by TJ Klune
The face, the boy, mouthed a single word, his thumbs brushing over Cavalo’s cheeks.
He said, James.
Cavalo’s mind cleared.
The weight of his long and heavy life fell upon his shoulders once more.
He said, “Hey. Hi. It hurts. Being alive.”
The boy (the man, the bees, I AM LUCAS) nodded, and Cavalo could hear his voice again in his head. He remembered that he was probably crazy. The both of them. Minds long gone. I know, Lucas said. I know. But we have to move. If we don’t, you’ll have to kill me now and leave me here.
Cavalo touched his cheek. The bruises. The swelling eye. “I don’t want to leave you here.”
Then get up, Lucas said. Get the fuck up and move.
Cavalo did.
Everything hurt, but he did.
He looked back down the hall. Smoke and dust billowed in the corridor. Bright splashes of blood were splattered against the walls. The floor. He couldn’t see around the corner, didn’t actually want to, either, but there was a hand, a severed hand, missing two fingers. A shiny stump of bone stuck out where the wrist had been, and it was enough. It was—
More voices. More snarling.
There were more.
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. He jerked on Cavalo’s arm, pulling him back the way they’d come, toward the stairs. Cavalo stumbled but righted himself, heart hammering in his chest. If he’d gone into shock, it was departing rather quickly because he felt everything. He heard everything. He remembered everything.
Bad Dog and Richie waited near the stairs. Richie was restraining Bad Dog, who was pulling, trying to get to Cavalo.
MasterBossLord! he whined, panting heavily. Blood! There is so much blood. Bad guys, bad guys, there are bad guys!
“Move!” he snapped at them.
Richie started to pull Bad Dog and said, “Where?”
Fuck this day. Fuck it all to hell. Fuck this whole thing. But Lucas’s hand was warm on his arm, the grip biting, and that meant he was alive, that they were alive.
He had to make a decision.
Down the stairs led to farther into the dam.
Up the stairs. Toward the surface? Or farther away?
They could.
Lucas was shaking his head. No, he said. No. No. Just look.
The graffito on the wall. The arrow. THIS WAY TO THE LIGHT.
Lucas pointed down the corridor and back to the graffito. It’s what they do, he said. It’s what we do. To keep ourselves from getting lost.
We, the bees said. Because he is one of them.
The noises behind them were getting louder.
Cavalo looked toward the stairs leading up and away.
Lucas tugged on his arm.
Trust me, he said.
And how could he not?
There was blood on his hands. For Cavalo.
“Lead us out,” he said.
And Lucas did.
They ran, the four of them. Through the dam. Past offices that hadn’t been opened in a hundred years, past signs long since faded, remnants of a time Before when people lived in houses and drove cars and went to work from nine to five and then went home to their families. Where they sat down to dinner and said things like, “Does little Jimbo have baseball practice tomorrow?” and “You won’t believe what Beverly from Accounting did.” They didn’t have to worry about being chased by monsters through the dark and the dank.
The arrows led them left and right and up, up, up. Cavalo’s breath was ragged in his chest. His body ached. He thought he might sleep for days after… well. If there was an after. Because this was Before, and After would have to wait. Because the monsters, the cannibals were behind them, shrieking angrily, calling for blood and bone and gristle.
LET THERE BE LIGHT! the arrows said. And from there, they grew cheeky. Taunting.
FEEL THE WIND ON YOUR FACE!
BREATHE IN THAT IRRADIATED AIR
YOU’RE SO CLOSE TO THE TOP
PEOPLE DIED HERE BUT NOT YOU THIS WAY THIS WAY!
FREEDOM IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU
They reached a door. Around it, brightly colored arrows were drawn, pointing down to it. Reds and greens and blues and oranges. Richie hit the door first, breath screaming in his lungs. He pushed the handle and thrust against the door and—
Nothing happened.
“No,” he said. “No. No, no, no.”
He slammed his shoulder against the metal.
The door didn’t move.
The voices behind them were getting louder.
Lucas shoved Richie to the side. He grabbed the handle. Snapped it up and down. It moved only an inch.
MasterBossLord, bad guys! Bad guys! Badguysbadguysbad—
There was no other doorway. No office. No closet. No other path to take unless they backtracked, and there wasn’t time.
Lucas snarled silently against the door, beating it with his hands.
Cavalo thought he might start laughing. Because of course this is the way it would end.
They had ammo. He had the machete. They could take down as many of the motherfuckers as they possibly could. It was the least they could do. For the others. They could thin the herd a bit. Maybe give them a chance.
“What’s that?” Richie asked, voice choked with tears.
Cavalo looked where Richie pointed.
Next to the door was a small black box. A thin slot bisected it, a tiny red light flashing at the top.
Lucas took in a sharp breath. He spun and reached for Cavalo, fingers flying, touching his arms and chest and hands.
“What the hell?” Cavalo asked, trying to push his hands away. “It’s not—”
Lucas pointed at his wrists. Thrust them in Cavalo’s face. Brought his hand into a fist, thumb pressed against the knuckle of his pointer finger. Twisted his left hand against his right wrist.
Again. And again. And—
“The keys,” he said.
Yes! Yes! Keys! Give me the fucking keys! Please, please tell me you brought the—
Cavalo pulled them from his pocket, unsure of when he’d even put them there. Unsure why Lucas thought it would work, the door didn’t have keyholes and they were running out of time.
But there was that third key, wasn’t there?
The flat one. Like a card.
Lucas tore it from his hands, almost dropping the keys.
Slid it into the black box.
The box beeped at him and flashed red.
“Other way!” Richie cried. “Other fucking way!”
Cavalo tightened his grip on the machete and waited for the Dead Rabbits to appear.
Lucas flipped the car around and—
The light flashed green.
The lock clicked.
Richie slammed into the door, twisting the handle.
Light flooded into the corridor. It burned, and Cavalo tried to blink it away.
Cold air and snow swirled into the opened doorway.
Cavalo saw the first Dead Rabbit down the hallway.
It was a woman.
She screamed and began to run toward him, teeth bared. In her hands, she held a long plank of wood with nails shoved through it, the tips bleeding red.
They could get through, but the Dead Rabbits would follow—
Lucas smashed the black box with the hilt of his knife.
He pushed Richie and Bad Dog through.
Grabbed Cavalo and pulled.
The door slammed behind them as the snow fell.
It locked as it latched shut.
Lucas leaned against the door, sucking in a huge breath.
“Close,” Richie babbled. “So close. That was close. We could.”
Pounding against the door.
They backed away slowly.
It didn’t open.
And then—
“Holy shit,” Richie said, voice in awe.
Cavalo turned.
It was snowing. Heavier than he would have liked. Like they were stuck in a snow globe, s
weet and simple and encased in glass, sealed away from all the hurts in the world.
Except they were on a narrow walkway. Near the top of the dam.
Dworshak, in all its glory, stretched hundreds of feet below them. The river looked small. A sharp wind blew against them. The platform they stood on swung ominously, the metal creaking and grating. To the right of them was a solid wall of concrete that sloped downward below them to the faintly visible river and a cluster of buildings to the side. Above them, a concrete overhang. To the left, wide open space into nothingness.
They were outside, at least.
It was a start.
It was—
He was hit with it, then, a sudden need, this sudden hope, however foolish it might have been. James Cavalo was not a man of optimism; no, there was too much blood on his hands for him to ever even approach sanguinity.
But still. Here was a moment when he thought they had to find a way up. They needed to get out of here. Maybe they could still sneak out, however impossible it sounded. Get SIRS somehow and find their way home. They couldn’t leave him here. Cavalo wouldn’t leave his friend. He couldn’t now. Not after everything. Surely they had ti—
Richie’s watch beeped.
The bees laughed and laughed.
“It’s been two hours,” Richie said weakly.
They were out of time.
the most immemorial year
ONCE UPON a time, humanity could no longer contain the rage that swelled within, and Cavalo’s world ended with a bullet and a blast of fire.
He was not a stupid man. He’d lived in this world far too long for that to ever happen. Yes, some days he had stupid thoughts, like when he thought it would be better if he were dead. Thought of picking up a gun, putting it to his temple, and pulling the trigger. Again.
He might have done it, too, but there was always something that required his attention. SIRS. Bad Dog. The fence down at the south end of the prison. Changing light bulbs. Maintaining the water supply. Trekking down to Cottonwood. Trekking back. Hiding away. Hunting. Fishing. Running.
Fall never seemed like a good time because he had to prepare for winter.
Winter wasn’t optimal because he had to make sure the snows didn’t crush the prison ceiling and walls.
Spring didn’t work because he had to plant meager crops to harvest later in the year.
Summer wouldn’t do because sometimes the sun would poke through the gray clouds, and he would feel its warmth on his face.
Then came the scrape of a knife.
The scrape of a kiss.
The bees were louder than ever.
But, for the first time, he felt himself pushing back.
He wasn’t a stupid man.
But sometimes, even the smartest of men fall prey to hope.
He knew this. He knew it wasn’t smart. Wasn’t safe.
And yet.
He hoped.
As Dead Rabbits pounded on the locked metal door behind him, as snow fell around his face, as his breath billowed from his mouth in a steady stream, he hoped. They had made it this far. Most of them. They had survived impossible odds. Lucas was at his side. Bad Dog was at his side. SIRS was somewhere above him, and he had hope.
And then Richie’s watch beeped.
It felt like a punch to the gut.
“Move,” Cavalo said. “Now.”
And they did.
The wind picked up, flinging snow in their faces as the walkway swung dizzily. Bad Dog whined low in his throat, Richie panted high and quick. Lucas took a stumbling step at a particular vicious gust of wind and grabbed the handrail. Cavalo pushed him along, forcing himself to stare straight ahead, not wanting to look down. He’d never had a fear of heights before, but knowing that only a couple inches of metal separated them from falling to their deaths certainly wasn’t helping.
He kept his head cocked, trying to hear anything above the wind. The sound of gunfire. Screams. Explosions. Anything. He didn’t know where they were in relation to where they’d seen SIRS working at the top of the dam. He hadn’t thought the others would wage a full-on assault, but he’d expected something by now.
Unless they’d already been caught.
If that was the case, they were probably already dead.
The end of the walkway led to a stone staircase up the side of the dam. The steps were snow covered. No footprints. It didn’t mean no one had been there or that there was no one above them, but it was something, at least.
Without looking back, he held up a hand, warning the others to stay where they were. He crouched along the wall and took one step at a time until he was level with the top of the dam. He took a breath and peered over the edge.
Dworshak stretched out before them. The entire length of it.
They were on the wrong side of the dam.
“Fuck,” Cavalo muttered as he looked for signs of any movement. He could see perhaps thirty yards before the distance faded into white. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing here.
He turned back toward the others. “We’re on the wrong fucking side,” he said. He could still hear the Dead Rabbits banging on the door that led into Dworshak, though it was faint.
Richie groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “That’s okay, though, right? We can just leave here and cross down the river somewhere. Meet in Kamiah. Like we planned.”
They could. It would be easy. It would be the smart thing to do.
But—
“SIRS,” Cavalo said. “I can’t leave SIRS.”
“What? Cavalo, he’s just a robot—”
Bad Dog snarled at Richie, who took a step back. Even Lucas glared as much as he could with his face beaten halfway to hell.
“He’s my friend,” Cavalo said quietly. “I can’t leave him.”
“But we have a way out of here!”
“For how long?” Cavalo asked, standing tall and taking a step down toward Richie. “How long do you think it’ll take before they realize Lucas is gone? They’ll come for him again. They won’t stop. Cottonwood will be Grangeville before the sun rises tomorrow.”
“We had a plan,” Richie snapped. “Get in. Get Lucas. Get out. Why the fuck are you deviating from that?”
“Your father is going to set off an EMP grenade. They are going to attack if they haven’t done so already. We have to help them.” Knowing Hank and Aubrey, they would be stalling as much as possible, hoping to give Cavalo enough time to get in and get out.
Not leaving Tin Man, Bad Dog said, growling at Richie.
“You can go,” Cavalo said. “I won’t judge you. I won’t stop you. You can take Lucas and—”
Lucas bared his teeth at Cavalo.
“—or go by yourself. Get to Kamiah. Wait the two days.”
“Fuck,” Richie muttered. “God, fuck this whole thing. Fuck this whole day.”
The pounding on the door stopped.
They waited.
It didn’t pick up again.
“Shit,” Richie breathed. “They’re going to go the other way. They’re going to come out on the other side. My dad is—”
“We have to move now,” Cavalo said. “Make up your mind. You’re either with us or you’re gone. We don’t have time anymore.”
Richie laughed hollowly and then surprised the hell out of Cavalo. “I’ve followed you this far, haven’t I? Might as well see how this shit ends up. Besides. Dad would kill me if I chumped out now.” He straightened his shoulders and shook his head. “I’m in.”
Bad Dog licked his hand.
Lucas grinned, bloody and wide.
Cavalo said, “Let’s go.”
BEFORE SIRS was taken, he’d told Cavalo that Dworshak was over half a mile long. Cavalo almost found it impossible to believe they’d covered that much distance in the time they’d spent underneath the dam, but then it should have been impossible that his dead son had led them to Lucas. Cavalo no longer had the time nor strength to question the things he did not understand. Either his mind was broke
n or it wasn’t. Either they’d survive today or they wouldn’t.
They ran south along the edge of the dam. The huge reservoir behind it was edged with ice, the landscape covered in white. The snow falling was thick, and the wind was sharp. It wasn’t a blizzard, not like they’d seen when fleeing Cottonwood, but it wasn’t letting up.
The top of the dam was strewn with large metal crates and shipping containers, long since rusted out. They passed a truck, sitting on its axles, a faded legend on its door: ARMY CORP O ENG N RS.
They were in sight of the spillways on the right when they heard the first voices. A row of single-story buildings rose up on the left side. Lights were on in two of the buildings, and Cavalo wondered just how long they’d been here. How long the Dead Rabbits had known of Dworshak. How long Patrick had been planning this. And why did it take the Dead Rabbits so long to get to Dworshak in the first place?
They crept up to the side of a couple of shipping containers, Lucas and Richie on one and Cavalo and Bad Dog five feet away on another. They pressed their backs against the cold metal…. Bad Dog pushed up against Cavalo, growling quietly as he muttered about bad guys and blood and—
“Jesus Christ,” Richie whispered. He raised a shaking hand and pointed past the spillway.
From where they’d stood on the ridge before entering the dam, Bill had pointed out the crack in Dworshak. But the extent of it must have been blocked by the debris on top of the dam.
It looked long and wide along the front, but it was nothing compared to the top of the dam. Even through the snow and the milling Dead Rabbits (of which Cavalo had counted at least twenty), they could see the width of the break was extensive, far more than they’d thought.
It had to be ten feet across. Probably more. Not to mention they couldn’t see how deep it was, or how far it extended down back of Dworshak, toward the reservoir.
They’d never be able to cross it. Not even with a running start.
Which meant the others couldn’t cross to them, either.
“What do we do?” Richie whispered. “Go back?”
Cavalo didn’t know. He didn’t know what to do. He’d gotten them this far, but odds were stacking against them higher and higher. He probably couldn’t—