The Mountain

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The Mountain Page 28

by Kevin George


  Quentin snickered and stood in place, knowing that all the complaining and yelling wouldn’t remove the Aviary Blast from the woman prisoner. Instead, he watched her with great interest. Behind him, Olly thrashed wildly and had to be dragged to the floor. He only calmed when his eyes locked with his mother’s and she shook her head. With Liv’s face etched in pain, Olly no longer had the strength to fight back tears.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she told him over and over.

  Liv reached a hand toward her son, who was pulled farther into the room by the guards. She stumbled forward, ricocheting off the doorframe, barely paying attention as Quentin and Billy scurried in after her, shutting them all inside.

  “I forgive you,” Olly sobbed. “For everything that happened. I forgive you. I should’ve said so earlier.”

  The pain in Liv’s face instantly faded. Her eyes softened and she smiled, her expression serene. She reached a hand in Olly’s direction, but when he tried to reach back, the guard’s tightened their grip on his arms.

  “Just survive,” she said.

  Olly no sooner nodded than Liv unleashed a guttural scream and lurched forward, her head smashing against the floor, her back arching unnaturally, the same violent spasms racking her body that had racked Irving’s before. . .

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Do you see them?” Sally asked, trying—and failing—to keep the hopelessness out of her voice.

  Several seconds ticked by, long and slow, cold and windy. Dozens of eyes peered through the heavy snowfall, scanning the endless gray skies for any sign of movement.

  “No,” James answered with a noise that sounded like a mix of a sigh and a shiver.

  “Does anyone else?” she asked the crowd around her.

  A high-pitched voice or two responded ‘no,’ but the rest of the answers came from a chorus of mournful chirping.

  “This is ridiculous,” James said, taking small steps in the snow, unable to remain still. “We should keep going before we freeze to death.”

  The sing-song chirping of Aviaries exploded into frantic squawks. One voice among the Swarm could be heard above the rest of the noise.

  “Quinn says to wait here. . . Quinn says to wait here.”

  Echoes of the word ‘wait’ circulated among the Swarm, ruffling the feathers of several Aviaries staring daggers at James. Nearby, Sally continued to squint as she scanned the skies, unable to stifle the shivers attacking every part of her body. She still saw nothing but snowy whiteness and the shadow of the Mountain looming through the storm.

  “They’ve probably flown to the other side, where The Mountain’s two entrances are located,” Sally said, unable to muster much conviction.

  James stepped beside Sally and leaned closer to her ear. “We were lucky the guard hunting us parked the snowmobile so close to the Swarm’s building.”

  “Being hunted and almost killed was lucky?” Sally asked.

  “You know what I mean,” James snapped. “We’re also lucky the vehicle started for us, not to mention how far it’s gotten us. Do you want to be right here if its battery dies on us now?”

  Sally looked at James and then glanced toward the snowmobile they’d parked nearby upon having spotted two people soaring above them. A part of her knew James was right, that their chances to survive diminished with every second they waited, but the Swarm had made their intentions clear. Without answering, Sally turned her focus back to the sky, ignoring James’ sigh. He plodded toward the Swarm.

  “What if whoever we saw flying up there killed Quinn and the girl?” James asked.

  The resulting squawks were angry and threatening. Sally was too cold to defend James, but his silence proved he didn’t need to be warned to keep his comments to himself. Another shadow—this one also large but much closer—descended on Sally from behind.

  “Sally cold?”

  She turned to Lump, large and wide standing behind her, his lopsided eyes staring down at her with concern. Sally couldn’t help but smile as she nodded. Without warning, Lump turned and unfurled his one well-formed wing, which he stretched toward Sally. Before she could object, the wing wrapped around her, pulling her closer to him. A blast of warmth engulfed Sally’s body, bringing her shivering to an immediate end. The howling wind was gloriously muffled. She closed her eyes and inhaled her first deep, unfrozen breath since the Swarm started its journey across the White Nothingness. She suddenly understood why only she and James were so affected by the cold.

  When Lump released her, she felt better, though the cold wind struck her face like a block of ice.

  “Sally cold?” Lump asked.

  She shook her head and smiled, reaching a hand for his face. Lump unleashed a coo unbecoming to a being his size before stomping away to stand among the Swarm. Now that she had a moment to think clearly, she glanced at James—who wisely remained quiet under the watchful eye of the Swarm—and realized he’d been right.

  “I have no doubt Quinn and BabyDoll intercepted the new arrivals,” Sally told the group, which collectively hung on her every word. “But something happened for them not to have come back right away. I’m sure they’re both fine, but The Mountain is just ahead and if we continue forward, Quinn and BabyDoll will find us sooner than if we stay back here.”

  Nervous chirping spread among the Swarm. Sally approached Lump and reached for his gnarled, hooked hand. She gave it a squeeze and gently pulled him forward. Lump didn’t resist going with her. Together, they crunched through the snow.

  “We help mother,” Lump said, looking back at the others. “We help all mothers.”

  The chirps continued, but Sally glanced over her should to see several heads bobbing up and down. The Swarm followed, several crunching through the heavy snow, others flapping their wings and hovering inches above the white ground. James moved last, heading for the snowmobile, which he started and steered toward Sally and Lump. The calming effect of Lump’s warm hug had already worn off, and Sally found herself shivering again. With The Mountain still so far off—and the potential entrances located somewhere beyond the pass near The Mountain—Sally knew she would never make it on foot.

  She stopped and gave Lump’s hand another squeeze. “You will continue to lead them toward their mothers.”

  He nodded as she let go and climbed onto the snowmobile. Attached to the back by a length of rope was a makeshift sled. Sally called out for the weakest, least developed members of the Swarm to climb aboard as they’d done for most of the trip. Once everyone was in place, James throttled the engine and they bumped across the Nothingness. Members of the Swarm glided beside them, flapping their wings furiously, some of them moving more smoothly than others, many knocked from side to side by swirling winds, but none of them giving up. Lump’s massive form leaned severely to the side of his larger, well-formed wing, but his smaller, misshapen wing fluttered quickly to keep him aloft as he led the Swarm in the absence of Quinn and BabyDoll.

  The group took a wide berth around The Mountain, entering a path leading to the far side. The climb was dangerous, and the snowmobile ricocheted off several rocks hidden beneath the snow, causing the attached sled to tip more than once. Each time the group stopped to right itself, Sally scanned the snowy skies, seeing nothing but low-hanging clouds shrouding the top of The Mountain. She tried staying positive—especially when addressing the easily-spooked Swarm—but she believed her own words less and less every time she assured the others that Quinn and BabyDoll were okay.

  They never would’ve abandoned us, even if they found a way inside, she thought, growing just as nervous by the absence of the two mystery flyers that had convinced Quinn and BabyDoll to fly ahead in the first place. There’d been no stopping Quinn from going after them, but Sally still regretted not doing more to stop BabyDoll from following him. The Swarm looks to her as a leader, but they never seem to remember she’s the youngest among them. . .

  Sally was surprised how worried she felt with BabyDoll missing. The bond she’d formed with the
feathered little girl was unlike anything she’d experienced in her life in the City Below. Sally had never considered being a mother one day, but she suddenly understood the ‘maternal instinct’ some mothers from The Fifth had talked about. Sally came to an unexpected epiphany as they crested the large hill and saw the empty white landscape—and empty skies—on the opposite side of The Mountain.

  I feel so strongly about BabyDoll because she’s living the same life I lived, Sally thought. No matter how many years she’d forced herself to be strong—no matter how many times she’d convinced herself that being left alone in the world hadn’t stopped her from being a leader—she suddenly realized that she’d been lying to herself. And I’m not going to let BabyDoll ever think nobody cares about her, she told herself, more determined than ever to find the little girl, no matter the cost.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “The second drone has been destroyed,” a nervous voice reported from the other end of a walkie talkie.

  Gasps surrounded Walda Lamb, so many she couldn’t tell if she herself had made the noise, too. Embarrassed at losing control of her emotions, she narrowed her eyes and snapped for the guards around her to get into position. She glanced toward the ledge of The Mountain’s cloud-top entrance, where she saw nothing but gray clouds and swirling snows. Fighting the urge to shiver, she marched deeper down the dim hallway, where it wasn’t quite so cold and there weren’t quite so many listening ears.

  “And the other target?” Walda asked, trying to keep her voice down. “Has it been eliminated?”

  The pregnant pause that followed was all the answer she needed. Her stomach sank before the worried voice returned.

  “Negative. But footage from the second drone showed others flying in the air. . . others with wings.”

  “Impossible,” Walda snapped. “Nobody but Love ever flew. Send more drones to destroy whoever’s out there!”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but they were the last two functioning combat drones remaining. Hopefully they were enough to scare off Love and whoever else was out there.”

  “The Board didn’t want Love scared off,” Walda said, frustration mounting. “They wanted him dead now that he’s causing so much trouble. As long as the Descendant is still here, he won’t go far.”

  Walda stared at the walkie but soon realized the bare bones crew in the security center had no answers for her. She changed frequencies and hailed Quentin Bowie, the newest Board member and only Aviary that was supposed to look out for the interests of the human guards. Quentin finally answered, his tone sharp and annoyed.

  “What do you want?”

  “Checking on the status of the Aviary Blast,” Walda said. “Has a new version been completed?”

  “This isn’t the best time,” Quentin snapped. “Whatever you do, keep Love away from the Descendant and the labs.”

  In the background of the transmission were two distinct sounds, the first being an angry voice screaming. But it was the second sound, an agonized, guttural scream that sent shivers down Walda’s spine. She immediately felt better when Quentin cut off the communication. She glanced up to see more guards streaming into the uppermost hallway. Having more potential fighters should have relieved Walda, but that wasn’t the case, especially when she heard a commotion near the ledge. She hurried down the hall, pushing past several armed men and women trying to see the outside world.

  Before she had a chance to ask her guards what they’d seen, she heard mutters about the orange dots out there. Walda turned her attention down and spotted the dim glowing far on the horizon, similar to the pair of vehicles that had approached earlier. She immediately grabbed for her walkie, bumping into another guard as she rushed, fumbling the handheld device and nearly dropping it over the ledge. Walda looked straight down over the side, her head momentarily swirling. She scurried back so quickly she almost slipped on the rocky floor’s thin covering of snow.

  When a few guards reached out helping hands, she swatted them away and stormed off, mashing the walkie’s TRANSMIT button.

  “Moretti, more ground forces are coming our way,” she snapped. “I’ll personally feed you to every member of the Board if that blast door isn’t closed!”

  With every passing second of silence in response, her knuckles turned whiter and whiter.

  “It’s closed, it’s closed,” Moretti finally answered.

  Walda stared at the walkie, her brow furrowing. Moretti’s voice was as gruff as it usually was, but was that a hint of playfulness she sensed? Or was there something else. . . off about his tone? Moretti had always been difficult to deal with—apparently a family trait—but he was turning into one more problem she didn’t feel like having right now. She’d given him chance after chance to conform and earn the rank his family name afforded him, but his unwillingness to follow orders was making him expendable.

  “I issued a Mountain-wide order for all guards to report to the highest level,” Walda said. “Get up here now to help us protect this entrance from possible threats. After that, we’ll assemble a ground team to destroy whoever else is out there.”

  A crowd of nearby guards nodded their agreement. Most of the men and women listened without question, followed orders without hesitation. Walda vowed at that moment to have greater appreciation for her guards and to reassign those most loyal to positions of greater significance.

  “Did you ever consider that attacking might be the wrong move?” Moretti asked, sounding more unlike himself than ever. “That opening The Mountain to newcomers might prove beneficial for us all?”

  He’s finally snapped, once and for all, she thought.

  “Is that what you were thinking when you slaughtered those from the first two vehicles?” Walda asked. This time, Moretti’s prolonged silence wasn’t followed by another light-toned response. “Your father gave his life hunting these savages to keep us all safe. What would he think of you wanting to welcome them?”

  “I. . . I don’t know,” Moretti said. “But I don’t think these outsiders are savages. I think they’re like us, human like us. Maybe we can learn from each other instead of killing each other.”

  Walda didn’t know what confused her more: the fact that a Moretti could show empathy, or the fact that she found herself agreeing with him. Based on the softened expressions of several guards around her—as well as a few nods—Walda could tell others felt the same. Never thought I’d see the day when guards sided with Moretti over me, she thought, uncertain if she felt hatred or sympathy for Moretti.

  “The Board is still in charge and making decisions for long-term survival,” Walda said into the walkie, trying to force a sense of finality into her voice.

  “For their best chance of survival or ours?” asked a brazen guard, his face turning red when a dozen sets of eyes fell upon him. He slinked back farther among the group.

  “Their success will ultimately be our success,” Walda said, fighting the urge to snicker as she spoke. She didn’t need to look at the guards’ faces to sense doubt among them, doubt she didn’t blame them for. “With the Descendant and her blood in our hands, it shouldn’t be long until the Board brings Him back to lead us to a better place.”

  Reluctant nods circled around the group, as well as a few hopeful mutters of the word ‘Him.’ Doubt among human guards was nothing new; Walda assumed that same doubt had existed for generations. But if there was one thing all humans learned in The Mountain, it was to keep those doubts to themselves unless they wanted to disappear to the upper level or—even worse—to the laboratory levels.

  “We must be careful not to give the Board a reason to distrust us,” Walda whispered. “We’ve survived their rule this long. We may as well wait to see if the Descendant leads to His return.”

  Before Walda received the guards’ response, yelling echoed from near the outside ledge.

  “Something is coming this way,” warned a guard. Walda dropped the walkie and raised her weapon, the rest of the guards rushing to join the few still at the ledge. “A
nd it’s coming really—”

  As the two ledge guards raised their weapons, a blur of movement sped through the opening and crashed into them, knocking one guard against the wall while sending the other tumbling over the side, his high-pitched scream fading within seconds. Walda raised her gun and for a split second, her eyes met those of Love, whose eyes had narrowed with such hatred it could only mean he knew about her betrayal. Part of Walda wanted to apologize—she was, in fact, truly sorry for what she’d been ordered to do—but she barely had time to fire a wayward shot that ricocheted off the rocky wall.

  Love’s muscular wing felt like a sledgehammer as it struck Walda and sent her airborne. Her gun clattered to the floor, and she shielded her head just enough to soften her skull from taking the brunt of impact against the rock. Her vision blurred and everything sounded far away, but she sat in place and watched Love lash out with his massive wings, knocking aside any guard within range. He flapped over and over, his feathers flying as he struck guards and rocky walls alike, his body hovering as he smashed against one wall and then the other.

  Human screams were barely heard over Love’s frantic squawks, the cacophony of noises soon joined by a smattering of gunfire. A bullet slammed into the wall less than a foot from Walda’s head. If that didn’t immediately clear the cobwebs from her mind, the fact that several more guards hit the floor—most from Love’s attacks, a few others caught by friendly crossfire—was enough to let her push aside the pain.

  “Weapons down!” she screamed, climbing to her feet. “Everybody, hold your fire!”

  The gunfire ceased, as did most yelling. Love landed with a thud, though he kept his wings spread as he turned in a circle, snapping at anyone that got too close. Walda raised her hands and began to stand, getting Love’s attention. She couldn’t help but glance at her gun on the floor nearby. She slowly inched toward it, but Love saw what she was doing and flapped his wing, knocking the gun farther away. His chest heaved in great gasps, but for the first time, Walda saw as much pain in his eyes as anger. She also noticed the line of blood running the length of one wing and dripping onto the floor.

 

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