“All this in one night,” Gaby said, her voice raised to counter the sound-dampening effects. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Lamar watched, transfixed, as steam rose from the largest of the ash piles at the entrance to the fence line. It took him several moments to realize there wasn’t anything mystical about it; it was simply condensed water in the ash evaporating.
“Well, at least now we can rule out radiation,” he said, shivering in the chill morning air.
Ken surveyed the blighted landscape, vacillating between awe and revulsion.
“So, anyone still think staying put is a good idea?” he asked.
Ken’s question was greeted with the dead silence he’d expected.
“Wade was last seen fleeing southeast, and going by their trail, those … things came from the south and the west,” Ken continued. “I say we head north.”
Gaby and Beverly looked skeptical, remembering how the northern hills ringing this region were some of the steepest in Quehanna. They both looked to Lamar, who had become the unofficial overriding vote anytime Ken pushed them to do something stupid. But for once Lamar was in complete agreement with him.
“Pack light,” Lamar recommended as a much-relieved Coop exited the outhouse. “We’ve got a long hike ahead of us, so take only the bare essentials; a change of clothes, toiletries and a weapon. And be sure to pack some firewood, too, in case we have to spend another night in the forest.”
“What if we take shelter in that military base John mentioned?” Gaby suggested. “It’s gotta be better than trusting to luck. We might even find weapons there.”
“He said a military contractor, not the military,” Ken reminded her curtly. “And even if that place is still standing, you really think they’re gonna have a pile of AKs out front with a sign saying: ‘Take one, they’re free’?”
“This isn’t an enemy we can fight,” Lamar said, siding with Ken. “Our best bet — our only bet — is to flee. Since these things are afraid of the light, we need to clear their territory before dark. And every minute we waste arguing makes it that much harder.”
The others saw the wisdom in this and acquiesced with varying degrees of reluctance as they prepared for the long journey ahead.
Five minutes later, Ken spotted Beverly kneeling by the showers, trying to fit three suitcases worth of belongings into an oversized tote bag. She was alone, as usual. Her face was expressionless as she moved items from one bag to another with a numb detachment, as though she were resigned to living following last night’s failed suicide attempt.
“Need a hand?” he asked as he knelt beside her, making certain to ask loudly enough that the others over by the firepit could hear him.
Beverly gave him a dark look.
“I need a new wrist,” she replied with only the tiniest trace of emotion.
“Sorry about that,” Ken said under his breath. “But I can’t have you offing yourself just yet. Once that fat shit is dethroned, you can stab yourself as many times as you like.”
“Your concern is touching,” Beverly replied dryly, her voice almost drone-like in its indifference.
Ken stole a glance at the others to ensure none of them were coming over.
“You still remember what to do?” he asked.
Beverly nodded sullenly.
“Get the food now, while they’re busy,” he instructed, motioning toward the other three, who were busy preparing for the journey. “It’s in Lamar’s pack in the teepee. Two cans only. Just enough to arouse suspicion.”
“And the other … tactics we discussed?” she asked.
“Phase 2 comes later, probably during lunch. Fake a sprain or something. Just buy me 30 seconds alone with the luggage. Make it convincing, but don’t oversell it.”
“And what about your grand finale?”
“We won’t hit Phase 3 until tonight at the earliest,” Ken said as he stood up. “The others should be plenty suspicious of Lamar by that point. Just stick to the story I told you and follow my lead.”
He started to walk away but paused mid-step and looked back over his shoulder.
“And make certain to eat something today. You look like shit.”
Beverly’s eyebrows knitted in frustration. It wasn’t so much Ken’s offhand slight — she was used to those by now — but her own reaction to it. Ever since the iku had touched her, she’d struggled with strange visions of death and destruction. Limbs hacked off, bullets raking children, pregnant women impaled on pikes. And always in the background was fire: glorious, crackling flames consuming entire buildings, roasting steel and flesh alike.
Now a voice had joined them, like the voice of reason or conscience, only this voice preached a very different sort of gospel. It cried for retribution, over and over again, gnawing at her mind, demanding that the others pay for last night’s confrontation. And it got louder every time Ken or the others spoke.
As she finished packing up her tote bag, Beverly noticed that the black spot on her palm had grown again; it was now the size of a nickel.
Over by the firepit, Lamar was making certain the group wasn’t leaving anything important behind as they prepared to journey into the unknown.
“Who has the magnesium stick?” he asked.
Gaby patted her pants pocket.
“Right here, along with the knife,” she said.
Coop, who was sitting beside her, noticed movement from the corner of his eye. He turned his head and saw Beverly enter the wigwam with her tote bag slung over one shoulder. That struck him as odd. The only things left in the wigwam were spare clothes, unused luggage and the food. Why would she …
“Coop?”
Lamar’s question broke Coop’s train of thought. He looked around and saw the others were staring at him.
“Do you have the hatchet?” Lamar asked again. “For chopping firewood?”
“Yeah, it’s right here. Sorry. I spaced out for a second there.”
“What about water?” Ken asked.
“We’ve got only the one canteen for five of us, so keep your eyes open for creeks and streams as we go,” Lamar said.
“What about the risk of pathogens?” Coop asked. From the corner of his eye, he saw Beverly emerge from the wigwam and walk toward them.
“We can boil the water. We have fire-making tools, wood, and spare soup cans to heat them, so don’t throw away your cans when you’re finished with them,” Lamar cautioned.
“Speaking of which, who’s taking the food?” Ken asked.
“I am,” Lamar replied. “It’s in the wigwam. Between that and the wood, I won’t have room for much else, so can someone carry a spare set of clothes for me?”
“I’ll do it,” Coop volunteered.
Two minutes later, they were ready.
“Is that everything?” Gaby asked as she fit the last of the firewood into her backpack.
“It should be,” Lamar replied, tightening the shoulder straps on his rucksack in anticipation of a long journey.
Ken crossed his arms and looked northward toward the imposing hills in the distance.
“Let’s get a move on, then.”
* * * * * *
The group huddled together in small clusters as they trekked silently through this alien world, with Ken and Lamar out front, Gaby and Coop in the middle, and Beverly bringing up the rear. After 90 minutes of walking, the northern hills appeared no closer, although that may have had something to do with the fog-like haze of steam rising from the endless swirls of ash decorating the landscape. The haze obscured anything more than 50 yards away, making distant landmarks indistinct and inscrutable.
It was probably just as well, as everything they could see was dead: plants, trees, even the occasional animal. Through the curtain of steam Gaby saw the carcass of a fawn lying in a ditch 30 feet away. It stared at her with lifeless eyes that almost seemed to follow her as she walked. She was so haunted by the sight that she very nearly walked into Coop’s back when he paused to wipe the condensation from
his glasses.
What they could see of the landscape wasn’t any better: stagnant pools of brackish water and ash everywhere. The air was almost as foul and stank of death. Not even the soil had been spared the ikus’ dark touch; dirt that had once been a rich brown texture was now chalky and produced tiny dust clouds with each step. The blight, as the group had taken to calling the contaminated landscape, seemed to stretch on for miles. It was as though they’d stepped out of a vibrant forest and into the badlands of Montana.
Only the sun seemed oblivious to all of this death and decay, shining just as brilliantly as before as it climbed the eastern sky.
Ken, who was a few steps ahead of Lamar, cast a backward glance at the rest of the party and suddenly paused at the foot of a rocky mound.
“The others are lagging behind,” he said with a nod behind. “Let’s give them a chance to catch up.”
“Not again, dammit,” Lamar grumbled.
Lamar leaned against the lower-lying rocks for support as he waited. Keeping pace with Ken’s long strides was exhausting, but the thought of spending another night in the forest with those iku things was proving a powerful motivator to keep up. He exhaled deeply and lifted the bottom half of his shirt to mop his sweaty brow, exposing his gut. There was a time not so long ago when he would have been too insecure to show the others his rotund belly. Now he was tired, achy and just didn’t care.
The adrenaline that fueled last night’s experiences had faded, and everyone was fighting back waves of exhaustion. And with that exhaustion came irritability.
“Let’s pick up the pace, people,” Lamar shouted so the others could hear him.
Gaby and Coop, who were lagging a good 30 yards behind, shook their heads in annoyance and quickened their steps. Gaby made no attempt to hide her irritation, glaring at Lamar as she strode forward. He’d kept the group moving at this punishing pace for an hour and a half with no respite, and for him to complain about their progress — while taking a breather, no less! — was maddening. Coop’s face also betrayed annoyance, but it was subsumed, as though other issues weighed on his mind.
They no longer stumbled and weaved like drunken sailors on shore leave as they had at the start of the trip; their bodies were slowly adjusting to the equilibrium-disrupting effects of the blight, and the bile threatening to force its way out of their stomachs had begun to settle. They’d also overcome their irrational fear of stepping in the steaming waves of ash patterns. Earlier they’d tiptoed around them, as though they were afraid their touch was somehow corrupting. Now they trudged through them without a thought, leaving a smeared trail of soot behind.
“Why are you riding us?” Gaby asked as she and Coop drew closer. “We’re not the problem.” She turned and pointed to Beverly some 50 yards back, who at this distance was cloaked in the haze of steam. All they could make out was her silhouette — which the steam clouds distorted into something large and menacing — as she lurched toward them haltingly.
Lamar was already irritated at having to stop every so often for the others to catch up, but Gaby’s pushback was galling enough to warrant a response.
“She’s keeping pace with you two,” Lamar retorted hotly. “If you both move faster, so will she.”
Gaby and Coop looked at one another and exchanged eye rolls as they brushed past Lamar without another word.
“Now you see what I had to deal with,” Ken whispered to Lamar, leaning in to avoid being heard by the others. “They demand leadership, but the minute you give them direction, they act like you’re slapping chains on them.”
Impossibly, Lamar found himself nodding in agreement.
Ken knelt down on the rocky mound as they waited for Beverly, idly poking at the rocks with his spear, which produced a clinking sound like ice cubes landing in a glass. The imagery alone made Lamar reflexively long for such creature comforts.
“How far do you think we’ve gone?” he asked.
“A mile and a half, two miles, tops,” Ken replied as he continued abusing his spear tip.
“That’s it?” Lamar asked incredulously. “We’ll never get out at this rate.”
“No one’s breaking any land-speed records walking in this soup,” Ken said with a shrug.
“I honestly don’t know if we’re even heading north anymore,” Lamar confided. “It seems way too easy to lose yourself in this stuff.”
“There’s a way to tell,” Ken said. “But we need someplace elevated. Above this haze.”
He pointed to the indistinct, shadowy outline of a ridge in the distance, in the same general direction Coop and Gaby were walking, whose peak just barely poked through the towering clouds of steam.
“Make for that point,” he said. “We should be able to get our bearings from up there.”
Ken put his pinkies in either side of his mouth and gave a loud, shrill whistle that made Lamar wince. Gaby and Coop, who were about 40 yards ahead and already on the edge of visibility, stopped and turned to see what the ruckus was about.
“Make for the ridge!” Ken shouted to them, cupping his hands to his mouth as Lamar covered his ears with his hands.
A few moments later, Beverly emerged from the curtain of steam behind them, lurching forward as she dragged her overstuffed tote bag behind her. Lamar had been prepared to upbraid Beverly for slowing the group down, but it was clear there was something wrong with her. She staggered unsteadily, swaying as she stumbled from one foot to the next. Her upper torso seemed to lean into each step as though she were relying on gravity as much as her leg muscles to propel her forward. Lamar also noticed her lips were tightly pursed and her cheeks inflated as if she were struggling to keep from vomiting.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t blight sickness; Lamar barely even noticed its effects anymore, and none of them had been this acutely affected by it, including Beverly. He made a mental note to sniff her breath when she drew closer, just in case she had found another stash of John’s moonshine.
“You OK there, Bev?” Lamar asked hesitantly as she staggered toward them.
She continued walking as though she hadn’t heard him, her glazed eyes fixed on some distant point on the horizon.
Lamar detected no hint of alcohol on her breath, but her complexion was pasty, and her eyes appeared sunken and vacant. She looked seriously ill.
“Beverly?” he said again, a little louder, causing her to jump slightly.
“What?” she asked, irritated.
“You zoned out for a bit there,” he replied.
“I’m fine,” she said with a dismissive wave of her left hand. “I just … struggle without my beauty rest.”
She noticed that Lamar was eyeing the black spot on the side of her hand, so she quickly dropped it to her side. The mark had grown to the size of a quarter and was now spreading up the side of her hand.
“Tell you what, why don’t we take a short breather up ahead?” Lamar offered, pointing toward the ridge in the distance.
Beverly nodded. Rest was all she needed. Just a few minutes of shut eye to stifle the conflagration raging in her mind. The graphic images bombarding her brain were growing more extreme. The voice that had been whispering for retribution was now screaming for it, and it was no longer alone. New voices joined the chorus of hate, while others called out new instructions: torture, self-mutilation and other perversities she refused to entertain. And in the background, the flames grew higher and higher.
* * * * * *
Ken and Lamar slowly made their way up the ridgeline, using their spear tips like canes to help navigate through the haze. Lamar looked over apprehensively at his traveling companion. He would have preferred if at least one of the others had tagged along; Ken was always at his most overbearing in one-on-one exchanges.
About 30 feet below, Gaby, Coop and Beverly recuperated at the base of the ridge, their faces already difficult to pick out in the foggy steam. Lamar had invited them to come along, but all of them had demurred; it was still bracingly cold this morning, and the steam�
�s residual heat took some of the sting out of the chill.
Ken said nothing during their trip up the ridge; if he registered any of Lamar’s trepidation, he didn’t exhibit it. His face was a mask of concentration as he worked his way up the ridge, weaving between dozens of pointed stones jutting out of the earth.
The steam clouds slowly dissipated as they climbed the ridge, which narrowed the higher they went until they reached the peak: a 30-foot-wide rock face with a few patches of blighted soil and the remains of a toppled ash tree. Judging from the scorch marks on its side, it must have been struck by lightning. While the now-ubiquitous ash patterns also decorated the peak, Lamar noted that they were thinner and emitted only trace amounts of steam, the rising sun having already burned most of it off the ridgetop, giving the two their first unimpeded view of the path ahead.
Lamar tentatively approached the peak’s edge and looked out over a field of steam clouds. They stretched as far as he could see, which was nearly three miles at that elevation. The shimmering sea of misty white was so thick in parts that it looked like a layer of cumulus clouds had dropped from the heavens. In the distance, he saw a series of dauntingly steep hills that loomed ominously above the steam cloud, taunting him with their seeming impassibility. They gradually tapered out the farther right he looked, until they ended in a series of smaller rolling hills that looked far more manageable.
Lamar closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the sun on his face again after spending so long trapped beneath the steam curtain. The only part of this that felt wrong was the lack of wind on his face, a stark reminder that they were still deep within the ikus’ territory.
When Lamar opened his eyes again, Ken was standing beside him, pointing to his right. Lamar followed his finger until he spied a concave area in the distance where the steam clouds hovered noticeably lower than the neighboring clouds as though they were the lip of an enormous bowl.
“That must be the edge of the floodplain,” Ken said, tracing the contours of the bowl shape in the air with his finger.
The Truth Circle Page 26