by T. J. Klune
Cavalo cocked the shotgun and fired again, blowing a hole in the stomach of a woman who was about to stab Hank in the throat.
Bad Dog tore through flesh and muscle, jerking a leg until a Dead Rabbit fell.
Lucas moved as if he was dancing, spinning and sidestepping, arms out, eyes narrowed and knife bloody.
A man ran at Cavalo as he reloaded. Cavalo bent down, left shoulder forward. He thrust up as the man ran into him, flipping him up and over his back. Cavalo spun as the man landed on his back in the snow, but before Cavalo could shoot him, Lucas brought down the knife into the man’s chest, the blade scraping against bone. The man’s head jerked forward, his eyes bulging. A bubble of blood burst at his lips, a light spray misting over his face as Lucas pulled the knife out and brought it down again and again.
And still they came. More and more and more. He saw them up on the walkway now, farther down the wall, unsure of how they got there. There was no sign of Patrick, and Cavalo wanted to tear his head from his shoulders.
And then they started to lose.
Hank shouted in surprise when a knife went into his shoulder.
He heard Aubrey cry out as a bullet punched through her arm.
Alma grunted as a man with no teeth grabbed her by the hair, pulling her back, baring her throat.
Bad Dog whined sharply when he was kicked in the side.
Lucas fell back when he was struck in the head with a heavy wooden club.
Bill and Richie were backing against a far wall, clips gone, using their guns to bat away reaching hands.
Frank fell to his knees in front of a man who looked vaguely like Cavalo’s father. Cavalo thought, No, Dad, don’t, when the Dead Rabbit stood above him, smiling a terrible smile. Frank died when the smiling Dead Rabbit shoved a knife into his chest and another into his mouth. As Cavalo watched the tip of the blade crack the back of Frank’s skull, he knew they’d lost. Frank fell back, and his sightless eyes stared up into the thickening snow.
The bees told him to run.
The bees told him to fight until he fell.
The bees told him to kill them all.
The bees told him to save those who were left.
They screamed so loud Cavalo thought the snow globe that stretched out beyond the sky above would shatter and glass would rain down upon them, and they would be no more. And when Cavalo looked over his shoulder, his bones aching, his face covered in blood and dirt, he saw his son standing near the back wall, skipping with Mr. Fluff hanging from his hands. He laughed and dodged through those who remained in Cottonwood, standing and waiting for Cavalo’s orders, bodies tense and eyes wide. Jamie looked over at him and cocked his head, wiggling his fingers at Cavalo.
He said, “Daddy. It’s time to go.” Even above all the noise and the thundering of his own heart, Cavalo heard him loud and clear. He didn’t know if his son was a ghost of mind or madness, but it didn’t matter. He was right. They’d lost. They had to go.
“Fall back!” he cried as he fired the shotgun again. His breath was knocked from his body as he was tackled from the side, the shotgun knocked from his hands. He felt hot breath on his neck, the shark clack of teeth snapping near his ear. He tried to shove the heavy body away, but it was too much, and a tongue scraped against his ear, and he heard, “Yes, this one is mine, mine because you taste so good—” before the Dead Rabbit was lifted from him and pushed away. Cavalo sat up and saw Lucas stabbing his attacker again and again, his face tight in the grips of rage. Cavalo rose to his feet and pulled Lucas off him. Lucas struggled in his arms, snarling silently, the knife slicing the air.
“No time,” Cavalo breathed in his ear.
Lucas stopped and stood on his own. He ran his eyes over Cavalo once, making sure he hadn’t been hurt. He nodded tightly, then picked up a discarded rifle off the ground. He jerked his head toward where Hank and the others had started running. Go! Now! He opened fire, a spray of bullets knocking down the approaching Dead Rabbits.
Cavalo didn’t want to leave him, but he had no choice. They had planned for this, as much as they could. They had one last chance to get out of here safely, one last chance to get to the prison. He ran, Bad Dog close at his heels. The wind picked up around him, the snow stinging against his face. He passed by the bodies of those who hadn’t made it out of Cottonwood. He thought there were twenty of them, maybe more. Facedown in the snow, arms stretched out as if reaching for the wall they’d come so close to passing through.
It’ll be easier this way, the bees said, sounding like the killers he knew they were. Fewer of them means less time it’ll take to get to the prison. Fewer of them means fewer people in the prison.
Since Cavalo was submerged in murder, he took cold satisfaction from this. Shreds of his humanity tried to sing him home, but he was too far gone right now. There’d be time for regret later. If he survived.
Hank and Alma waited for them at the wall, pushing the last of the people through. “Aubrey’s leading them out,” Alma said. “The road looks clear.”
“Keep pushing them forward,” Cavalo snarled. “Don’t stop for anything.” He looked down at Bad Dog. “You need to lead them home.”
Home? You’re coming too?
“Now, Bad Dog. SIRS. Home.”
But—
“Go!”
Bad Dog was not fooled. He bit Cavalo’s hand, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to show his frustration and anger. He gave a little huff before he pulled away. Cavalo saw the indents of teeth embedded in his skin. He felt himself kicking to the surface, pushing some of the cold away. An anchor that pulled him up instead of down.
“Shit,” Hank said, eyes going wide as he looked over his shoulder.
Cavalo looked back, and through the snow that was becoming a blizzard, he saw Lucas throw down the empty rifle and pull out his knife as the group of Dead Rabbits in front of him parted. Patrick walked through, axe in hand, dragging the blade behind him through the blood and bodies of his people. He had eyes only for his son. Lucas was tense, crouching into an attack position.
“Motherfucker,” Cavalo growled.
“Enough of this shit,” Hank said. He pulled up a Bakalov and took aim.
“Lucas!” Cavalo bellowed, and then Hank fired the grenade.
Lucas didn’t hesitate. He rolled to the side as the grenade flew by him. Patrick spun down and away, his coat flaring up around him in the snow, the grenade passing less than a foot from his face. It hit a Dead Rabbit in the chest, and there was a bright flash filled with screams and blood.
Even before the explosion had died, Lucas was running toward Cavalo, arms and legs pumping. Alma handed Cavalo a Bakalov and took aim with one of her own, firing past Lucas into the Dead Rabbits who took aim at his back.
Cavalo could see each running step Lucas took, the snow puffing up around his feet, ice breaking apart as it fell onto Lucas’s face. The exhalation from his nose and lips, white and trailing behind him. The arc of blood across the white as a bullet hit his leg. The widening of his eyes as the pain rolled over him. The way they narrowed as he pushed the pain away. The mask around his eyes, cracked and shiny.
Cavalo took it all in and more.
The bullets cracking into the wood overhead.
The weight of the rifle in his hands, jerking against his shoulder.
The thought of faster, run faster, please run faster as it exploded in the bees.
Patrick pulling himself up out of the snow, the showman gone, only the monster remaining.
Cavalo took aim at him, no longer caring about the marks he wore on his skin. No longer caring what it could mean for the future of their world. All that mattered was a bullet in his head and his blood on the ground.
He fired.
He knew his shot was true.
And it would have been had Patrick not swung up his axe in front of his face, the bullet ricocheting off the metal axe head with a sound Cavalo heard above all other noise, the deep metallic vibration grating into his bo
nes.
“Holy shit,” Hank breathed.
“Time to go,” Alma said.
Patrick raised his head toward the gray sky and screamed.
The Dead Rabbits screamed with him. And began to charge.
“They fill the house?” Cavalo snapped at Hank. “Both sides?”
“Just like we planned,” Hank said grimly, reloading his rifle with a fat shell. “Say the word.”
“You go right,” Cavalo said. “I’ll take left.” He flipped the switch on the Bakalov. Felt the grenade barrel drop. Turned toward a house with broken-out windows that lined the eastern side of the narrow courtyard. “Alma, cover.”
She stepped between them, sweeping her rifle in a wide arc, spraying bullets evenly, her finger lifting from the trigger as the gun pointed at Lucas, continuing once she swung past him.
The Dead Rabbits were only a short distance behind Lucas, who had started to flag, favoring his ankle that had been bullet-grazed.
“Run!” Cavalo shouted, and Lucas did. He knew what they had to do and knew they had to do it sooner rather than later.
And he passed the houses where the remainder of the mines lay in wait, the floor around them soaked in the last of the gas and oil.
Cavalo couldn’t wait any longer.
“Now!” he shouted at Hank and fired the grenade. Hank did the same.
The front line of the Dead Rabbits pulled up even with the houses as the grenades arced through the windows, and Cavalo could see the panic in Lucas’s eyes now because he was still too close and—
The house went up, tearing apart as air and fire expanded. The house across followed a split second later, the double blasts smashing into the Dead Rabbits as they ran between them. Lucas wasn’t far enough away to escape the explosions, the shockwave knocking against his back, spilling him forward into the snow, landing on top of a body of a young woman from Cottonwood who Cavalo remembered as having a pretty smile. Cavalo felt the hot air hit his face as he ran forward, only thinking of dragging Lucas away before the Dead Rabbits found their way through again.
Lucas was pushing himself up off the dead body. His eyes looked dazed. His coat was ripped in the back, revealing skin and a thin line of blood. Cavalo slid in the snow next to him, grabbing under his arm and pulling him up. They stumbled and almost went down again. But Cavalo held on as tight as he could until they found their footing. “Move,” he snapped harshly. No one screamed after them, no gunfire erupted behind them. He heard moans and cries of pain and impending death but nothing more. He didn’t look back. There wasn’t time.
Lucas glanced up at him, expression unreadable. Cavalo tightened his grip against Lucas. He heard it then, just a whisper. You… you came for me. He wasn’t sure if it was real. He wasn’t sure if any of this was real.
And without thinking, he muttered, “Always.”
Hank and Alma pushed them through a small doorway on the wall, and they crossed through to the other side, leaving Cottonwood behind them. As the winds howled and the snow whipped against their faces, they began to run.
wormwood
AND RUN they did. Through the wind and snow that began to howl around them. A wide trail stretched out ahead, the snow smashed and scattered by the people of Cottonwood that had fled moments before. He told himself he saw the paw prints in the snow, that Bad Dog was leading them home, but he couldn’t be sure.
“They can’t be far ahead,” Hank said, his beard frosted white.
“We have to hurry,” Alma said, shielding her face. “It’s getting worse. We can’t get lost out here.”
Cavalo glanced behind them, at the way they’d come. The wind bit into his face. He could see only ten feet to their rear. There were little drops of red in the snow from Lucas’s leg. But nothing more. If anyone was following them, they would be just beyond the white veil that wrapped around them. It was all the snow globe, Cavalo knew. He’d thought it had broken, but he must have been wrong. He was back inside it now.
Lucas panted against his neck as Cavalo held him up, arm wrapped around Lucas’s waist. He looked over at him, and their cheeks brushed together. “You good?” he asked in a low voice.
Lucas nodded. Don’t worry about me. Just keep going.
Cavalo tightened his grip.
They pushed on. Every now and then, Cavalo would press his lips together and blast out a sharp whistle, hoping to hear the intended response. It carried in the wind but was lost in the storm.
“Bad Dog knows his way?” Hank asked.
“Yes,” Cavalo said through gritted teeth. He tried to keep his anger in check. Hank didn’t deserve it. Not after what he’d lost. “He knows.” He trusted Bad Dog more than anyone else in the world. He wouldn’t get lost.
It still didn’t help his unease when he whistled again and received no response.
It was snowing harder now, to the point where Cavalo wasn’t sure he knew where they were. Landmarks where hidden in snow and shadows. The sky overhead was lost in the swirl of water and ice. Cavalo was cold, colder than he’d been in a very long time. He could feel Lucas shivering at his side and pulled him closer. “We’re almost there,” he whispered, though he didn’t know if that was true. He wondered how fitting it would be if all of the events that had been his life had led to him freezing to death, lost in a blizzard. It would make sense after everything he’d done. He didn’t believe in karma, but he believed in retribution. He’d committed too many wrongs to ever be right.
He whistled again, feeling the desperation behind it.
And the response came. A bark. It was worried, that sound. Relieved, but worried. He knew that even though he could barely hear it.
James Cavalo whistled again.
His friend responded, sounding closer now. MasterBossLord!
Something loosened in his chest.
The dog came out of the storm, his face covered in snow. Cavalo knew he’d been keeping his nose close to the ground, just like he’d been trained to do. As soon as he saw Cavalo, his bright eyes lit up, and he bounded toward him, hopping like a rabbit to get through the drifts. He reached Cavalo and rubbed his head against his legs, excited little yips and whines coming from the back of his throat. I did what you told me, MasterBossLord. I did what you told me, and I led them all home, but I couldn’t stay there because I had to come back and get you. SIRS told me to find you fast, and I told him I would because I am Bad Dog. He told me I was a big fleabag, but he hugged me and told me he was happy I was okay, so I think that is a good thing because even though he is a tin man, he is our Tin Man, and I wanted to be home. Can we go home now? Can we—? He stopped and sniffed the air again. He leaned toward Lucas, nose snuffling against his legs. Blood! MasterBossLord! Smells Different has blood!
“He’s okay,” Cavalo told him. “We need to get him home.”
Lucas reached down and rubbed Bad Dog’s head, trying to reassure him, and that thing inside Cavalo, that bright shiny thing he hadn’t felt in a very long time, burst again. It burned in him, and he thought for a moment that his skin would start to smoke and crack, and everything he kept hidden, all of the darkness, all of the bees, would come pouring out of him for all to see.
He burned, but he did not crack. No matter how much he wanted to.
“Home,” Cavalo said, his voice sharp. Bad Dog and Lucas looked up at him, questions in their eyes. He stared back, keeping his face blank. “Home,” he said again.
Bad Dog bumped his head against Cavalo’s leg and turned, leading them through the storm. Alma and Hank followed but didn’t speak. Lucas felt stiff under his arms.
And it was embarrassing how quickly they arrived at the prison. They’d been less than a quarter of a mile away. Cavalo knew if Bad Dog hadn’t come for them, they would have passed it right on by and kept walking until they could walk no more.
He saw the metal fence loom out of the wind and snow, saw the dull flash of one of the cameras as it pivoted toward them. Felt the hum of the electrified fences in his teeth. The red light
near the gate. He’d never been more relieved to see this place. It was a prison, but it was his home. He’d been gone for too long.
Bad Dog barked up at the camera, and there was an electrical surge before the fences shut down. A red light flashed and a klaxon blared once. The light changed to green, and Cavalo pushed through the gate, Bad Dog and Lucas on either side of him. Hank followed, and Alma was last, shutting the gate behind them. The alarm blared again, the electricity kicked back in, the light changing to red.
They were safe.
For now, the bees whispered.
A door slid open from the bunker. Light flooded out into the snow. And a voice came out that almost caused Cavalo’s knees to buckle in relief.
“Cavalo!” SIRS cried. “As I live and breathe. The bag of fleas told me you were still out there, but I must admit to believing the worst! Get in here, and we’ll see what we see.” A beep. A click. Everything that sounded familiar, and SIRS blared out his insanity, and it felt like coming home: “ISAIAH 66:15 SAYS ‘FOR BEHOLD, THE LORD WILL COME IN FIRE AND HIS CHARIOTS LIKE THE WHIRLWIND, TO RENDER HIS ANGER WITH FURY, AND HIS REBUKE WITH FLAMES OF FIRE. FOR THE LORD WILL EXECUTE JUDGEMENT BY FIRE AND BY HIS SWORD ON ALL FLESH, AND THOSE SLAIN BY THE LORD WILL BE MANY.’” It echoed across the prison, and SIRS beeped again. As Cavalo thought of Wormwood, SIRS said, “Why are you still standing out in the cold? Come in before you catch your death! The prison hasn’t been this full since it held prisoners. Oh, the joy of irony!”
THEY WERE huddled inside. The survivors. They spilled out of the tunnels below the prison, all wide-eyed and wet. There was a smell permeating the stone walls, and it rolled over Cavalo like a wave. Dirt. Anger. Fear. Anguish. Sweat and tears and ozone. They were lightning-struck and broken shards of frosted glass. He heard muffled sobs, quiet murmured voices meant to give relief but seeming to crack under the slightest pressure. Fragile. Every single one of them was fragile, and they were looking at him as if he held the answers of how they could be stronger again. How they could stand again.