The Mountain

by Kevin George

  Feathers bristled at Ms. Van Horn’s suggestion, but nobody dared voice their opposition. Quentin looked up at her and shook his head, though he said not a word when her eyes snapped in his direction.

  “But I’m not foolish enough to test it on myself, just as I refuse to let any of you make the same mistake,” she said. “No, we’re too valuable as a collective unit to risk a single one of our lives. Our collaboration with the humans is already tenuous, so we don’t want to give them another reason to question their role in The Mountain’s organization. No, we will test on a human subject.”

  “One of the women used as a host womb?” an Aviary asked.

  “Or one of the captured, so-called scientists we caught sneaking in through the tunnels?” another suggested.

  Ms. Van Horn thought a moment before shaking her head. “The scientists were put in with the host women near the upper level, correct?” she asked. Quentin nodded. “Best not to travel so far with the new dosage. And we don’t want to upset our guards if the injection proves to be. . . faulty. No, I believe the other intruders we caught—those that arrived from the Frozen Wasteland—are being held in a room closer to here?”

  Quentin nodded. Ms. Van Horn mirrored the gesture and turned toward the door without another word. By the time Quentin began to follow, he got caught in the middle of the rest of the Board hurrying after her.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Olly rattled the door handle over and over, his knuckles turning white, the muscles aching in his hand. But he didn’t let go, yanking at it so fiercely that he convinced himself he could pull the handle right off. Whether or not that would help his cause, Olly didn’t know, nor did he particularly care. When it became clear he wasn’t escaping or inflicting any real damage, he let go of the handle, clenched his fists and pounded them against the door.

  “Don’t,” a voice urged behind him. “You’ll get their attention.”

  The voice spoke soothingly just behind him. A firm, yet reassuring hand soon gripped his shoulder. Oliver spun, slapping the hand away, instantly filling with regret the moment he saw the hurt in his mother’s eyes. He quickly turned and broke eye contact, but it was too late. Feeling such regret only angered him more.

  “We have to try something,” he said, unable to muster much urgency. He cleared his voice and tried again. “I can’t just stand around and wait for them to do whatever they want to us. . . to me. You two can do what you want, but I plan on getting out of here.”

  He reached for the handle, shaking it again to no avail.

  “And doing what exactly, if you manage to get out?” Irving asked.

  The old Tunneler sat in the shadowy corner of the room, apparently content to sit around and await his fate.

  “Get to the vehicles parked below,” Olly snapped. “Drive out of here and intercept the rest of our people. . . the rest of your people before they arrive at The Mountain. You want them to suffer the same fate as our driver? As the Tunnelers in the vehicle behind us?”

  “Course not,” Irving said. “But I was a prisoner long enough to know it’s useless wasting time and energy trying to escape from an inescapable situation. Trust me, be patient and wait for the right opportunity.”

  Olly might’ve felt better had it not been for the fact that Irving’s last escape nearly cost Olly his life. The old Tunneler didn’t appear to be mocking him, but Olly felt annoyed nonetheless.

  “If you want to sit around and accept whatever fate these murderous scum plan to give, be my guest,” Olly said. “But I need to get out of here and find Paige, the little girl and the baby.”

  After yanking at the handle again, his frustrations boiled over and he smacked the door over and over, each open-palmed strike causing pinpricks of pain exploding in his hands and arms. When he kicked the door a few times and felt pain explode in his big toe, he couldn’t muster the breath to cry out in pain. Doubled over, he stood heaving in front of the door, trying hard not to cry at the thought of Paige and the kids already meeting a gruesome end. He didn’t shake away his mother’s hand when she placed it on his shoulder a second time.

  “I understand how you feel. I’ve lived with many of these people for years,” she said with a hint of regret in her voice. “But Irving’s right. We’re better off staying quiet now. If there’s one thing I learned living in the tunnels, it’s to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. We have to survive as long as we can, any way that we can.”

  Pain and frustration tried to convince Olly to listen to them, but he couldn’t pull himself away from the door.

  “I wouldn’t want to survive if it meant abandoning the people I care about,” Olly said, quickly realizing his words applied to more than just the situation they now faced. He didn’t turn to see Liv’s face, but the way she pulled her hand back told him what he needed to know about her response. Her reaction somehow eased some of his building tension. “I wouldn’t want to survive if it meant leaving them in the grips of evil.”

  Olly spun but refused to make eye contact with her. He hobbled into another corner of the room, glancing at Irving leaned against the wall, his hands folded behind his head.

  “How can you be so relaxed at a time like this?”

  “As a prisoner in the home of my enemy? Didn’t we go over this, kid?” Irving asked with a chuckle. “Let them see we’ll be well-behaved, that we won’t make trouble.”

  “You made no trouble?”

  Irving sighed. “Yeah, this again. Your friends dug you out of the dirt pile, didn’t they?”

  “They weren’t my friends,” Olly snapped, though he thought about Emma and Artie and Chad, and the horrible things he did to each of them.

  I deserve whatever fate happens to me, he knew. A voice in the back of his mind told him it wasn’t too late to change—that he could still atone for past mistakes—but looking at Liv and feeling such anger made him wonder if he could ever change enough. When he stared at her too long, Liv took that as a cue to slowly approach him. Olly shook his head and hobbled back into a corner, leaning against a wall as the door suddenly burst open to a cacophony of shrieks.

  Olly stumbled forward, bumping into his mother as she backed away from a dozen squawking humans swarming into the room. Or at least Olly thought they were human at first. They were the same size as humans, relatively the same shape and had human-esque features. But upon closer inspection, Olly saw feathers sticking out from every exposed area of skin on their deformed, misshapen bodies. Their facial features were pointy and sharp; many had eyes too wide-set, or jawlines too angular, lips too taut to cover mouths filled with crooked, missing or pointy teeth. But it wasn’t until Olly saw a few with strange protrusions sticking out of their shoulders that the truth suddenly hit him.

  “Sky People,” he whispered without thinking.

  He scanned the faces of the flock, searching for the Sky Person that had taken Emma during the Tunnel War, his chest filling with hope at the thought of her surviving. But that particular Sky Person had looked downright normal compared to those now flapping before him. Olly found no sign of a familiar face.

  “Please, tell me Emma’s here,” he said, stepping toward the flock, even as several Sky People snapped and gnashed in his general direction. When his mother grabbed his arm and pulled him back, Olly did not resist.

  “Don’t look at them,” Liv said, turning her son toward her.

  It was hard to avoid the commotion, but another flash of movement in the opposite direction caught Olly’s attention. He was surprised to find Irving on his feet, and even more surprised to see the older man stepping forward, his serene expression gone, his eyes wide with wonder, his mouth hanging open. He stepped between mother and son, stepping toward the Sky People while making no attempt to hide his marvel.

  “Since I was a boy living in the darkened tunnels, I heard stories of your kind,” Irving said. “But you’re more magnificent than I could’ve imagined. We’ve come a long way across the Nothingness, and I hope our unannounced arrival at The
Mountain won’t be—”

  When a taller woman—less hunched and less deformed than the others—stepped forward, Irving quieted and recoiled several steps, the awe fading from his face. Olly tried to avoid her gaze but found it hard to stop staring into her cold, dark eyes. He finally looked away when she turned to another Sky Person, a male as far as Olly could tell. He wore a similar white lab coat as the others, but his was cleaner, less ripped and without any of the red spatters. He also appeared more human than the others, though not quite as human as the Sky Person Olly remembered from the Main Tunnel.

  The male Sky Person held a syringe filled with greenish liquid, the sight of which filled Olly with greater terror than anything he’d seen since entering The Mountain. Olly knew exactly what it was. His arm itched where he’d injected himself with the Blast, waves of energy coursed through his body, an explosion of strength that made his legs coil in anticipation of leaping at every Sky Person in front of him, fighting them all and making his way out of The Mountain. But it was the squeeze of his mother’s hand on his shoulder that quelled his rushing adrenaline and allowed him to fade into the corner.

  “Choose one already,” said the female Sky Person, her tone surprisingly prim and proper.

  The male Sky Person stared into the corner, his eyes sweeping from Olly to Liv, the creases in his brow just noticeable beneath patches of feathers. His eyes locked onto Olly and his mouth opened, but no words came out before Irving interrupted.

  “I’m not sure what we’re being chosen for,” the old Tunneler said. “But if it’s something to help prove our willingness to—”

  Quentin sprung without warning, jamming the needle into Irving’s neck before the old Tunneler even budged. Irving collapsed to his knees and pulled out the syringe, the contents of which had already been injected into his bloodstream. As the Sky People squawked in excitement, Olly broke free of his mother’s grasp and rushed forward, unleashing unintelligible mutters of anger and warning. He never reached Irving before the Sky People flapped forward and intercepted him, their swollen chests and grotesque forms bumping him back, a few snapping misshapen beaked mouths inches from his face.

  Liv yanked Olly to his feet and pushed him against the nearest wall, unapologetically rough. His head smashed into the rock, causing most of the fight to fade from his limbs.

  “Stay put,” she ordered.

  Olly tried to wriggle out of her grasp, but her grip was strong. He could do nothing but watch the Sky People encircle Irving, who remained on his knees, hunched over, holding the side of his neck. In Olly’s daze, he couldn’t recall why he cared to help Irving in the first place, as the Tunneler had never done anything but cause him pain and anguish. . .

  After nearly a minute, Irving let go of his neck. Grimacing, he lifted his head and looked up from one cruel face to the next.

  “What did you give me?” he finally asked.

  He was answered by more squawking, though this time, the noises sounded more angry than excited. Though a few Sky People flapped misshapen wings and snapped in his direction, most turned toward one of their own. Quentin stood completely still, brow furrowed, staring at the old man, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did.

  “You messed something up,” one of them accused.

  “Failure!” another snapped.

  “Or maybe that wasn’t the real Aviary Blast,” another hissed, causing the others to lash out in a greater frenzy. “Maybe the human switched injections and is keeping the real one for himself.”

  Quentin shook his head. “I would never do that,” he said breathlessly. “And I’m not a human. What part of me still looks human to you?”

  “You don’t look like us,” another Board member snapped.

  “For all we know, he already injected himself with the Descendant’s Aviary Blast,” snapped someone else. “Is it me or does he look more like Love than he ever has before?”

  Liv eased the grip on her son and Olly took a wobbly step forward. Together, they watched the Sky People step away from Irving and begin to encircle one of their own. Olly’s eyes turned toward the open door, though most of the group stood between him and there. Before could make a move in that direction, Liv took his elbow again, her grip not nearly as firm.

  Irving’s sudden scream, deep and pained and from the soul, quieted the squawks and hisses and accusations aimed toward Quentin. All eyes turned on the kneeling Tunneler, who threw his head back in agony before lurching forward, falling flat on the floor, his face smashing against rock. Olly broke through his mother’s grasp and rushed to help but was easily knocked aside by Sky People flocking around Irving. Olly stumbled to the floor, where he looked between the strange beings and had a clear view of Irving. The old Tunneler’s body twitched lightly at first but was soon wracked with painful spasms, his back arching at an unnatural angle, his oversized clothes beginning to stretch as an unseen force seemed to explode out of him.

  “What’s happening?” Olly called out in a panic.

  The Sky People remained strangely still, only Irving’s constant groaning and occasional outbursts interrupting the quiet. Just when Olly didn’t think anyone heard him, Quentin answered, his eyes never moving from Irving, whose head remained buried in his hands.

  “He’s transforming,” Quentin said calmly. “Possibly becoming as strong of an Aviary as the Wellers initially planned.”

  Olly scurried to his feet. “Emma?”

  But nobody paid attention to him. Liv grabbed his arm and started to guide him toward the open door—to which nobody else was paying attention—when Irving’s screams became louder and more pained. Mother and son both stopped, neither able to look away or consider escape while Irving endured such agony. As the old Tunneler writhed and moaned, he managed to stagger to his feet and take several thudding steps, causing nearby Sky People to squawk and retreat. It wasn’t long before he collapsed to his knees again.

  Irving finally threw his head back, giving Olly and Liv a clear view of feathers sprouting where wispy hair had just fallen out. His face was twisted but not merely in pain; the actual shape of his jaw and cheeks and skull seemed to change in front of their eyes, elongating and stretching, taking the same sharp shape as the other Sky People. His head wasn’t the only part of him changing. As the frail old Tunneler lurched back toward the floor, his body began to expand, his clothes stretching until they ripped, dull gray feathers sprouting all over. His hands became hooked, his fingers lengthening into sharpened talons, the tips of his shoes nearly exploding from his newly hooked feet.

  With every passing second, Irving’s body expanded, his cries of agony growing into bellowing growls. The Sky People no longer remained quiet, their high-pitched squawks of excitement making Irving’s growls sound deeper and more ominous.

  “It’s working. . . it’s working,” several Sky People echoed.

  The tight-lipped, formal female leading the group remained unmoved. “We’ll become more powerful than we could’ve imagined,” she said, her eyes glinting.

  But when Irving lifted his head and snapped at the group, the Sky People’s squawks turned to gasps. Olly felt every part of his body grow numb. Any trace of humanity was gone from Irving’s face, which had become sunken and narrow in a matter of seconds. When he opened his mouth to groan, the strength in his voice turned to anguish as sharpened teeth fell out and skittered across the floor. Feathers sprouted from every part of his body before a pair of huge wings burst from his back, ripping away every last piece of clothing that had draped him.

  He flapped wildly, violently, propelling himself into nearby Sky People, knocking several aside while causing the rest to scatter. Olly and Liv held each other’s hands in the chaos but couldn’t avoid the frenzy of feathered bodies bumping into them, knocking them back against the wall. For a split second, Olly wondered if Irving’s reaction was an intentional attempt to distract their enemies and facilitate their escape. But the door to their room suddenly slammed closed and when Olly had his next view of
Irving, he realized the old Tunneler would never be capable of another human thought again.

  “Do something!” screamed the female leader of the Sky People.

  Without warning, she grabbed the Sky Person nearest the door—apparently the one who’d just closed it, cutting off Irving’s potential escape—and shoved him into the middle of the action. Olly could only smirk upon seeing that it was the same Sky Person who’d shoved the needle into Irving’s neck.

  Quentin stumbled forward, sensing the rest of the Board pressing themselves against the walls, ducking for cover whenever the Blasted human flapped too close. Quentin’s eyes never left the monstrosity, this thing that was far more horrific than anything he ever imagined. When the test subject suddenly hobbled to a stop, its head slowly turned toward him. Quentin couldn’t suppress the small chirp that escaped his throat. He thought the test subject could see him, though where the former human’s eyes used to be were just a pair of cloudy sockets.

  “P. . . please, just calm d. . . down,” Quentin stammered, unable to hide the fear tightening his throat. “We can. . . we can help you.”

  Quentin barely had time to flinch before the test subject barreled into him, knocking him to the floor. Quentin tried to crawl away, but the subject’s hooked foot clamped onto his chest so tightly that Quentin was afraid to breathe. The test subject stood above him, squawking wildly, snapping his misshapen beak inches from Quentin’s face. Distantly, Quentin heard squawks from the Board, but he couldn’t tell if they were squawks of fear or anticipation.

  “Please,” Quentin hissed breathlessly. “Someone. . . anyone. . . help me.”

  He wasn’t surprised when nobody moved an inch. As the test subject lowered his beak toward Quentin’s neck, Quentin closed his eyes and braced for the chomp that would surely end his life. In that moment, he prayed he would merely be the first victim, and that every other Board member in this room—starting with Victoria Van Horn—would meet the same gruesome fate. But he never felt anything worse than warm breath on his neck, and that only lasted a moment.