Crisped + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 2) (36 page)

The Dead Rabbit screamed as blood spilled from his stomach.

The grenade belt began to slide from his waist.

Cavalo caught the belt on the blade, turning to roar over his shoulder, “
Go!
”

The Dead Rabbits began to surge.

The gut-punched Dead Rabbit took a step forward.

Richie, Lucas, and Bad Dog turned to run.

Cavalo flipped the blade up, the grenade belt coming toward him.

He grabbed it with his bad wrist, ignoring the protests of his aching body.

He just needed one as he took a step back. Just needed
one
—

He squeezed the handle of the grenade.

His finger hooked into the pin on one of the grenades.

He pulled.

It came out with the greatest of ease.

He dropped the pin. Let the handle go.

It snapped off, spinning out toward the wall.

He threw his arm out in a flat arc, tossing the grenade belt back at the Dead Rabbits.

The Dead Rabbit in the front reached for him, the grenade belt colliding with his face.

Cavalo kicked him in the chest, knocking him back.

The Dead Rabbit fell into the others charging down the corridor.

The ones in front stumbled and fell.

Cavalo spun on his heels and ran.

He rounded the corner and thought,
move move move
.

Richie, Lucas, and Bad Dog were farther down the corridor, almost to the stairs.

The cries of rage and fury rose behind him.

He remembered how long it took for his son to disappear in a concussive flash.

Seconds.

Mere seconds. That’s all it had taken. That’s all that it would take now.

And move. Move.
Move
.

The look on Jamie’s face when his mother had been shot, his hands covering his ears, and he said
Daddy
—

There was a dull
fwump
from behind him. A blast of hot air at his back. The floor shook under his feet and the concrete walls shifted with a groan. He fell forward, pulling his broken wrist across his chest and twisting to land on his shoulder.

The impact was jarring, Cavalo’s breath knocked from his chest. Somewhere, he thought he heard an alarm shrieking deep within the dam. He gritted his teeth together and shook his head, trying to clear his vision. There was a brief moment where he was unsure of where he was or
who
he was, just a clean blank slate, and everything was nice. Everything was wonderful. Nothing bad had ever happened, and nothing had ever hurt.

Arms grabbed under his, pulling him up. He tried to bat them away, saying no, no,
no
because it was
okay
now. It was
fine
. It was—

Hands cupped his cheeks as he sat on his knees. He opened his eyes and saw a hard and beaten face in front of him. He knew that face. He felt a great many things for that face. Anger. Desire. Pity. Remorse. Adoration. And something else he couldn’t quite grasp, something else he didn’t
want
to know, because it was too much, it was just like Jamie and
her
and it—

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, sweet 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.