The Inexplicables

“No, no, and no. To all of that.”

“Stay away from it, Rector Sherman. Don’t make me put you down like a dog.” She approached his bed again, but did not sit. She merely loomed. “Because I’ll do it.”

He steadied himself and his voice before replying, “I believe you.” He shoved one foot into one shoe and wrestled with the other one. The laces didn’t want to work. He struggled to make them meet and tie.

“I’m not saying that to be mean to you,” she said. “Around here, folks mostly see what the gas does. But I’ve seen what the drug does. So I want you to know: I know what it looks like, when a man is using it, and I know how bad it can get. Take this as a promise: I won’t let it happen to you.”

The other shoe finally cooperated. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Before you leave,” she said, suddenly, like she’d meant to say something earlier but she’d forgotten. “I came in here to get you up because Angeline asked me to. She’s waiting for you down in the kitchen area.”

“Thanks.”

“And another thing.”

“Jesus,” he swore. “Really?”

“Yes, one more thing. Get my daddy or Briar Wilkes or someone to set you up with a room of your own. You can’t stay in here. This is the closest thing to a hospital we got, and I only have the one bed. Nobody needs it right this moment, but that could change at any second. I want you out.”

“But—”

“But what? We’ve done established you’re healthy as a horse, and ready to run around the city with your friends. That means you’re healthy enough to have your own space, and get the hell out of mine.”

“Well, ain’t you a sweet thing.”

“I sure as shit am,” she told him as she ushered him out the door, pushing his shoulders.

He dragged his feet. “I still got things in here! Possessions!”

“You can come back and claim ’em anytime.”

The woman had a reach like an octopus.

He fought her just enough to keep one foot in the room, saying, “Let me get my bag, would you?”

She threw her hands in the air and said, “Fine. Get your bag. Just go. I’ve got notes to write up.”

“Notes about me?”

“Notes. And I write slow.”

She slammed the door behind him, which Rector thought was unnecessary. How many people came and went from this hospital room that was so inhospitable? He knew it wouldn’t be his first choice, but then, it probably wasn’t anybody’s first choice. He reckoned it was the only choice.

As he hiked down the halls he wriggled his feet to better fit in the shoes, then stopped by the washroom. Then it was down to the kitchen, where Angeline waited. Zeke and Houjin were already there, chewing on raisins and drinking weak, odd-smelling coffee.

“Good God, boy—you rise and shine slower than any night owl I ever did see.”

Confused by the comparison and too tired to argue with her, Rector waved and went to join the other two. He helped himself to a fistful of dried grapes and sat down heavily on the nearest stool. “What time is it?” he asked, in case the answer would absolve him.

“Eight o’clock. It’s ridiculous, being in bed at this hour. The sun’s up, and we’re heading out while the light is good. I’ve got extra filters, my seeing-glasses, and I’ve made these two bring a canteen apiece and a bit of food for lunch, so take whatever you find over there and stock yourself up, too. Water’s in the barrel by the door. We’ll find a sealed-off stopping point someplace along the way, and if we don’t, we’ll come on back.”

Following Angeline’s lead was the easiest thing Rector had ever done. She called the shots, and since she knew where she was going and what she was doing, he sat back and let her be in charge. It took the pressure off him to lead the crew, and it meant he didn’t have to follow Houjin around at all, if he didn’t want to.

He pointed down at her feet. “What’s that?”

“That? That’s a cage,” she said. “I’ll set this over by the wall, near where you saw that fox. Maybe we’ll catch him, maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll catch something else.”

“Won’t catch no sasquatch with it,” Zeke grinned.

“Maybe a sasquatch foot,” she agreed. “We’ll need something bigger for him.”

Houjin asked, “A bigger cage? Do they make cages big enough?”

“Actually, I was thinking we might have to stick ’im in jail. That’s a cage just about big enough, wouldn’t you say?” She spun off the stool upon which she’d been sitting. “The old jail. You know, the famous one.”

“But the jail…” Rector fought to remember the old stories, hunting for a detail he’d never heard, or must’ve lost. “It was aboveground, wasn’t it?”

“Sure it was. But the basement opens up to the underground. It didn’t used to, but it does now—and the first floor is all sealed up from rotters, if not from the air. Downstairs there are a few more cells. The air will be much cleaner there, if not perfectly clear. Our experiment might have its flaws, but it’ll give us an idea of what to expect.”

Houjin thoughtfully stuffed some dried cherries and nuts into a small canvas bag. “It’s not a bad idea. If cleaner air improves the sasquatch at all, then really clean air might make him all better.”

“Or it might not,” Rector argued.

Zeke tried to have it both ways. “Maybe it’ll help, and maybe it won’t. But we should probably get it off the street nohow, don’t you think?”

Houjin remained dubious. “But how do we get it to the jail, even if we catch it?”

“We’ll start with a net. This one.” She indicated a large lump that bulged out of the oversized satchel she’d left on the table. “It’s a fishing net, but it’s clean and mended. It can hold a few thousand pounds of salmon, so it’ll hold a few hundred pounds of sasquatch.”

He was not yet convinced. “We’re going to tie it up in a net?”

“No, we’re going to catch it in a net, then we’re going to tie it up with regular old rope, which is also in that bag. I’m not a dummy, Houjin,” she said, almost crossly. “I’m not out to get any of us killed.”

Rector sighed. “So that’s all we’re bringing? A net, some rope, and…” He looked at her torso, strung with the two bandoliers of very sharp blades. “And your knives?”

“Guns make too much noise. We don’t want to attract rotters, and we don’t want to kill the creature, so we’re not bringing guns. But you boys keep the axes and clubs you picked up. I want you able to defend yourself, should the worst occur.”

Rector complained, “A gun would defend us better.”

And she retorted, “Spoken like someone who hasn’t fired one very often, or fired one down here. If I thought any one of you boys was a Texian sharpshooter, that’d be one thing. But I won’t have no amateur gunslingers shooting willy-nilly; you’ll hit each other as likely as anything else. Now make sure you’ve got everything you’re likely to need, and let’s head out while the sun’s up. We’re burning daylight, boys! And the weather’s not even half bad up there. I hesitate to suggest it, but I do think we’re starting to warm up for summer.”

All the way over to the carts, and on the ride up the hill, Rector worked hard to keep from thinking about Miss Mercy and the things she’d told him with that stern, almost-pretty face of hers. He fought against everything she’d said, even as some wretched, insistent little spot in the back of his head whispered that she was right.

It was the same little spot that used to hold Zeke’s ghost; it was the place where phantoms rested and waited, even without the sap to fuel them. As Rector rode in the rattling cart, pumping the lever up and down without thinking about it anymore, he wondered what else lived in that awkward, cobwebby corner. Zeke’s ghost was gone. Zeke himself sweated, puffed, and pumped like a champ directly across from him on the repurposed mining car; and that meant he’d never been dead, and had never haunted Rector or anybody else.

Sometimes he had to remind himself of this. And sometimes he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Oh, in a general sense he was glad Zeke was alive. It sure took the edge off all that guilt he’d worn around his neck. But all the same, and for all he’d been afraid of the specter … it had been one reliable presence in his life when there weren’t many others.

And now he couldn’t rely on that, either.

The trip up the hill felt faster this time, partly because Angeline was wearing the awkward polarized glasses, so they could keep their masks off most of the way. This prompted Rector to poke Houjin about how come, if he was so damn smart, he hadn’t thought to bring the glasses in the first place—to which Houjin responded that he didn’t spend all his free time riffling around through the storage rooms in the Vaults, so he hadn’t known about them. Then Miss Angeline had threatened to box them both on the ears if they couldn’t get along.

Close to the end of their trip, she abruptly pulled the brake, and a fierce, hissing spit of white fire and sparks kicked up from the track. When the cart came to a full stop, she ushered everyone into masks on the double. “It was free and clear up until a few minutes ago. Then I started catching hints of it in the glass. Maybe it’ll be all right for a while, maybe it won’t. I don’t want to take the chance.”

Once again, Rector reluctantly crammed his face into a gas mask. The rest of the way indeed felt longer, even though they’d nearly reached the Sizemore House. He hated those damn masks, but when he griped about them, Angeline told him, “If they bother you that much, maybe you’ve picked the wrong place to live. Or work. You could always go hang out at the Station, if you want.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">