by C Lee Tocci
He heard Nita’s teeth chattering as she trudged behind. Jeff grumbled constantly but the others were silent in their discomfort. Lilibit didn’t seem to feel the cold as much as the others, but she seemed anxious and skittish, a deep animal fear replacing the sparkle that had grown in her eyes during the past few days.
“I just hope the snow holds off until we can find shelter,” Todd muttered under his breath.
His words still lingered as a chill mist in front of his face when the first flakes of snow began to fall. He bit back his despair and threw back his shoulders.
“Huddle together as you walk. It’ll be warmer.” Todd barked. “I don’t know how far we’ll have to go before we can find a safe place to camp.”
The snow fell quickly and heavily from the sky and within minutes, it was up to their calves and showed no signs of letting up.
“This is ridiculous!” Jeff ranted as he trudged along. “I’ve never seen snow fall this fast or heavy before. Who’s dumb idea was this anyway?”
“Oh stow it, Jeff,” Marla snapped. “You’re not helping.”
“We need a warm place to stay the night,” Todd heard Devon murmur beside him.
Todd bit back a sarcastic response. At the moment, Devon’s habit of stating the obvious was more than he felt up to dealing with.
Nita stumbled and fell in the snow. Todd strode back to pick her up and hoisted her onto his back. As he plowed through the growing mounds, now with the extra burden, he wondered how much longer they could hold out against the storm.
They lost the path as it wound its way into a stand of towering pines, but they pushed forward. As they broke through into a clearing, they saw a forlorn little shack, windows cracked and the door slightly ajar, wedged open by a growing snow dune.
“Alright!” Jeff gasped in relief and they sped up to reach the shelter of the cabin.
They pushed open the door and walked inside, stamping the snow and cold off their jackets and legs. After the blinding white of the snowstorm, it took their eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light of the cabin and to absorb what they saw.
Jeff swore. Marla screamed. Nita clung to Todd, burying her face into his shoulder. They all stared.
At first, they didn’t notice the dust and cobwebs covering the rustic one-room camp. They didn’t see the musty mattress in the corner or the stacks of firewood next to the fireplace. They couldn’t even absorb the large, intricately carved table in the center of the room, with its eight ornate chairs surrounding it.
Their eyes fixed on the sight of the remains of a man who sat at the head of the table. A boney, desiccated skeleton; dried remains of flesh drooped from his carcass. Wisps of skin and grey hair clung to his skull which tilted back to rest between the post and rail of his high back chair. Soiled tattered clothes covered his corpse and the remains of a solitary dinner lay in front of him on the table. It looked like he’d fallen asleep at the dinner table and passed away, quietly and alone.
They all jumped at the sound of the door slamming behind them.
Lilibit leaned against the closed door, having thrown her sparse weight against it to shut out the mounting storm. She alone seemed unperturbed by the skeleton. She walked to the table, tilting her head to one side as she looked at the corpse.
“Excuse me, sir,” she asked as though he was just sitting, reading the daily paper. “It’s snowing out. Do you mind if we stay in here with you for a while?”
Todd and Marla exchanged glances.
There was a brief pause while Lilibit stared at the man attentively. She then turned and said earnestly to the others, “He says we are welcome.”
Nita slid off Todd’s back and walked over with Devon to look closely at their host.
“How long do you think he’s been here?” Nita asked.
“Long enough to stop smelling bad.” Devon edged closer and sniffed. “He smells more like leather than a dead guy.”
“How would you know what a dead guy smells like?” asked Jeff, who stood as far away from the table as the room would allow.
“Well,” Devon shrugged. “He doesn’t smell as bad as the possum that died under the porch last spring.”
“Is this Kiva?” asked Donny.
Jeff moaned.
“No,” Nita announced with a flourish of arms, “this is Mesa del Tío!”
“And what does Mesa del Tío mean?” asked Jeff.
“It means ‘Uncle’s Table’,” answered Devon.
“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.” Marla dropped her backpack to the ground, but didn’t take her eyes from the skeleton.
“Oh, I don’t.” Devon was already exploring the shelves against the wall. “But I can speak Nita.”
Keotak-se stood motionless and unseen among the snow-draped trees as the helicopter slowly patrolled the storm battered mountain ridge. He recognized the vehicle and understood its mission. He considered whether destroying it would draw the unwelcome notice of the enemy. He made his decision.
He tapped the end of the staff lightly on the ground, and waved it in a horizontal arc from the north, ending with it pointing at the approaching helicopter.
Abruptly, a howling blast of icy wind rose from the North, battering the trees around where Keotak-se stood, his staff still aimed at the enemy. The wind grabbed the helicopter in its fist and slammed it against the cliff’s rock face.
Keotak-se watched impassively as the machine dissolved in a blaze of black smoke and noise. Turning back to the trail, he continued to track the disappearing traces of the children’s path.
From the balcony of his office, Syxx could see the storm raging in the distant mountains. His fingers curled and uncurled like claws.
“Do they think they can stop me?” he hissed. “I rule this land. The sky shall not thwart me.”
“Air Reconnaissance Command reports reduced visibility and increased loss risk potential.” The Director of Security stood by the desk, apparently stolid, but Syxx could read his confusion. Unseasonably early snowstorms might seem random to some, but Syxx could detect preternatural interference and his anger raged.
Still, the Director seemed compelled to speak.
“Air Reconnaissance Command requests permission to ground the remaining units and suspend the search until the weather clears.” The Director’s voice was as rigid as his stance. “They feel they shall be far more effective after the storm has passed.”
Syxx eyes blazed red. “I am not interested in efficiency projections. Get your teams back out into the mountains and find the child.”
The Director nodded curtly and exited, but not before the door swung open and Dr. Nil barged into the room, fuming loudly.
“Syxx!” she snapped. “Can you please tell me who authorized the deployment of all our field teams?”
With her whippet thin body and her teased blond hair, Dr. Nil gave the impression of being very tall, but was actually of moderate height. With her sharp tongue and abrasive manner, she was thought to be very powerful, but the truth was, she was merely a puffed up figurehead that Syxx exploited for his own ends. And with her numerous degrees and academic awards, many considered her to be brilliantly intelligent, but Syxx knew her to be an ignorant fool, all the more evident by her stupidity in addressing him in this manner. Yet even such a petty, annoying tool could still be useful. Syxx lifted the smiling façade over his anger and purred.
“Ah, Doctor Nil.” Syxx gestured for her to sit in the chair opposite. “Back from your conclave? Did the committee appreciate your abstracts as much as they deserved?”
Dr. Nil twitched, the ruff of her anger ebbing as she settled in the chair. Her desire to flaunt her authority was almost as great as her need to gloat over her successes. “But, of course, Syxx. I received a standing ovation. My findings on the cortex conundrum will be published next month.”
“No less than I expected. Your efforts deserve it.”
Dr. Nil smiled and while she could easily be distracted, she did not often lose sight of her objective, particularly
when that objective included throwing her weight around. “Enough of that. There appears to be a major field effort underway. Who authorized it?”
“I did.” Syxx watched the woman closely. “At your request, I might add.”
“Me? I was at the conclave. I authorized no such action!”
“True, but you did say that, since the loss of Research Subject 1717, you’d like to locate a similar specimen. I believe we can do even better.”
As expected, Dr. Nil broke off her hissy fit mid snap. The only thing greater than her self-indulgence and vanity was her greed.
“Better than the RS-1717?” She leaned towards him, her eyes wide with avarice.
“Actually, I believe that RS-1717 is still alive. We are taking steps to recover her now.”
“Alive? RS-1717?” Dr. Nil sat back with disgust. “Nonsense! I examined her corpse myself. She can’t possibly be alive!”
Syxx considered the doctor carefully before answering.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Syxx’s voice was velvet soft. “And yet, if I could obtain another specimen as viable as RS-1717, then you would be able to complete your cortex research.”
Dr. Nil lost herself in dreams of grandeur. “Yes, you’re right. If that nasty child hadn’t expired, I’d have been able to finish that research.”
“And if I can find you another?”
“The successful completion of the cortex thesis will be my greatest triumph! Why, at the conclave, there was already talk of my being nominated for a Nobel prize.”
“You mean us, don’t you?” a whiny voice squeaked from the doorway. Dr. Voight quavered into the room, trying to assert himself while at the same time, trying to hide behind Dr. Nil’s chair. Not an easy thing to do for a portly gnome like Dr. Voight.
“Of course, Stanley.” Dr. Nil rolled her eyes impatiently. “Of course.”
“Baxter’s missing too,” said Dr. Voight in a peevish tone, apparently continuing an earlier conversation. “That makes at least twelve employees that have disappeared while we were at the conclave.”
“Baxter and the others were terminated,” Syxx stated smoothly.
“Whatever for?” Dr. Nil raised an eyebrow.
“Security Breach,” answered Syxx. “They were found attempting to smuggle classified research material to Acheron Biotech.”
“Well,” Dr. Nil raised her nose, “I certainly hope you adhered to corporate protocol and documented their exit interviews.”
Syxx smiled nostalgically. “You must not concern yourself with that, Doctors. Please be assured that I conducted the exit interviews myself. In fact, I found them most entertaining.”
Perhaps it was something in his smile, but the doctors hurried from the room, showing no desire to know any more details.
When the blanket of snow concealed all traces of the children’s trail, Keotak-se abandoned his ground tracking and took to the skies, but the mounting ferocity of the storm soon made even aerial tracking useless. He was forced to seek refuge.
Into the shelter of a mountaintop cave, a giant condor landed, much to the chagrin of the other birds gathered there to wait out the tempest. When the condor suddenly turned into a man, the birds were not sure that this was an improvement, but as the man sat motionlessly at the mouth of the cave and made no movement to threaten them, they settled down to suffer out the weather together.
Keotak-se gazed over the snow-pummeled landscape. He only hoped the powers that sent this storm into mountains also provided a reasonable shelter for the children.
Keotak-se buried his impatience and waited.
Chapter Twenty Three
The Father’s Table
As usual, Lilibit woke first. She climbed over the sleeping bodies of the others who mumbled complainingly. While her strength and agility had improved, she seemed to get a perverse pleasure from bumping into the other kids when they still wanted to sleep. She purposely bounced a couple of times on Todd’s legs, giggling when he mumbled “Brat!” and swatted her off the bed, before rolling over to enjoy his last few shreds of slumber.
Lilibit pattered to the door, pausing at the head of the table, as she did every morning.
“Good morning, Uncle Mesa!” she greeted the old man merrily.
She opened the door to reveal the wall of snow that had risen over the past three days to bury the entire cabin. They had carved tunnels into the snow, at first to get drinking water, then to create a latrine area, and finally, just to play in.
Lilibit stopped at the opening to their winter labyrinth, her head cocked to one side, listening.
“I think the storm stopped,” she announced. She turned to look back at the mound of sleeping bodies sharing the moldy mattress in the corner of the cabin. She sniffed in disapproval when her weather report did not receive even a grunt in response, then climbed through the tunnels to that area they designated as the “Girl’s Room”.
They ate their meals at the large wooden table with Lilibit and Todd next to the dead man. Todd sat there because no one else would, but Lilibit apparently liked the corpse, including him in their conversations and passing on his responses to the others. At first, Todd thought she was making up his words, but there were occasions when she said things that made him wonder if she was concocting a story, or if the old man really spoke to her.
Their first day in the cabin, they had discovered a rough wooden crate sitting in the corner. Inside, they’d found dozens of cans of baked beans and brown bread, but became frustrated when they couldn’t find a can opener. Lilibit stomped up to the old man.
“Okay, Uncle Mesa,” she had said, her hands on her hips. “We give up. Where’d you put the can opener?”
She’d tilted her head to one side as if listening to him for a moment before turning towards the fireplace.
“He says it up there.” She had stretched her arm up to reach above the mantle, but she was too short.
Jeff had snickered as Todd walked over to the fire place, his fingers fumbling over the mantle. But when Todd’s hand came back down with a can opener, everyone just stared, amazed.
“Ha!” Jeff laughed. “Good one, Lilibit!”
Lilibit smiled, but seemed puzzled at Jeff’s comment.
Walking over to Todd, Marla whispered, “That’s just weird!”
“It get’s weirder still,” Todd whispered back. “Take a look at it.”
The can opener hadn’t been nearly as dusty as everything else in the cabin and etched into its shiny chrome surface were the words “Naircott Track and Casino.”
“I think it’s Mr. Callow’s can opener,” Todd said quietly. “It’s just like the one Grey Feather stole last week.”
“Okay,” said Marla. “I am now completely freaked out.”
This morning, Lilibit dominated the breakfast table with a long, involved story about how “Uncle Mesa” carved the tables and chairs for his seven children.
“For many years, the old man set the table for himself and his seven children. He’d prepare meals for them and then he’d sit and wait for his children to arrive. But they never did.”
Todd watched Lilibit. It hadn’t been more than a week ago, she’d arrived at Dalton Point so badly maimed the doctors held out little hope for her survival. Now even her face had slowly healed so that her right side was almost the same as the left. Her voice was stronger too. There was the only a hint of slurring as she told her tale about their Uncle of the Table.
“One day, Uncle Mesa called to his friends in the forest and seven little squirrels came to answer him. Uncle Mesa asked the squirrels to go to the homes of his seven children and invite them to dinner. As the squirrels ran to do the bidding of the old man, Uncle Mesa went back into his cabin to prepare the most sumptuous dinner he had ever made. Fresh cheese from mountain goat milk and wild berries of all kinds. A wounded deer walked into his clearing and offered herself to the old man to be part of the dinner, so there was fresh venison too. Besides that, there was…”
“Knock off with
the food, already, and finish the story!” Jeff pulled at his hair.
Lilibit sniffed before she continued. “…brown bread and baked beans!”
Devon and Nita laughed since that was what they ate for breakfast, having had the same dinner the night before, and the night before that.
“That night,” Lilibit continued, “the old man sat at his table with his gigantic banquet and waited for his children. The warm food grew cold and the cold food grew warm and still the old man waited. When morning came and still no one had come to eat with him, Uncle Mesa stood up from the table and walked outside and called to his squirrel friends. There was no answer. A passing blue jay heard the old man and flew down to the clearing. He told the old man that his children refused to listen to the squirrels and had killed them and ate them for their dinners.
“Uncle Mesa was furious! He bellowed with his loudest voice deep into the forest. Out came seven big bears in answer to the old man’s call. Uncle Mesa asked the bears to go find his children and bring them to his table.
“That night Uncle Mesa made another scrumptious dinner. Besides the cheese and the berries and the venison…”
“..and brown bread and baked beans!” chimed in Nita and Devon.
“…he added warm potatoes and fresh bread and a nutty spread made of acorns..”
“Enough with the food!” bellowed Jeff.
“…and lots of other good stuff.” added Lilibit with a smirk. “The old man waited all night for the bears to return with his children, but they never arrived. The next morning, the old man went out to the clearing and called for the bears. One by one, the bears came out of the woods, looking rather ashamed of themselves. ‘Well? What happened? Where are my children?’ Uncle Mesa asked. The biggest oldest bear answered. ‘They would not come, even though we asked them quite politely!’ The youngest smallest bear then piped up, ‘So we ate them!’
“The bears all apologized sheepishly, explaining that since his children were so rude, and yet looked so delicious, it was pretty difficult to resist. They left the old man alone and heartbroken in the clearing.