Descended from Darkness: Vol II Read online

  Rob knelt and pulled the girls toward him, squeezing them hard.

  "Daddy, you're crushing me," Maxie said.

  "Me too," Quinn cried.

  "I'm sorry, guys." Rob planted a kiss on both their heads. "Daddy just loves you both so much. You know that, right?"

  The girls nodded in unison, and Rob smiled. "Now I've got to go, and I might be gone a while, but I'll be back."

  "You promise?" Maxie asked.

  "I promise," he said. "Now you guys behave, okay?"

  "We will daddy," Maxie said.

  "Can you get us batteries for our Nintendo?" Quinn asked.

  "I'll see what I can do, honey." Rob stood and looked to Billy, tears welling in his eyes. He pulled his hat down over his ears, strapped on his goggles, and grabbed the ski poles from Billy. "Okay, let's do this."

  Billy nodded and opened the door. The sky had darkened considerably, and at least another foot of snow had fallen since they'd finished shoveling out the trench barely an hour earlier. Rob started through the door, and Margot grabbed his hand.

  "Good luck," she said. She kissed him on the cheek.

  "Watch out for them," Rob said. He nodded over his shoulder toward Billy and winked. "All of them."

  Rob bounded up the steep incline, and Billy followed, laying out the skis when they reached the top. Rob planted his poles in the snow on either side of him, locked his boots into the bindings, and propelled himself forward a couple of feet.

  Billy opened the backpack and pulled out the bundle of shredded fabric he'd made from a day-glo orange fleece he'd brought with him. "Tie one of these to a branch every so often," he shouted above the wind. "To mark your route. "

  Rob laughed. "You're not nearly as dumb as you look, you know that?" He took the backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

  "I threw that energy bar in there, too," Billy said. "Just in case."

  "Yeah, just in case," Rob said. He pulled up his poles, grinned, and pushed himself forward. "Leave a light on for me," he shouted, as he vanished into the squall.

  Billy waved, knowing then that it would be the last time he would see his brother.

  6

  On Christmas Eve, Margot decorated the fireplace with candles and some of the ornaments Linda and Rob had brought up with them. The girls' stockings were hung from the mantle, a single sleeve of fruit leather in each. Linda had left all the gifts in the Land Rover, so Margot had wrapped a couple of pieces of her own jewelry in the pages from a tattered copy of Life magazine and placed them on the mantle above each of their stockings.

  Quinn wolfed down her dinner---a quarter can of Spaghetti-O's and half of a stale bagel. Maxie only ate a few bites, and set the rest down on the coffee table.

  "Can I have it?" Quinn asked.

  Maxie shrugged. She hadn't said a word since the night her father had left. Quinn happily finished off what was left in Maxie's bowl and then sat back on the couch.

  Billy broke down another kitchen chair and threw the legs onto the fire.

  "Did you talk to her?" Margot asked "What'd she say?"

  Billy shook his head. "She didn't say anything."

  Margot took him into the kitchen, out of earshot of the girls. "Linda hasn't eaten a thing in three days, Billy," she said. "She's hasn't even come out of her room."

  "Can you blame her?" Billy snapped.

  Margot saw anger in his eyes. She held his face in her hands. "Billy, I...I can't even imagine what she's feeling. What you're feeling. But those two little girls need their mother right now, and she needs to know that."

  Billy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'll see what I can do," he said.

  As if on cue, Linda emerged from the darkness of the hallway, holding a small, flickering candle, her eyes were almost swollen shut and her face was smeared with mascara.

  "Linda, I..." Margot started.

  "I just thought I'd come get the girls," Linda said. "Give you two some time alone."

  "Why don't we all sit in front of the fire for awhile?" Billy asked. "We've still got a bottle of wine left."

  Linda's eyes drifted to the girls on the couch. "No, that's all right. Really. I...I'd like to be with my babies. You two should be alone."

  "C'mon Linda, don't be silly," Billy said. "None of us should be..."

  Linda ignored him. "Maxie. Quinn. Come with mommy ."

  "But I wanna open presents," Quinn cried.

  "You know we never open presents until Christmas Day," Linda said. "Now you two come along. Let's leave Uncle Billy and Auntie Margot be for a while."

  Quinn pouted, as she shuffled past her. Maxie drifted by in silence.

  "Can I get you anything?" Margot asked.

  A weak smile crept across Linda's face. "No," she said. "They're all I need right now."

  "Okay," Margot replied. "Well, just let me know if..."

  Linda turned and shuffled up the hallway.

  Billy put an arm around Margot's waist and walked her back into the living room. He sat on the couch and pulled her down next to him. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his stomach bubble and growl. He hadn't been eating either. He told her it was because he was trying to conserve food, but she knew better. He was as crushed by the loss of Rob as was Linda; he was just better at hiding it. Or at least he thought he was.

  They sat in silence for awhile, staring at the fire, and then Margot sat up and slapped Billy on the thigh. "I know," she said. "Let's open presents."

  "What? Now?" Billy asked. "No, c'mon. Let's just...let's wait until morning, okay?"

  "I want to give you yours now," Margot persisted. She grabbed the flashlight from the end table and shone the light at Billy. "I promise, you'll love it."

  He leaned his head back, threw up his hands, and smiled. "Fine," he said. "You've piqued my curiosity."

  "Just give me a minute," she said. "And no peeking!"

  Margot tiptoed up the hall, pausing outside Linda's room along the way. A dull light spilled out from under the door; from beyond the door, she heard a gentle rustling and a high-pitched snore. Margot smiled and padded up the stairs to the loft and into their room. She aimed the flashlight around until she found her suitcase; she then hoisted it onto the bed. She rummaged around inside until she found the black Victoria's Secret bag, and emptied the contents---a sexy-cute satin Santa skirt, matching red bra, and Santa hat---onto the bed.

  Until a few minutes ago, sex had been the farthest thing from her mind but, as she'd lain with Billy on the couch, basking in his warmth and mesmerized by the lapping flames, she'd felt a strange urgency, an urgency unlike anything she'd ever felt before.

  She needed him.

  It wasn't entirely sexual. She needed to feel that closeness, that connection. She needed to get lost in it and let the feelings take her to another place somewhere far from the pain and the grief and the fear, if only for a few moments.

  And she knew he needed it, too. Perhaps now more than ever.

  Margot propped the flashlight up against the suitcase and stripped down to her panties. Her nipples stiffened the instant the chill air hit them, and the goose bumps followed. She wedged herself into the form-fitting skirt, and slipped into the bra. As she fumbled for the clasp, a whip-like crack shattered the stillness.

  "Billy?" Margot cried.

  She grabbed the flashlight, and ran out into the loft. She heard footfalls below, and rushed down the stairs into the hall.

  "Jesus, Billy, what was that?"

  Billy pounded on Linda's door. "It's locked," he shouted. "Goddamn it, Linda, open the door!"

  There was another loud snap, followed by a muffled thud. Billy stepped back and kicked the door, splintering the jamb. He kicked it again. This time the hinges gave and the door fell inward.

  Margot shone the flashlight into the room.

  Quinn's body rested face down on the bed, arms by her side, a crimson soaked sheet draped over her head. Maxie lay across the threshold, her dark hair matted to her face; blood from a dime-
sized hole in her forehead trickled into a slowly expanding pool beneath her. Linda stood in the corner, eyes shut, head hung to one side. She hummed softly and tugged at the front of her blood spattered nightgown with one hand. The pistol was in the other.

  "Linda, please!" Billy shouted. "Give me the gun."

  A manic smile spread across Linda's face, and her eyes snapped open.

  "We're going to be a family again," she said.

  And, with that, she put the gun barrel in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

  7

  Billy dragged Linda's body up the trench, rested it beside the girls, and began to dig three shallow graves in the ice. By the time he'd finished, nature had already claimed the bodies, coating them in two inches of fresh snow. He decided to leave them as they were, so planted the markers---three hastily assembled crosses fashioned from strips of fabric and the spindles from the back of a kitchen chair---in front of each smooth, white mound.

  Margot clambered out of the trench and stood beside him. She grabbed his hand and bowed her head.

  Billy wanted to say something---anything---but words eluded him. Instead, he found his attention drawn back toward the chalet. The snow had reached the upper windows, obscuring all but the peak and the chimney. The twenty-foot pines that dotted the property appeared to be reduced to the size of saplings. Only their tips poked through the icy crust.

  In a matter of days, everything would be buried and, by then, they'd be out of food, out of firewood, just plain out of options.

  Billy stared down at the shapeless mounds that formed before him, and wondered if Linda had had the right idea.

  8

  New Year's Eve came and went. There was no countdown, no midnight toast, only a long, desperate kiss as they clung to each other, naked beneath a pile of blankets, and watched the last of the cabinet doors go up in flames.

  "I love you," Margot said, her sunken eyes glistening in the firelight.

  "I love you, too," he said.

  He caressed her sunken cheeks, kissed her again, and lifted her up onto him. Margot gasped softly in his ear as she wrapped her legs around his waist and took him inside of her, their bodies shuddering in unison as they made love one final time.

  9

  Margot died on January 5th.

  Billy had gotten up early that day and, after a breakfast consisting of a handful of Cheerios and several cups of water spent the morning shoveling out the trench (which, at that point, had become more of a cave). At around 10:00 AM, he noticed that the sky had lightened and the snowing had slowed considerably. An hour later, it stopped altogether.

  Billy threw down the shovel and scrambled up to the mouth of the trench, and what he saw caused him to drop to his knees.

  Beyond a sea of rolling white hills and dwarfed pines, Mount Washington lay bathed in a shaft of golden sunlight, framed by the bluest sky Billy had ever seen. Shadows danced across the valley as the clouds raced eastward, leaving nothing but clear skies in their wake.

  Billy howled and pumped his fists. He jumped back into the trench, sliding down on his backside, and threw open the door.

  Margot lay amidst a pile of blankets, her hair draped over her face. He knelt down beside her and squeezed her shoulder.

  "Margot, honey," he said. "You've got to see this."

  She didn't move.

  "Margot, wake up!" Billy shook her gently.

  Her head lolled back, and her hair fell away from her face. Her eyes were half open and glazed; the side of her face was caked with a dry, greenish foam.

  Billy pulled her toward him and, as he did, an empty prescription bottles rolled out of the blankets and into the puddle of acrid vomit and undigested pills that lay beneath her.

  Linda's pills.

  Somehow she had managed to take Margot with her.

  10

  After Billy had buried Margot, he went back into the chalet and gathered his things.

  He knew he was going to die. He not only knew it; he accepted it.

  But he'd made up his mind that he was not going to die here.

  He rounded up the last of the food---the fruit leathers from the girls' stockings, a cup's worth of Cheerios, and three frozen chicken nuggets---and stuffed it into the pockets of his ski jacket along with the last two boxes of matches. He made a small fire, melted some snow in a pan, poured the water into three empty wine bottles, and packed the bottles, along with some extra clothes, into his overnight bag. The next morning, at first light, he slung the bag over his shoulder, slid Linda's pistol into his belt, and clambered out of the buried chalet for the last time.

  He stood atop the roof, bathed in the early morning sunlight. He smiled and reveled in its warmth, amazed at how---despite everything---its mere presence offered hope. Snow crunching beneath his feet, he started down the hill, and then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A rabbit darted out from a hummock of snow and froze not more than twenty feet away. The rabbit's nose twitched, and then it bounded off in the opposite direction.

  Billy stared at the valley before him; vast and white and immaculate. He didn't know what lay beyond it, if anything at all. What he did know was that, up until now, he'd gotten it all wrong.

  He'd convinced himself it was the end of the world.

  Now he realized it was only the beginning.

  The Lady or the Tiger

  J.M. McDermott

  Re-imagined from a tale by Frank Stockton, 1882

  Many years ago, when I was a boy of only ten, I was in a terrible crash on the cliffs south of Io Town, where nights are a deep tundra freeze and afternoons are as hot as a summer on the long plains. Even now, I close my eyes and I can still see Sheila's face just before she was crushed under two thick layers of plasteel.

  I had watched her half of the flyer cracking away from mine, and rolling on top of her.

  And collapsing.

  On top of her.

  Her scream disappeared from the icy air so fast, the only way I knew it had been real was the echo of it, down the canyons, where a small avalanche threw rocks and snow down to the stream.

  I tried to free her, but my brother, Jiri, stopped me because the freeze would preserve her until we could dig her out during the warm day, and we had to make our shelter before we froze to death. We had our survival to worry about. We could save her in the morning.

  So that's what we did.

  We were in our shelter. We were warm, and mostly safe enough. Jiri had told me to try to get some sleep.

  I couldn't sleep because I was thinking about her. I tried to remember the songs she sang over me while I swam in the river, or the special way she had of preparing sandwiches for me, with the crusts cut off and the sauce on both sides. Then, all I could think of was the explosion, the fall, the screaming, and the crushing sound of the plasteel, and blood in the snow from when my brother had used flaming wreckage to burn the stumps shut at his lost fingers.

  The only thing I could think of to take my mind off of Sheila, and the crash, was asking my brother about Guj Sarwar, the tiger on the back of the great and mighty lizard, Samarkand. When I was a boy, I didn't understand why it was the only other thing I could think about, like something was on the tip of my tongue.

  And, Jiri knew everything there was to know about the wastes of the far west, the lizards, and the tigers. He was fifteen years old. Next year, he'd be driving cattle up the highway to Io Town in a flyer all by himself. I was only ten. I didn't even have my own computer terminal yet. I had to share his when he wasn't using it. Everything I knew about the wastes had been from the computer, and from Jiri.

  "On the wastes, Simsa," said my brother, "you can't walk on the ground. The sand is all quicksand. It sucks you up and swallows you. You have to ride on the back of giant lizards as big as walking mountains. There're only twenty-five lizards. They have names."

  "Are there plants on the wastes?"

  "Of course there're plants, Simsa. There're plants everywhere; even out here on the high canyons, clove
r grows, and molds line the cliff walls. The lizards of the wastes eat the floating molds and large bushes that grow on top of the quicksand like forests of soap scum. The people keep their houses on the back ridges because the constant up-and-down of the head drives you nuts when the lizard's feeding. "

  "How do they survive there?"

  "People live in huts, on the lizards. They grow blood wheat. They mine for lizard flesh, but they have to be careful not to cut a vein, or the beast will bleed like crazy. They trade, like we do at the station."

  It was sixty below freezing outside by now. The tent skin radiated enough heat to keep us warm. The dead grass and snow blowing around outside wouldn't penetrate past the magnets that held the flap shut.

  My brother had wrapped his bloodied, burned hand in part of his shirt. He had lost two fingers in the crash, and had burned them mostly shut. The wound extended up his palm. It still bled a little, now and then. Jiri had gotten his smoke-smelling blood on the handles of our hot mugs of chocolate milk.

  I leaned back. I closed my eyes. "What about the tigers?"

  "There's only one tiger left. And, he's not really a tiger," he said. "Not really."

  "At school, I heard Frankie say there was a lizard that had nothing but tigers."

  "Frankie's so dumb; he wouldn't know which end of the battery to shove up his own ass."

  I laughed. "That's what Frankie said to me about the tigers," I said. "He said there was a lizard with only tigers on it."

  "Well, don't believe everything you hear. There's only one tiger left. One. He's not even really a tiger. He just has a tiger-like head. He lives on Samarkand, the biggest, oldest lizard in all the wastes. You know Samarkand because his legs are covered in scars. Nobody knows why. A scientist said the scars were from when Samarkand tried to walk out of the waste. Lizards don't leave the waste, though---not ever. They can't survive out of the quicksand. Their feet only work right in the wastes. "