by Jeff Carlson
Cam had hoped to meet someone else first. He’d planned to call out from a distance and give them time to react—but the loud boy was a leader. He probably took part in every scavenging mission, and his simple heroism threw his friends apart like a grenade. He shoved them away from Cam and Newcombe even though it delayed him from running himself.
Newcombe said, “Wait!”
The teens continued to stagger back. One kid had fallen over another’s feet and the loud boy yelled again, dragging at his buddy on the ground. A second later there were answering shouts from above, lost and thin in the blue sky.
Cam stayed back as Newcombe slung his rifle and pushed off his goggles and hood, exposing his freckles and sandy blond hair. “Wait,” Newcombe said. “It’s all right.”
“Holy fuck, man—”
“—did you come from!”
Their skin was not without old blisters and bruising. Some of these scars were lost beneath sunburn, windburn, sweat, and dirt, but they’d been caught below the barrier more than once. Maybe these low islands were even submerged in the invisible sea on hot summer days. Cam could only imagine how bad that must have been, attacked by the plague with nowhere left to climb.
“They’re soldiers,” said the kid on the ground, taking in Newcombe’s jacket and gun belt. Then he looked up abruptly, as if to check for planes.
The loud boy finished the thought for him. “You’re American. You guys get shot down?”
“U.S. Army Special Forces, I’m Sergeant Newcombe and this is Najarro,” Newcombe said, letting them misunderstand about Cam for the moment—and now the teenagers’ movements were slower, wondering.
The loud boy began to grin at them. “Holy fuck,” he said again, savoring the curse.
* * * *
His name was Alex Dorrington. He was nineteen years old, with thick brown hair and a habit of squinting, an adaptation to the unrelenting sun on their islands. He also seemed short for his age. Cam remembered how Manny’s growth had stunted. All of these boys would have been a year and a half younger when the plague broke loose, still in the middle stages of adolescence, and their diet had been limited and poor.
The Scouts were like Manny in another way. They were elated. They pummeled Cam and Newcombe with a hundred questions and constantly touched them, especially Newcombe, picking at his jacket as if to confirm he was real.
“Who’s in all the planes?”
“—if we help you—”
“But how can you walk around below the line?”
They gave Cam a little more distance once he took off his goggles and mask, unable to hide their shock. Cam exploited it. “How many more people do you have up there?” he asked, and Alex said, “There’s four, sir. Four more. You, uh, you better talk to Brandon’s dad, I guess.”
“Good. Thanks.”
They cautiously followed the Scouts up through the ridge, saying nothing of Ruth. Alex had sent a kid named Mike ahead of them, but there were still people yelling down from the top— a man, a girl.
The two groups met in a crack in the rough black lava and Cam let Newcombe take the lead, not because of his ruined face but because he was trembling. It scared him. The boys had been desperately friendly and yet Cam felt himself continuing to measure the situation and not liking it, pinned in the gully. His tension reminded him of Sawyer again. There had been times when his friend was as selfish and violent as a rat, all of which made him the perfect survivor, but Sawyer’s strength became a crucial weakness when he was unable to stop striving, stop fighting, creating threats that hadn’t existed until he imagined them. Ultimately it had killed him. Cam didn’t want to be that person, and yet he wasn’t fully in control of himself.
“U.S. Army Special Forces,” Newcombe said, taking charge. He stepped forward to shake hands.
“I’m Ed,” the man said. “Ed Sevcik.” He was in his forties and dark-haired like Brandon, but with gray in his beard like salt.
Newcombe said, “Can we sit down someplace, Ed?”
“Oh my God, yes. I’m sorry. This way. I’m not...I can’t believe you’re here,” the man said, glancing back and forth between them. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Cam forced a smile, although he wasn’t surprised by their enthusiasm. The arrival of new faces must be profound.
They continued back up the ravine. The girl stayed close to Ed. She had the same dark hair and snub nose, Cam noticed, and a long pair of legs she’d chosen to show off, wearing shorts when all of the boys wore pants to protect themselves from the rock.
“Are there more of you coming?” Ed asked, and Newcombe said, “No. Just us.”
“They’re not off a plane, Mr. S,” Alex said, squinting, always squinting. Maybe it wasn’t the sun but that he’d begun to need glasses.
“Then how did you get here?”
“We can show you,” Newcombe said, and the kid they called D Mac added, “They were below the line, Mr. S.”
“But if you didn’t come off of a plane...”
“We’ll show you, I promise,” Newcombe said. “Let’s get over to your camp and sit down, okay?”
They moved across the slanting face of a short, barren plateau. There was more snow here in larger patches, filthy with dust and pollen. Forty yards ahead, Brandon disappeared into a gap in the land, hurrying across to another small high point where they’d piled earth and rock to form windbreaks around a few tents. In every other direction the world dropped away, steep to the west, more gradually to the east, where other peaks thrust up across a great, broken valley. For Cam, the view was like coming home. It was endless. There was only the wind and the sun and the few tiny human beings around him, their voices loud and bright.
“Be careful on this slope,” Alex said, moving to crouch at the edge of the gap. He helped Ed first and then Newcombe. He also helped the girl, which earned him a smile.
Cam watched her as they climbed down and then up again. She was thin and flat-chested. There was no fat on any of them, which must be why she drew attention to her legs. Even with a few old scabs and fresh scratches, they were her best feature.
She was the only female. She can’t be more than fifteen, Cam thought, but if Ed was the leader here, she must be a large part of the influence that he commanded, simply by being under his control. King and princess. She would be the magnet at the center, holding all the boys, and her role only would have grown during their long isolation. Cam wondered how Ed had managed to keep the peace all this time—why there was no baby. It sounded like he’d taught the boys to call him “Mr. S,” reinforcing the habit of his authority, but they’d all grown older and Cam wondered if the girl still obeyed her father completely or if she’d begun to exert her own power.
Cam was careful not to study her too closely, looking at the boys’ faces instead. The girl had been quiet so far, yet the boys kept glancing at her for her reaction. For approval. That sort of charisma would be a heady feeling for such a young woman, and Cam and Newcombe were about to take it away from her.
That made her dangerous.
* * * *
They had set eight boulders around their fire pit, like chairs, inside the larger ring of windbreaks. Brandon and Hiroki gave up their seats for Cam and Newcombe, and Cam finally realized that Brandon was a beta male, possibly because he was the brother of the girl. Cam would have thought Ed’s son would be his right-hand man, but Alex and D Mac appeared to be the lieutenants here.
It was an odd dynamic, but it had been shaped by their circumstances. Ed very likely hadn’t had the energy to spare to groom his son while protecting his daughter, which in turn had given rise to Alex and D Mac as those two worked to prove themselves and eventually dominated the rest. Brandon just didn’t have the same goal or motivation. More than that, he might have put himself in danger if he’d fought to keep a place near the top of pack. A king and a princess did not need a prince to stand with them, they needed knights.
“It’s not much,” Ed apologized, as Brandon
handed over two battered plastic canteens. Then he fetched two aluminum cups full of berries and roots. Cam had also seen a small pot and a crude canvas bag heaped with grasshopper carapaces. There was a smooth rock for mashing the bugs, along with tree bark and fresh tufts of weeds and moss, but Brandon had held back the insects and the weeds on his own initiative, offering their best instead.
“I have something, too,” Newcombe said, rummaging through his jacket. From one pocket he came up with a spare notepad, which he gave to Ed. From another he produced a colorful sixteen-ounce packet of Berry Storm Gatorade powder.
Most of the boys cheered. “Oh, fuck yeah!” Alex said. Even the girl smiled.
Ed let them mix up the sweet red powder. The girl and a few of the boys choked theirs down immediately—the sports drink was loaded with salts and sugar—but Brandon drank his in sips with his eyes closed and Alex held on to his for later, demonstrating remarkable control.
“So how did you get here?” Newcombe asked.
“What? Where did you—” Mike began, but Alex shushed him and said, “Tell ’em, Mr. S.”
Ed Sevcik nodded, recognizing like Alex that Newcombe’s question was a test. He understood that Newcombe and Cam had the ability to get up and leave. “We were snowshoe camping,” Ed said, gesturing back down into the west. “Me and the boys, my wife, and Samantha.” He touched his shirt absently and the three square patches stitched onto his chest. 4. 1. 9. A troop number.
The girl was indeed sister and daughter to Brandon and Ed. Samantha and her mother had also been avid hikers and fishermen, and they’d tagged along for a week in the snow with the Scout troop. Ed was a roofer and usually worked straight through every summer, so the annual camping trip had doubled as a family vacation for years. His wife liked to say it beat the heck out of standing in two-hour lines at Disneyland. All of the kids were glad to skip school even if it meant extra homework afterward. Sam got to bring her iPod. Brandon had merit badges far ahead of his age. Both he and Alex had achieved the rank of Eagle Scout before the plague, and by Ed’s estimation all of the boys—and Samantha—had long since qualified for Eagle Scout themselves.
They’d reached these low, tiny islands with three people they didn’t know, Ed said honestly, when he could have lied. Cam didn’t ask about the unlikely statistics. Why was it only the three strangers and Ed’s wife who were dead? Either someone made a move for the girl or her mother, or someone started cheating with the food. Cam had committed murder himself for all the right reasons, and anyway the killing was long done.
The Scouts were perfect to help spread the vaccine, Cam thought, and it wasn’t such a coincidence that he and Newcombe and Ruth had found this able group. No one else could have survived on these miniscule patches of ground.
“We need your help,” Newcombe said, as he explained about the vaccine and the fight for control of it.
Ed and his wolf pack were aware of the sudden air war. At first, the surge of jets and helicopters had filled them with wild hope. They’d wanted to believe that a massive rescue effort was finally underway, but the batteries for their little radio had faded more than a year ago and they had only been able to guess who was fighting and why.
“You want us to go out there,” Ed said uncertainly when Newcombe was done, but his son was more ready to get away.
“We know there are people over there,” Brandon said, pointing across a narrow valley to the east. “We’ve seen smoke on two of those mountains.”
At the same time, Samantha finally spoke up. “It doesn’t look like your vaccine works very well,” she said, gazing at Cam. “I’m sorry. I just have to say that.”
“All of this happened before we got the nanotech,” Cam explained, gesturing at his face, but it was no accident that he’d kept his gloves on, hiding his hands.
“The vaccine works,” Newcombe said.
“This will be the most important thing you ever do,” Cam said, meeting Brandon’s eyes for an instant before turning to Alex and D Mac. They were the ones he really wanted, but D Mac was frowning and Alex seemed uncharacteristically quiet.
Alex was waiting for Samantha and her father, even as D Mac made his first small break from them.
“How do we get it?” D Mac said. “I mean, is it a needle?” he asked, and then Brandon and Mike filled the circle with words, leaning forward as they competed to be heard.
“So you’re on the rebel side—”
“—but how do we know—”
“You have a duty,” Newcombe told them.
“I’m not sure we want any part of this war,” Ed said, and Cam understood. The man had seen these children through the entire plague year. His paternal instincts would be cut deep in him. He must have given up any hope of changing things and begun to plan through the grim, impossible chore of enduring in this place, breeding his daughter with each of the boys.
They’d surely talked about it—their limited genetics, the maximum population this string of islands could sustain. Cam couldn’t see how else it would have played out. Ed must have used the promise of her to keep them patient until Samantha was old enough not to complicate her childbirth, and somehow their discipline had held. He’d done well, but now it was finished.
“You go or you don’t get the vaccine,” Newcombe said. “I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be.”
“We’re not asking you to fight anyone,” Cam said.
“You are,” Ed said. “They’re looking for you. They’ll look for us, too.”
“You’re still Americans,” Newcombe said. “You can be a part of that again. Just help us spread the nanotech. That’s all we want. Just help a few people like we helped you.”
“That sounds pretty good, Dad,” Brandon said.
“But the planes,” Ed said.
“You’re still Americans,” Newcombe repeated, looking around at their frayed uniforms and B.S.A. caps. He was obviously ready to draw on their past and their patriotism.
Cam could see it would be much easier than that. Alex might stick with Samantha. He was the tightest with her, but the other teenagers were restless and girl-hungry and excited. “Listen,” he said. “Those other mountains over there are just the beginning. There’ll be people everywhere who will be very, very happy to see you.”
Samantha shook her head. “It’s so dangerous.”
Yes, Cam thought, looking at the boys instead of Ed and his daughter. “You’ll be kings,” he said.
* * * *
It was early evening before Cam and Newcombe returned for Ruth, allowing D Mac, Mike, Hiroki, and Brandon to come along. The boys had looked like they were ready to fight to keep them from walking away. No promise to return would have been enough.
“We might drop below the barrier for an hour or more,” Cam warned them, but D Mac shrugged and said, “We’ve done it before.”
Even without Alex, the teenagers were extra noisy as they descended, questioning Cam and Newcombe about the war and the plague. They knew so little. They were still in shock. They were good kids, mostly, but it made Cam uneasy that Alex had stayed behind with Ed and Samantha and Kevin, the sixth boy. Kevin had big eyes and a small mouth. He was the bottom dog as far as Cam could tell, and he would probably do whatever Ed and Alex told him.
What if they decided to stay? They could be forced off of their mountain at gunpoint, he supposed. Either way, it would be better to give them the vaccine. Cam wouldn’t abandon them here without it, but if Ed or the girl saw that, they would never leave. Not at first.
They won’t stay here forever, he thought. Even if a few of them delayed for months, even if it took them the entire summer to become comfortable with the idea, ranging ever-farther below the barrier for food and wood, they would see the truth. Winter would drive them lower. And if Samantha did become pregnant, especially if most of the Scouts had left, wouldn’t Ed want to find other people to help him raise his grandchild?
Cam smiled faintly as he led the boys across a field of rock
and wild grass, listening to Newcombe fend off Mike.
“But if the president’s in Colorado,” the boy asked.
“There are at least two presidents now,” Newcombe said.
“But if the real one is in Colorado—”
“President Kail died in the first month of the plague and the VP stepped up, but the Speaker of the House was in Montana, which went over to the breakaways.”
“So the vice president is the real president.”
“Look, kid, it’s all fucked up, okay?”
He just needs to know he’s on the right side, Cam thought, but they were within a quarter-mile of the camp spot and he wanted to be sure Ruth didn’t run away. He cupped his mouth with his gloves and shouted, “Ruth! Ruth, we’re okay!”
No answer. He felt a thread of nervous fear, but the white-bark forest was murmuring in the breeze, a sound like distant ocean surf, and they were still pretty far away. She might not have recognized his voice.
“Ruth! Hey!”
“There,” Brandon said.
She’d gone to high ground, running to the splintered mess of a deadfall on the slope above them. She stood among the tangle of branches with a fresh red scratch across her cheek, her chest heaving for air. In her good hand was her pistol and Cam smiled again, glad for her. “It’s okay!” he said.
“Are you all right?” she called.
The waiting had been hard on her. He realized that, but his heart changed as he closed the sixty feet between them. Ruth pushed off her goggles and he saw more than relief in her expression. Last night she had managed to hide it in the dark. Now he saw genuine affection, even attachment, which made him sick because he didn’t know how to accept it. He knew that his bent, ragged hands on her would be repulsive.
Her eyes swept over the boys and also went to Newcombe, yet her smile and her tears were for Cam. “I was scared,” Ruth said without shame. Her boots crunched in the twigs and pine needles. “You were gone so long, it was hours—”
Cam stepped back from her embrace. Her fingertips touched the back of his neck and then slid to his shoulder as he turned. His own arm came up briefly to her waist. That was all. Then he tipped his head at the boys and said, “We got lucky. These guys are great.”