Children of the Mountain (Book 2): The Devil You Know Page 3

  Without saying a word she points to a spot between two of the school buses. At first I don’t see anything, and I’m beginning to wonder what it is she’s looking at. But then I catch it. Little more than a shifting of shadows at first, so slight that at first I think I might have imagined it.

  Until I see it again.

  *

  WHEN I FIRST STARTED going outside, all those years ago now, I had been sure I’d find someone. Or at least evidence that people were still out here. A smudge of smoke on the horizon. Fresh tracks in the snow. The faintest glimmer of a fire through a silted window. But in all my time with Marv I never saw so much as a single footprint to suggest there was anyone else out here. Kane used to say that if we were to happen upon others while we were scavenging we were to give them a wide berth; that if there was anyone still left after all this time they’d most likely be desperate, dangerous men, lawless and Godless. Of course a lot of what Kane told us wasn’t true, I know that now. But still it’s those words that go through my head as I watch the three men step from the shadows between the school buses.

  Now that they’re out in the open I can see that two of them have rifles. They hold them across their chests, the barrels pointed down, just like I remember Marv and Benjamin carrying their guns on the day we arrived at Eden. They slowly cross the parking lot and then the one in the middle, the one who doesn’t seem to be armed, stops and looks up. The fire died down hours ago, and the glass is coated with a decade of grime, so I know he won’t be able to see us here, but nevertheless I find myself shrinking back under the weight of that gaze. He turns his head, as if saying something to his companions, and then looks over his shoulder, back in the direction of the highway. For a brief moment I allow myself the hope that they’ll pass us by. But when they set off again it’s towards the embankment, and the steps that will lead them to the entrance.

  I whisper to Mags that we need to go. She nods once then starts gathering her things. While she’s wriggling into her ski pants I pull on my boots, not bothering with the laces. I stuff our sleeping bag into my backpack and hoist it onto my shoulders. We’re already at the stairs when she stops and says she’s forgotten her book. But it’s too late to go back for it now so I grab her hand and moments later we’re running down a wide hallway past row after row of metal lockers. At the end I turn right and follow the signs marked Fire Exit. Somewhere in the darkness behind us I hear the sound of a door being opened. I think they’re coming in the way we did last night but I don’t stop to listen.

  We take a left and a right and then there’s another long corridor. As we make our way down it a set of double doors with a push handle separates itself from the gloom at the end. A sign says the door’s alarmed, but that’s not what’s worrying me now. I reach for the bar and push it down, convinced it won’t move and that we’ll be trapped but it sticks just a little then gives with a loud clunk, announcing our presence to whoever’s behind us. I push against it, no longer worried about being quiet, but the door only opens a fraction. I look down and see why: snow’s drifted up against the bottom on the other side. I lean my shoulder into it and shove, feeling my boots scrabble for purchase on the tiled floor. It opens a little further, enough now for Mags to squeeze through. I step back and she disappears into the gap just as a dark shape appears at the end of the hallway behind us and shouts something. I shuck off my backpack and push it through then force myself after it.

  I stagger out into the snow. As I push the door closed behind me I see a hasp that was designed to take a padlock. I don’t have one of those but the pry bar’s sitting right on top of my backpack; it’ll do to hold it shut while we get clear of whoever’s chasing us. As I’m bending down to reach inside I hear Mags cry out and I stop and look up. For the first time I notice there’s a huge shape standing in front of me, silhouetted against the first of the gray morning light. It takes me a moment to work out that it’s a man, and that he’s got Mags pinned to his side under one gigantic arm. She’s struggling to break free but it’s like he doesn’t even notice.

  I drop the pack and fumble inside the pocket of my parka for the gun. There’s no bullets of course, so right now I’m hoping that Marv was right when he said most people would just turn tail at the sight of it. But the man-mountain that’s holding Mags doesn’t show any sign of doing that. I take a step closer and point the gun at his head but he just blinks once and continues to stare back at me. His size and the bushy blond beard covering the bottom half of his face makes him look like the world’s largest Viking.

  I hear something slam into the door behind me. There’s a pause and another crash and the sound of wood splintering and when I look back over my shoulder the three men we saw in the parking lot are standing behind me. The hoods on their parkas are up and the throats are fastened so I can’t make out their faces. I see enough in the second before I return my gaze to the Viking to realize that neither of their weapons are pointed at the ground any more though. I flick the safety on Marv’s gun, trying to stop my hand from shaking.

  ‘Whoa now, son. Steady with that before someone gets hurt.’

  The voice is deep, slow and calm. I risk another glance behind me. It’s the man in the middle who’s spoken. His parka’s unzipped, and I catch a glimpse of something silver hanging low on one hip as he steps forward. His hood’s still up however, and even though it’s barely light out it looks like he’s wearing a pair of sunglasses, so I can’t see his eyes. His gloves are off but he’s still wearing his liners and now he raises his hands and holds them out, palms up, to show they’re empty.

  ‘Tell him to let her go first.’

  ‘Sure thing. Hey Jax, why don’t you do like the kid here says and put the girl down?’

  The Viking waits for a moment, almost like he’s processing the instruction, then he releases Mags. She takes a quick step away from him and stops, her small fists balled at her sides inside her mittens, like she’s considering what punishment the giant deserves for having had the temerity to pick her up. I catch her eye and shake my head. She pauses for a moment and then backs over towards me.

  ‘Okay kid, now how about lowering that sidearm? We ain’t going to hurt you. I know Jax there must look like a pretty tempting target but trust me now, that’s an opportunity you’d do well to pass on. If you shoot him with anything less than a fifty cal you’re just going to piss him off.’

  I look back over my shoulder again. The man who seems to be in charge unsnaps the throat of his parka and slowly lowers his hood. He’s wearing shades, the kind with dark, round lenses and leather side blinkers, so I still can’t see his eyes. His short hair’s as silver as Kane’s. In place of a respirator he’s got a simple black bandana, and now he pulls it down revealing a lean face that looks like it might have been cut straight from the same granite as Eden’s tunnels. A thick mustache covers his upper lip and then angles down almost to his jawline.

  The lines that bracket his mouth deepen as he smiles and he removes his sunglasses. One eye is covered with a patch but the other squints back at me from underneath an eyebrow that’s surprisingly dark given the color of his hair. He motions to the other two men to lower their rifles.

  I glance over at Mags but her expression’s hard to read. I’m sensing we’ll be having a conversation about why I suddenly have a gun, but that’s for later; right now I need to work out what to do about our immediate situation. The men might have lowered their weapons but seeing as my gun’s the one without bullets I doubt we’ll be shooting our way out of this.

  I look at the men surrounding us. They’re all wearing the same parka, what appears in the scant light to be a mix of greens and grays in a pixelated camouflage pattern. The zip pulls and the snappers have all been replaced and when I glance down at their boots I see it’s the same with the eyelets; they’ve been swapped out for plastic too. Spidey grumbles a little at that but it’s vague, non-directional, and right then I think he’s just fussing; my parka and boots are rigged the same after all. I look over at
the man with the silver hair who seems to be their leader. His hands are still raised and for the first time I spot the patch velcro’d high on his arm. I look around at the others and see they’re each wearing the same familiar flag. I allow my hopes to lift a little. These men are soldiers, just like Marv and Benjamin were.

  I take one last look around and then flick the pistol back to safe and slide it back into the pocket of my parka. The man who seems to be in charge whistles softly through his teeth and lets his hands fall to his sides. As he does so his parka slides forward, once again covering the pistol on his hip. He smiles at me like he’s relieved, but something in the way he does it makes me think the Viking may not ever have been in danger, even if Marv’s gun had been loaded. He gestures to the door we’ve all just come through.

  ‘Alright, then. Now what say we make our introductions inside?’

  *

  WE HEAD BACK INTO the school. The three soldiers we first saw coming up to the entrance lead the way. Mags slips through the busted door after them and I follow. There’s a groan and the sound of wood parting company from hinges as behind me the giant they called Jax ducks his head and squeezes his bulk into the inadequate gap. I can’t help but look back at him. Benjamin always seemed huge but then I guess we were small when we knew him. There’s no doubt that this man is bigger. He doesn’t say anything, just meets my gaze and stares back at me with these flat blue eyes.

  When we get to the staircase the soldier with the eye patch turns to me as if looking for direction. I point up the stairs towards the library.

  ‘Alright. I’m guessing you didn’t have a fire goin’?’

  The fire we had burned down overnight. I shake my head no.

  ‘Do you have the makings of another?’

  ‘We used the last of the wood we cut last night.’

  ‘Fair enough. Jax, run outside and gather us up some, will you? Go on now. You’re making the kid here nervous.’

  The Viking looks at me for a long moment then lumbers off towards the entrance. I keep my eye on his back until he’s out the door and then start up the stairs. The soldier with the eye patch and the silver hair walks beside me.

  ‘Don’t mind Jax none; he’s just interested in you is all. We ain’t seen anyone new in years so I expect he’ll stare some until he gets used to you. Boy’s not right in the head.’ He taps one temple as if to emphasize his point. ‘His understanding never got much beyond what the movie people would have called soft focus.’

  I nod but in spite of his words I still find the Viking’s size unsettling. I step back into the library where Mags and I spent the night. One of the soldiers takes up station by the door and the other heads over to the window. The one who so far has done all the talking drags a couple of plastic chairs into the middle of the room and motions for us to sit down. I hesitate for a moment and then take a seat. Mags looks at the chair like she’s considering it but remains standing. If the soldier cares whether she sits or not he doesn’t show it, he just grabs another chair for himself and straddles it backwards, facing us. The parka falls open again, this time offering me a longer look at the pistol on his hip. It seems old, like it might be an antique. The metal’s dull silver, and the grip that sticks out of the holster’s inlaid with something cut from the tusk or bone of some long-dead animal, something that might once have been white but which years of use have stained a deep yellow. As I look closer I can see there’s something scrimshawed there: a vulture or a buzzard or some other carrion bird.

  The soldier reaches into his parka, pulls out a crumpled pack of Camels and holds it forward, like he’s offering me one. I shake my head.

  ‘I know, filthy habit, right? Still, I guess you gotta die of something.’

  He shakes a cigarette out of the packet, places it in his mouth, and goes digging in his pocket for something to light it. He has a habit of squinting, which together with the mustache, the bandana and the piece of hardware on his hip puts me in mind of a gunslinger from the old west.

  His hand reappears holding a book of matches. He tears one off and strikes it, and for a second before he cups the flame to the end of the cigarette it shows me a long, puckered burn scar that runs down one side of his neck and disappears under his collar. The creases in his narrow face deepen and the tip flares red as he takes a drag to get the cigarette lit. He exhales a jet of smoke through the side of his mouth. The acrid tang of stale tobacco drifts over and for a moment the smell reminds me of Marv.

  ‘Alright then, introductions. I’m Hicks. That there Mexican-lookin’ fella with a face like the north end of a southbound mule is Ortiz.’ He nods in the direction of a shorter, stockier man with caramel skin and dark, hooded eyes who’s taken up station by the door. Ortiz flips Hicks the finger but manages a smile back in our direction.

  ‘You’ve probably figured out the big fella’s name’s Jax. And the runt of the litter over there’s Kavanagh. Everyone calls him Boots.’

  The last soldier he points to has greasy brown hair and a scrub of beard that barely covers his chin. He hardly looks old enough to be wearing a uniform; back in Eden I reckon he might have edged out Alice as my main market for zit cream. He blinks continuously behind thick glasses with heavily taped rims that look like they haven’t been cleaned more recently than the window he’s standing in front of. He offers me a distracted smile and then goes back to staring at Mags.

  ‘So what’re your names?’

  ‘I’m Gabriel but everyone calls me Gabe. And that’s Mags.’

  ‘Nice to meet you Gabe. And Mags. What’s that short for, darlin’?’

  I wince. Hicks doesn’t seem to mean any offense by it but I could have told him Mags won’t like being called darling.

  ‘Just Mags.’

  ‘Alright then Gabe short for Gabriel and Mags short for Mags, are you hungry? We have food. Can’t say it’s great but we’re happy to share it.’

  I’m about to answer but Mags just says ‘No thanks. We have our own.’

  Hicks looks over at her and then down at the floor. The MRE cartons from last night’s meal are still lying there, next to the remains of the fire. I didn’t have time to bag them before we high-tailed it out of here.

  ‘So I can see.’ The cigarette held loosely between his fingers continues to burn; he hasn’t taken another drag since he first lit it. He looks at Mags for a while, then at me, then back to Mags again. ‘You pair look well fed. Where you been hiding out?’

  I open my mouth to answer but Mags beats me to it again.

  ‘How did you find us?’

  ‘Just lucky I guess. We picked up your tracks out by the highway, followed them in here. Almost missed you, though. I reckon another hour and the wind would have covered them over. Which way you headed?’

  ‘Some place called The Greenbrier.’

  Hicks exchanges a look with the soldier he called Ortiz and smiles.

  ‘Well then it is your lucky day; that’s where we’ve come from. Matter of fact we’re headed back there now. We’ll be happy to bring you with us. Are there any more of you?’

  Mags says no, but Hicks looks at me for a long moment, like he’s trying to work out what the real answer to that question might be. I shake my head. Eventually he says, Alright then, but keeps studying me through the smoke drifting languidly up from the cigarette, like maybe he’s expecting something else. I figure I need to get us onto another topic so I ask him how many of them there are.

  ‘Hmm? Oh, in The Greenbrier.’ He flicks the cigarette, sending gray flakes floating slowly to the dusty floor. I’m beginning to wonder if Hicks is actually a smoker or if he’s just worried what the world’s lacking right now is a steady supply of ash. ‘We’re down to eight, all told. Mostly regular army, a couple of Rangers like me and Ortiz over there. We have a scientist though. She’s working on a cure for the virus.’

  ‘A cure?’ I look over at Mags. Before he died Marv told me what Kane had done to the skies hadn’t killed the virus, it had just set it back. That’s w
hy the furies weren’t decaying; it was regrouping, slowly building itself back up inside them. Marv hadn’t known how long it would take but at some point he reckoned they’d be able to move again, just like the one I ran into when I first went into Mount Weather’s tunnel. That would be a real problem. It’s been on my list of things to worry about, right after finding a place for us that’ll be safe from Kane, that is.

  Hicks nods.

  ‘Yep. She reckons she’s pretty close too.’

  ‘And how’re your supplies holding out?’

  Hicks looks over at Mags’ question. ‘The Greenbrier was stocked pretty good when we arrived and we’ve been managing it for the long haul, so there’s enough to go around, at least for now. We’ve been working the surrounding towns but there’s not much left out there anymore.’

  Ortiz touches one of our empty MRE cartons from last night with the toe of his boot. ‘Sure would be good to find some more of these. If you kids have come across a stash of them anywhere on your travels we’d love to hear about it.’

  Hicks holds up his hand as if to hush him. The cuff of his parka drops and for the first time I notice he’s wearing something inside his liners. It looks like latex; I have a box of disposables just like them in my pack. I thought Marv was pretty careful about the virus, but even he didn’t make me put those on unless I was actually fixing to touch metal.

  ‘Ortiz are you ever not hungry? I swear you have worms. Y’ate my breakfast this morning as well as your own. There’ll be plenty of time for questions when we get back to The Greenbrier. I’m sure these kids’ll help us if they can.’

  We hear Jax stomping up the stairs and a few moments later the door swings open. It looks like the Viking’s found the small stand clinging to the embankment I took from the night before. He hasn’t bothered to cut the limbs though, he’s just pulled the trees up, roots and all, and dragged them back. The trunks are slender enough, little more than saplings, but the ground’s been frozen solid for the best part of a decade and won’t have given them up easily. Hicks drops the cigarette to the floor and crushes it under his boot.