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Harlan County Horrors (9 page)

BOOK: Harlan County Horrors
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But
the war’s over now, and I’m sitting on top of the world, or at
least at the highest overlook in Kingdom Come Park and
Penitentiary.

The
Cumberland Plateau bursts with fall foliage, dazzling my
eyes.

I
feel so small. So connected.

And
as I read in the brochure, these feelings, they’re a warning sign.
Symptoms. If I don’t medicate myself soon, I could develop a
full-blown case of Thoreau Syndrome.

So
I hop off the stone column and lead my family to the Art
Hut.

There, I sit on a bench and study the black bears.

And I chuckle, cured of the reverence plaguing my soul. These
creatures look so pathetic, stuffed in glass boxes like the
contortionist
I
once marveled at in my youth. But unlike the performer, these
cre
atures inspire
only pity, victims of their own weakness.

Sure, beasts like these posses a certain raw strength, but
their power can’t compare to that of a human being. Of an
American.

Therefore, these bears will live the rest of their wretched
lives in these boxes, with tubes jammed in their orifices and
flesh.

I
laugh again.

Then my son cries.

And
I notice a young couple. Pointing, smiling.


What’s wrong with you?” I say, holding my son’s
shoulders.


They want to go home,” he says.


Who?”


The teddies. Can’t we let them go with their
mommies?”


Stop crying.”

And
after I touch my belt, my son obeys.


Maybe I should take him outside,” my wife says.


No,” I say. “He needs to see this.”

An
older man in a suit steps closer to me. “It’s refreshing to see a
father taking an interest in his son’s artistic development. You’d
be surprised what a rarity that is these days.”


You’re right. I am surprised.”

The
old man grins. “I’m John Miller, the curator.”


Samson Carter.”

We
shake hands.

And
after a few minutes of talking about black bears, we shake hands
again.


See you tomorrow night, Mr. Carter,” the curator says.
“Assuming you and the missus are planning on attending the
show.”


Show?” I say.


I’m surprised you haven’t heard. All of Kingdom Come’s
buzzing about tomorrow’s guest. He’s supposedly quite the
comedian.”


I
doubt we’ll be in attendance. I’m not a comedy fan.”


Well, to each his own.”

Outside the hut, my son approaches one of the glowing
rhododendrons, and I have to grab him by the arm.


Don’t touch those,” I say. “Don’t even get near
them.”


Why?” my son says.


Because I told you not to.”

And
that’s the end of that.

One
good thing about my son, he knows when to shut up.

Thankfully, my Filter’s sophisticated enough to differentiate
between the day-to-day screaming in Kingdom Come and the yelling of
my wife. So the machine lets me hear her, and I wake up.

And
I find her on her knees, a few meters from the tent.


What’s wrong?” I say.


It took our son,” my wife says. “It took our son.”

I
glance around. I don’t see him. “Who took him?”


A
monster.” She cries.

I
feel like shaking the truth out of her, but there’s no time for
that. “Which way did they go?”


I
don’t know. It pushed me into a bush, and when I got up, they were
gone.”

By
now, a small group has formed around us, and a middle-aged woman
steps forward. “I seen what happened. They went that way.” She
points.


Call the Guardians,” I say, and look down at my wife. “Don’t
tell them what you think you saw. They’ll lock you up.”


Your wife ain’t tetched,” the middle-aged woman says. “I seen
the creature too.”

But
I trust this hick even less than my wife.


Tell them you can’t remember,” I say to my wife.

She
nods.

And
I run.

A
few times, I stumble on steps and the roots bulging from the earth,
and I remember the veins that swelled on my mother’s forehead
whenever she exercised or threw my father’s porcelain horses at the
wall. She limited herself to only destroying a couple every few
weeks, because she wanted them to last.

Eventually, I end up catching my breath beside what looks like
a fallen petrified tree. But no, I read about this in the brochure.
Log Rock’s a natural sandstone bridge, and my Filter’s supposed to
edit out all the vandalism, the names and messages scratched and
spray painted into the stone.

For a few moments, however, I see enormous letters that run
a
lmost the entire
length of the bridge.

THE
MONSTER IS INSIDE.

And
I hear a chorus of screams.

Then, silence.

I
follow the escort into the Coal Mining Museum and Guardian
Headquarters, up the stairs, to a large office on the fourth
floor.

Standing in front of Warden Rose is almost like looking in a
mirror. The same buzz cut. The same color suit. And if you
squinted, you might mistake one tie for the other.

While the escort whispers into the warden’s ear, I let my eyes
explore the photographs on the wall. Photographs that the warden
obviously acquired from the exhibits, because the pictures impart a
bloody history of the coal industry. Mining accidents, burning
houses, dead families. I also see some newer photos of the
reconstruction, when the mines were transformed into the jail it is
today.

Warden Rose shakes my hand, smiles. “Do you always bring suits
along on your camping trips, Mr. Carter?”


Yes,” I say.

He
sits, and motions for me to do the same.

I
obey.

Then he leans forward, frowning. “I want you to know, we’re
making every effort to find your son. We already tracked down his
Filter, but I’m afraid the device wasn’t attached to his
head.”

My
head vibrates with a shiver. “Would such a removal cause him any
permanent damage?”


That depends on our enemy’s knowledge of Filters and the
tools at his disposal. For now, let’s assume your son is alive and
well.”

I
nod. “Do you have any leads?”


Yes. But I didn’t call you here to brief you on the
investigation. Your desire to assist in this case is
understandable. However, you aren’t qualified—”


I
fought in the war, Warden Rose. I’m more than capable
of—”


With all due respect, Mr. Carter, your attempts to help would
only reduce your son’s chances of survival. I read your file, and I
know you’re a man of myriad abilities. But this is a matter of
harmony. If I allowed you to enter our system, we could no longer
synchronize and achieve perfection. I hope you understand, I’m not
trying to insult you. I only want to save your son.”

I
still feel angry, but I also feel more respect for this man and his
organization. “I understand.”


Good. Now.” The warden taps a button on his desk, and a
monitor lowers from the ceiling. “As you must know, there are
security cameras in place throughout Kingdom Come. One such camera
captured the initial moments of the kidnapping.” He presses another
moment.

And
I see a monster with black matted fur and metallic fangs. It pushes
my wife’s chest. Snatches up my son. Runs.

Then the warden turns off the monitor. “I don’t blame you for
not believing your wife. Like me, you’re a man who refuses to
accept outlandish stories without empirical data.”

A
hint of guilt tingles in my gut, but the feeling’s soon overpowered
by rage. I told my wife not to talk about the monster, and she did
so anyway.


But now you’ve seen the truth,” the warden says. “Now you can
give your wife the validation she needs. Don’t tell her about the
recording. Just tell her you believe her. And convince her that
what she saw was a man in a suit. I’m sure she’ll see reason, if
it’s coming from you.”

I
nod.


One more bit of advice,” Warden Rose says. “Take your wife to
the show tonight. I hear our guest is a genius in his
field.”


I’m not in the mood for comedy,” I say.


That’s exactly why you should attend. Laughter is the best
medicine, Mr. Carter. At least promise me that you’ll consider the
matter further.”


Alright.”


Good.” The Warden stands, and I do the same. “I’ll contact
you as soon as I find your son.”


Thank you.”

We
shake hands.

And
halfway to the door, I turn around. I almost forgot. “My Filter’s
been malfunctioning ever since my son was taken.”

The
Warden sits. “How so?”


The audio and visual editor shut off once, for a few seconds.
And my dialectal translator doesn’t seem to be working at all
anymore.”

Warden Rose rubs his eyes. “I apologize for the inconvenience.
To be honest, the Filters have a hell of a time coping with the
effects of heartbreak. Still, this is no excuse. My Guardians
assured me they’d stomped all the bugs in this new model, and
they’re going to suffer for their failure, I assure you. I’ll send
a technician to your tent tonight, and he’ll fix your Filter while
you sleep.”


Thank you,” I say.

And
all the way back to my tent, I search myself for the heartbreak
Warden Rose spoke of.

Sure, I find annoyance, outrage.

But
I don’t feel any sorrow.

In
fact, I can’t even picture my son’s face.

The
Guardian tries to stand, fails.

So
I help him to his feet. “What happened?”


I’m sorry, sir,” he says. “It ate my gun, knocked me
unconscious. I’m sorry.”

I
check the tent.

Empty.

And
still, I don’t feel anything but anger.

Anger at the monster, of course.

Anger at this pathetic excuse for a Guardian.

And
more than that, anger at myself. Because what kind of man doesn’t
protect his own family?

A
man like my father, that’s who.

I
punch my forehead, hard.

And
a few hours later, I’m lost among the trees. This isn’t easy to
accomplish, due to my impeccable sense of direction. But I manage,
somehow.

Once again, the natural world makes me feel small,
connected.

Calm.

And
I realize I’m not even looking for my wife and son
anymore.

Because without my fury, I’m numb.

Empty.

Or
maybe not.

Maybe the words on Log Rock were meant for me.

Maybe there’s a monster inside me.

I
laugh at the thought, and then feel an aggressive desire to return
to my tent.

But
I ignore the emotion.

Eventually, I find myself staring at a patch of thirty-two
luminescent flowers, and part of me hopes that my Filter will
malfunction again.

Then my wish comes true.

And
there are thirty-two men and women sitting on blackened circles of
earth, weeping, screaming, the hairs on their bodies sticking
straight out.

They look ridiculous.

I
search their faces, looking for my father.

He
was caught four years ago, so there’s a chance he’s serving his
time here.

I
used to tell myself that I didn’t want to confront my father, but
right now I feel eager, desperate.

And
I don’t know if I want to hug him or kill him.

Probably the latter.

But
I don’t find out, because he’s not one of the men.

As
I sit there, watching them shake and jerk in agony, I begin to feel
a faint cramp in my chest.

Empathy.

I
feel sorry for these insurrectionary bastards, when I can’t even
muster the same sentiment for my own missing family.

There must be something truly wrong with me.


You deserve this,” I whisper.

These people are political prisoners of the worst kind. And if
the Guardians didn’t force these traitors onto the anomalies, the
unhampered energy would erupt and find another human body to bind
with. Man, woman, or child.

The
energy doesn’t discriminate.

So
if someone has to suffer, better the guilty than the
innocent.

BOOK: Harlan County Horrors
11.48Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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