at the rotted wood. Faded reds and greens mixed with the white. What is it? he asked, pointing the knife.
“Billboards,” Cavalo grunted. “From Before.”
What’s a billboard?
“A sign. For food and places. People.”
Food? Bad Dog asked hopefully, sniffing around the wood.
“You’ve never seen one before?” Cavalo asked Lucas.
Lucas shook his head.
Cavalo had. A few times. Most were destroyed. Those that had still stood were illegible. One had been high in the air, somehow still standing after all else around it had collapsed. The words and pictures were almost gone, but he could still make out the smiling man with the large teeth next to the words BEEN INJURED IN AN ACCIDENT? CALL DICK LEWIS FOR HELP! 1-800-GET-DICK! WITHOUT HIM, YOU WON’T GET DICK! The billboard had been falling apart. Dick’s face sagged. Some of his teeth had torn away, and metal struts showed through. He looked like a monster. Cavalo had hurried past him and never looked back. That had been in his wandering days. Before Elko.
“They sold things,” Cavalo said now, though he wasn’t sure if that was quite right. “Told people what to buy.”
There’s no food here, Bad Dog grumbled. He lifted his leg and watered the wood and snow. This is also mine now. I own many things.
Lucas pointed at the sign and shrugged. Why would people buy what they were told?
“I don’t know. It was how the world worked, I guess. Dick Lewis told them how.”
Lucas scowled. Fuck Before. Fuck Dick Lewis. He kicked at a piece of wood. It broke off and fell into the snow.
“Fuck Dick Lewis,” Cavalo said softly.
Fuck Dick Lewis! Bad Dog barked excitedly. He pissed on the billboard again and put his nose back to the ground.
We fit, he thought.
Cavalo looked down the broken road after the dog. The black smudge wavered in the distance. They were still alone. He wondered how much longer that would last.
They passed the burnt-out shell of a truck, the rubber tires long since rotted away. The door to the truck was open, the seats inside cracked and covered in mold. Dead blue bunchgrass poked through the seats, black and frozen stiff. Bad Dog sniffed around it, as he sometimes did, but they didn’t stop. There was no point; what had been in the truck, if anything, had been ransacked long ago. Cavalo knew from personal experience that had he looked inside the cab, he’d have seen a small curved seat lying upside down under the dashboard. All that was left of the child that had been in that seat was a small skeletal arm fused to the floor, the third and fourth fingers missing. The bone of the arm was splintered and pockmarked with little divots. Cavalo hoped it was an animal that had chewed on that arm. And that the child had not been alive.
He wondered if Lucas had ever caused teeth marks in bone. He thought it possible. He was a Dead Rabbit, after all.
He can’t fit, Cavalo thought. Whatever I am. Whatever I’ve done, I’m not like him.
At least Jamie hadn’t ended up like the child in the truck, not that it was possible. Jamie had been nothing but a crater left in the ground. Pink mist and shards of bone. That was all that had been left of the boy who sometimes stuck his tongue out between his teeth when he thought hard on something.
Lucas buzzed at him, pursing his lips and blowing. I can hear your bees, he said. The knife had been put away when Cavalo hadn’t been watching.
Cavalo said nothing, keeping his eyes on the black smudge on the horizon. He thought he knew what it was. He hoped he was wrong.
I can hear them over mine, Lucas said, wincing as he grabbed the sides of his head. They have to be loud for me to hear that.
“Sometimes,” Cavalo allowed.
What happened?
“When?”
Now. To make your bees come. He pulled the fur-lined hood of his jacket up and over his head.
“The truck.”
Truck?
“That… vehicle. In the road.”
Lucas shrugged. What about it? They’re all over.
“Yeah.”
So?
“That one’s different.”
How?
“There’s an arm in it.”
Lucas glanced back the way they’d come. The truck was out of sight. So? Lucas said again. You’ve seen worse.
“Have I?” They hadn’t talked much about before. Not Before, but before Lucas had first held a knife to his throat in the clearing of the haunted woods.
Yes. It’s on your face. In your eyes.
“Is that
why you hide yours? Behind the mask?”
I don’t hide. He covered his face with his hands.
“Sometimes you don’t wear the mask.” You have to push, he thought.
I don’t need it.
“But most of the time you do.”
Stop it.
Cavalo chuckled bitterly.
Lucas glared at him.
They walked on. Bad Dog was ahead of them. Cavalo was waiting for him to pick up on the smell of the black smudge that lay ahead. If it was real, it’d be soon. Cavalo hoped it was nothing but the bees playing a trick on his mind. They’d done it before. They’d do it again.
“Did it hurt?” he asked eventually. Push, push, push.
What?
When Patrick cut your throat. “The tattoos,” he said instead.
Lucas didn’t answer. He pulled the knife back out instead. Bared his teeth.
“You don’t scare me,” Cavalo said.
I scare everyone.
“Most everyone.”
I scare you. I can hear it in your bees.
“Not for the reasons you think,” Cavalo said before he could stop himself.
What reasons?
“Did the tattoos hurt?” The wind was cold against Cavalo’s face. The bees laughed.
Lucas scowled. Pointed the knife at him. Cavalo thought about breaking his arm and taking the knife away but decided against it. They didn’t have time to stop. Still, it’d almost be worth it to hear the bone snap and wipe that look off the boy’s face. If they survived the next few weeks, he’d do it then.
He thought he’d receive no answer from Lucas. Then, a shrug. Maybe.
“There’s a lot of them.”
Maybe.
DEFCON 1. WE’RE AT DEFCON 1. “And it’d have to have been done in the last few years. Since you’re still a kid. They would have stretched otherwise.”