Children of the Mountain (Book 3): Lightning Child

by Hakok, R. A.

  She holds the door open for me at the bottom and I follow her back to the tunnel, jealous of her easy, loose-limbed gait. I watch as she slips effortlessly through the ruined guillotine gate. I squeeze myself between the charred, twisted bars, wincing as I stand on the other side. She holds an arm out, says I can lean on her, but I shake my head and tell her I’ll be fine; the walk will do me good, stretch out the muscles in my legs a little. The truth is I just want to snap my fingers and be back in our apartment.

  She sets off into the darkness, the kid trotting along beside her. I flick on the flashlight and limp after them. The tunnel seems to have lengthened since I walked it with Peck earlier, but at last we reach the blast door. I shuffle through, leaving her to close it up. Just a little further and then I’ll be able to take off my boots, lie down in a bed, an actual bed, and sleep for as long as I care.

  But as I step into the glare from the cavern’s arc lights it’s clear that’s not going to happen. All the Juvies are there, like they’ve been waiting for us to return. As soon as they see me they rush forward. Only Jake hangs back. He’s changed his bloodied t-shirt but there’s a sullen bruise spreading across his cheek and his lip’s already swelling up where Peck or one of the Guardians split it. He stares at me like these things, and whatever else might currently be ailing him, I’m the certain cause of it.

  The Juvies crowd around, bombarding me with questions.

  ‘Where’s Peck?

  ‘Is he gone?’

  ‘Will he be coming back?’

  I close my eyes for a moment, letting their questions wash over me. I’m a little overwhelmed; I don’t know who to answer first. But then suddenly everyone goes quiet. I turn around. Mags is standing at the entrance to the cavern, and for a second I see her as they must: head shaved; cheeks sunken, hollowed; the shadows under her eyes, still dark enough to convince Peck she was carrying the virus. The kid appears beside her. He looks even worse; like a fury in miniature. He slips back behind her leg, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. She reaches for his hand and the Juvies part quickly to let them through. I catch her eye as she passes; their reaction hasn’t gone unnoticed. She takes Johnny over to where Jake’s standing by himself. There’s a long pause and then the clamor starts up again.

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Were you really back in Eden?’

  ‘What’s happened to Kane?’

  ‘Is it true Quartermaster’s dead?’

  I hold my hand up for quiet and the chatter dies. Answering their questions piecemeal is going to take forever; it’ll be quicker if I start at the beginning. I lower myself to the sidewalk. When the last of them have settled around me I take a deep breath and begin. I tell them about the soldiers following our tracks to the high school in Rockbridge, and how we went back with them to The Greenbrier and met Dr. Gilbey. There are a few gasps when I recount what Gilbey had been doing to survivors who’d had the misfortune to make their way there, and when I get to the bit where she put Mags in a cage and infected her with the virus they all shift around and take to staring at her again.

  I press on quickly, describing how we escaped and fled to Eden so she and Johnny could go through the scanner and be cured. I linger on that detail for a while, letting it sink in, but I notice more than one head turning in her direction, like they may not trust the work I’ve told them the machine’s done. I finish with how Mags saved us from Hicks and the other soldiers, but in my version she spends a lot more time skulking around in tunnels and far less bursting out of them like Wonder Woman. When I’m done an uncomfortable silence settles, and for a long moment I’m not sure how to break it. In the end it’s Lauren who does it for me. She stands up, offering me a broad smile.

  ‘Well, we’re just relieved you made it back safely, Gabe.’

  Her voice is calm, assured; her eyes bright, clear. It looks like she may even have found time to run a brush through her hair. The Juvies all turn to look at her, and I realize I’m not the only one who’s shocked, and not just by the transformation from the shell-shocked stupor I witnessed earlier. I think that might be more words than I’ve heard Lauren speak all in one go, long as I’ve known her. Eden wasn’t exactly a social place, of course; between work, chapel and curfew there wasn’t a lot of time left for just shooting the breeze. Not that you’d ever accuse Lauren of that. She always made a point of sitting apart in the mess, her head down over her food; as soon as she was done she’d hurry back to her cell, long before the buzzer had a chance to announce curfew. I can’t remember her showing up for movie night either, except when it was her turn to be custodian of the disc, and even then often as not she’d just hand it over and disappear. I suppose I’d always assumed she was a little like me; just not one of those kids who was, as Miss Kimble put it in what would turn out to be my last ever end-of-term report, well integrated socially.

  She presses her hands together and turns to Mags.

  ‘You too of course, Mags.’

  I feel a sudden rush of gratitude to her for that. She looks down at Johnny, adopting the tone you’d use for a shy three-year-old.

  ‘And what’s your name?’

  The kid just stares back solemnly.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Her smile doesn’t falter, but I’m not sure she knows what to make of his answer. He looks at her for a moment and then he tilts his head and his nostrils flare, like he’s scenting the air. And for an instant it puts me in mind of the fury that was waiting for me outside, in the tunnel, when I first came here. It’s a subtle gesture, though, barely perceptible. I don’t think anyone’s noticed.

  The kid studies her a moment longer.

  ‘You needn’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.’

  Lauren lets out a nervous laugh, like he’s said something funny. I glance around at the Juvies. If the kid’s intention was to put them at ease I’m not sure it’s worked. I quickly add that we’ve been calling him Johnny.

  Lauren studies him a moment longer. The smile remains, but it seems a shade less certain than it was a few moments before. Then she turns to me and her face suddenly grows serious.

  ‘You warned us this would happen, Gabe. You said Kane would send Peck, but we didn’t pay attention. I think we all might be more willing to listen now.’ She looks around, gathering support from the faces assembled around her. To my surprise I see heads nodding, murmurs of agreement. ‘So tell us, what should we do?’

  Twenty-three young faces swivel in my direction, waiting for an answer. Even Jake seems keen to hear what I have to say. I’m a little taken aback. I wasn’t expecting to be having this discussion, here, now, in front of everyone. Tell the truth I’m not sure what we should do. Before The Greenbrier I was pretty certain we needed to leave. But a lot has changed since then. I tell Lauren the only thing I can: I don’t know.

  It’s obvious this isn’t an answer the Juvies care much for. For the next few moments they’re all talking over each other.

  ‘But you’ve been out there.’

  ‘You escaped from Gilbey and the soldiers.’

  ‘And you got rid of Peck.’

  ‘He’ll be back.’

  ‘Should we leave?’

  ‘Where should we go?’

  ‘Just tell us what to do.’

  ‘Yes, tells us.’

  I close my eyes. Right now I just want to lie down and sleep for as long as I can. It’s Lauren who comes to my rescue once again. She holds her hand up for silence.

  ‘We’re being unfair. Gabe’s obviously tired.’ She looks around at the Juvies, and then back to me, offering another smile. ‘Why don’t we let you sleep on it? I’m sure you’ll have thought of something by the morning.’

  And just like that I hear myself saying that I will.

  *

  I SLEEP LATE for the first time in weeks. When I finally wake I lie there for a long while with my eyes closed, counting up all the places it hurts. At last I gather up the strength to lift my head and look around the tiny apartment
. Mags is long gone; only the faintest aroma of the coffee she made earlier still lingers. I let my head fall back to the pillow. It feels like my entire body’s been worked over with a hammer. I don’t understand: we both made the same hike. How come she isn’t she suffering like I am?

  The low, faithless voice inside my head has an answer for that, but I hush it before it gets the chance to give it. I reach one hand up for the chain around my neck, follow it down to the tags I wear, run my fingers over the pressed metal. Still smooth, and this is the third day. If the scanner hadn’t done its work it’d be showing by now.

  I lie there a few minutes longer, then I drag myself out of bed and limp into the shower. For a long time I just stand under the steaming jets, letting the scalding water soothe my aching muscles. When I step out I feel a little better. I towel myself dry and grab a clean t-shirt and a set of overalls from the closet, the first fresh things I’ve had on in days.

  I gather up the clothes I left strewn across the floor on my way to bed the night before. My parka feels heavier than it should. I lift the flap on the big outer pocket and take out the Beretta Peck dropped in the snow the night before. I turn it over in my hands. Ash has dried on the metal from where it fell in the snow. More will have found its way inside; it’ll need to be stripped and cleaned. Hicks would have had me do it soon as I got back last night, but there was no way that was happening; I barely made it to the bed before I passed out.

  I reach for the backpack and lift out the pistol I took from him, still wrapped in the gun belt. I unravel it slowly. The leather’s worn, stained dark from years of use. I draw the gun from the holster and run my fingers over the metal, dull with age, the dark carrion bird scrimshawed into the yellowing handle. The etching looks like it’s been done by hand. I wonder if it was him who carved it, or someone before.

  I turn it over in my hands. Compared to the Beretta it looks ancient; an antique. I asked him once why he’d chosen something so old for a weapon. His answer was simple: he said it was because when he needed it to, he knew it’d work. Bitter cold or blazing heat didn’t matter much to a gun like that, he said. It’d been riding on somebody’s hip for the best part of a hundred years, and if there was anyone left in another hundred it’d probably be doing the same. I slip the pistol into its holster, roll the belt around it, then return it to my pack.

  The clock on the stove says it’s noon. My stomach sends an audible reminder that I haven’t yet had breakfast, and that needs tending to, as a matter of urgency. I check the cupboards but of course they’re bare, so I head out into the cavern and make my way over to the mess.

  It doesn’t occur to me until after I’ve pulled the door back that this might have been a mistake; it’s lunchtime, and most of the Juvies are here. They all look up as I enter. I remember too late the promise I gave: that I’d have an answer for them as to what we should do. I glance over my shoulder. I feel like turning tail, but it’s already too late for that. So instead I step inside, making my way quickly between the tables to join the end of the food line.

  Things have calmed down a little from last night, but still everywhere I look someone’s smiling or saying hi. It’s a little weird; I’m not used to this much attention. Back in Eden there were a few moments in the sun, figuratively speaking of course, like when I started going outside with Marv. Everyone wanted to know how that was, at least at first. And then later, when I brought us here. That brief burst of popularity didn’t last very long either, though; I lost it not long after we arrived, trying to convince them we needed to run away again. But now it’s like there’s been a poll overnight and I’ve just been elected President.

  I grab an MRE from the stack on the counter, then stand in line for one of the microwaves. Amy insists I go in front of her and won’t take no for an answer, so I smile a thank you and then pop the food pouch in and twist the dial. It pings to let me know it’s ready and then I beat a hasty retreat for the farthest table. I pick a spot at the end and sit down, hoping to be left alone. I’ve barely freed the plastic fork from its wrapper when I hear a screech as the chair opposite’s pulled back.

  ‘Hey, sleepyhead.’

  I look up to see Lauren setting her food down. She flicks her hair over one shoulder and sits, offering me a smile, and once again I’m struck by how different she is, not just from the Lauren Kurt dragged to her feet last night, but from the Juvie I knew before. Back in Eden we all spent a lot of time discussing who our matches might be; it was pretty much the only game in town as far as conversations went, unless you wanted to hear how many brace bolts someone had tightened that day, or the state of the plastic skirting on the growing benches over at the farms. Everyone had a list, a top five, and who should or shouldn’t be on it was the subject of near-continuous debate. Lauren never made mine, and I don’t recall her ever featuring on anyone else’s either. Looking at her now, for the life of me I can’t understand why, though. Somehow, whether by accident or design, she just managed to spend all those years in our collective blind spot.

  I mumble hello and then turn my attention back to my Shredded BBQ Beef. She looks over at the carton and then holds hers up.

  ‘Hey, snap!’

  She opens the flap and starts arranging the packets neatly in front of her.

  ‘So I stopped by this morning, but Mags said we should let you rest.’

  I spear a strip of beef and say something about being pretty tired. Lauren murmurs sympathetically, but then her eyes shift up and down the table, as though she’s checking whether anyone’s in earshot. She leans forward, lowering her voice.

  ‘Are you sure she’s okay, Gabe? Mags, I mean. She doesn’t look well.’

  I nod.

  ‘She was pretty sick, after Gilbey gave her the virus. That’s why we had to go back to Eden, so she could go through the scanner. She’s fine now.’ Lauren stares at me across the table, doubtful. I feel the need to add something. ‘The virus can’t survive that.’

  I say it with more certainty than I feel. Lauren doesn’t seem convinced either.

  ‘It’s just that yesterday, that thing with Kurt. She seemed, well, a little strange.’

  Crap. Most of the Juvies had been on their knees, their eyes fixed on the ground, and I had hoped that had gone unnoticed. Lauren had been on her feet, of course, but she’d seemed pretty out of it. I guess not as much as I’d thought.

  ‘She was just mad about what they were doing to Jake. You know how Mags can be.’

  She nods, but she still seems unsure.

  ‘She’s fine, Lauren. Trust me.’

  Her eyes dart down the table again.

  ‘But how can you be so certain?’

  I put down the fork and reach inside my t-shirt for the dog tags. I hold them up for her to see.

  ‘We each wear these. The metal shows the virus. I check hers every day. If she was sick I’d know it.’

  She reaches across the table. Her fingers hover in the air for a second, like she’s unsure, and then she runs them over the pressed steel.

  ‘Who was Private…Kavanagh?’ She pronounces it slow, one syllable at a time.

  ‘One of the soldiers we ran into.’

  She looks into my face and her eyes brighten.

  ‘A soldier. And you took them from him.’

  I doubt she’d be as impressed if she got a look at Boots, or if I told her it was all Mags’ doing anyway, so I keep those bits of the story to myself. She stares at the tags a moment longer and then lets them go. I lift the chain and slip it back inside my t-shirt, feeling the metal settle against my chest. Her eyes linger there for a moment and then she looks up at me again.

  ‘So have you had a chance to think about what we do now?’

  Truth is I’ve still got no idea, but I find myself saying I’ve had a few thoughts.

  ‘Great. After lunch I’ll get everyone together so we can hear them.’

  *

  I FINISH EATING and set off in search of Mags.

  I meet Leonard on the far sid
e of the lake, coming out of one of the tunnels. He almost runs right into me, like something’s got him spooked. I ask him if he’s seen her. He glances over his shoulder, jabs a finger back in the direction he’s just come, then hurries off towards Main Street, like he has urgent business there.

  I find her over in the fire station, showing Johnny the tender. The kid sees me first. He gives me a wave then goes back to staring at his reflection in the fire engine’s huge chromed wheels. She looks up, offers me a smile. The shadows around her eyes are still there, but they seem a little better than they were yesterday. The whispering voice inside my head isn’t happy with that, however. It reminds me of what I saw by the lake. I remind myself what I told her, last night: whatever happened with Kurt, it wasn’t important; just an aftereffect of being infected. But somehow that explanation doesn’t seem to have gained traction in the hours since I first gave it; it seems no more plausible under the glare of the arc lights than it did up in the darkness of the control tower.

  She slips her hands into the pockets of her overalls.

  ‘I was beginning to wonder if we’d see you today.’

  ‘Yeah, I was pretty beat. Weren’t you tired?’

  She shrugs.

  ‘Not really. I got a couple of hours’ sleep, then Johnny and I went out to relieve Tyler and Eric. Jake came out at first light and warmed up a couple of MREs for us.’

  I guess I should be happy she’s eating, but for some reason the news that it’s Jake who’s fixing her breakfast doesn’t make me feel that way. I turn away before those unpleasant thoughts have a chance to show on my face.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Um, sure.’ I can see she’s not buying it, though, and I don’t care to admit to her what’s really bothering me, so I switch topic before she can figure it out.

  ‘Hey, is it just me, or does everyone seem a little weird since we got back?’