Children Of The Mountain (Book 2): The Devil You Know (8 page)

There’s something troubling me about his answer: how could whoever the Doc is have known what Kane was planning to do? But before I can get on that question Mags asks another.

‘You said we were headed south like the others. You’ve had survivors come through here before?’

I notice Rudd shooting a sour glance over in her direction and for a moment he looks like he might be about to say something. But in the end he just goes back to spearing the last of the beans on his plate. Truck eyes him for a moment and then looks down the table at her.

‘Oh, sure. Whole bunch of ’em. When we first got here Doc had us hike out to the interstate, put signs up. For a while that brought us a steady stream. Nothing for a long time now, though. Until you, that is.’

He looks back at me as he says this, and it seems like the twinkle’s returned to his small, dark eyes. A half-smile bends his lips and he pokes the wad of tobacco around some more with his tongue.

‘What happened to them?’

Rudd looks up from his plate again and this time he looks like he might be about to say something. But just as he opens his mouth Truck spits a thick wad of tobacco into the container at his elbow. The plastic bottle tips over and dark juice splashes the sleeve of the older man’s fatigues. He stands up as though he’s just been scalded.

‘Dammit Truck.’

‘Aw, sorry, Pops. And all over your good Class A’s as well. Guess you’ll need to tend to that. Lickety-split now. Could be an inspection any minute.’

Rudd pushes back his chair and makes for the door, rubbing his sleeve and muttering under his breath. Truck’s gaze follows him across the room. It stays there until the door’s closed behind him. Then he looks back at me and winks.

‘That old coot’s been in the service since Jesus was a corporal and he’s still wound tighter than a duck’s asshole.’

The smile’s still playing across Truck’s lips but it’s gone again from his eyes.

‘And what happened to the survivors?’

‘Oh, they just moved on. I guess they never took to the place.’

Boots has been staring at Mags but as Truck says this he finds something interesting to look at on the table. Weasel just grins. I’m about to ask Truck if he knows where they went when behind me the door opens. I look over my shoulder and Hicks is standing there.

He says Doctor Gilbey will see us now.

*

W
E GET UP FROM THE TABLE
. I can see Jax already eyeing the franks and beans we’re leaving behind. I’m halfway to the door when from behind me I hear Truck’s lazy drawl.

‘Be seein’ ya, Huckleberry.’

I turn around and he winks at me from underneath those thick black eyebrows. Next to him Weasel’s still grinning. Boots is picking at the spot on his arm he was working over last night, like he’s making a point of not looking up.

Hicks heads back towards the entrance. Outside night has fallen and the temperature’s dropping; I can see our breath as we follow him down the hallway. But if the cold’s bothering him he isn’t showing it. He’s wearing his glove liners but he’s shed his parka and without its bulk he looks painfully thin. I guess Dr. Gilbey’s ‘no firearms’ policy doesn’t apply to the sergeant either; his gun belt’s still strapped around his waist, the old silver pistol slung low on his hip.

When we get to the lobby the bellhop cart has returned but our boots are nowhere in sight. Hicks leads us past a bank of elevators and down a long, dark corridor. Most of the emergency lights are out here and those few that remain flicker and buzz, like the bulbs inside are close to failing too. We pass a succession of double doors. Some are closed, but others hang ajar. I look in as we walk by. The banquet halls and ballrooms behind sit in darkness, the furniture under the drop cloths so many gray shapes in the gloom.

Ahead of us a thick red rope hangs from a pair of brass stanchions, blocking the way. Hicks stops before we get to it and turns to a door on the right. A varnished wooden sign above reads ‘The Colonial Lounge’. He knocks once and from somewhere inside I hear a muffled ‘Come’. He opens the door and we step into a large semicircular room. Tall, arched windows stare back at us from between heavy silk drapes, the night-darkened glass reflecting the quivering light from the handful of emergency lamps that remain on. Large pink flowers with bright green leaves adorn the walls and as I look up I see another chandelier hanging from a high, domed ceiling. Beneath its dusty crystals more items of furniture, scattered across the checkerboard marble just like in the lobby. Most hide themselves under gray dustsheets, but the shapes are easy to make out. Chairs, sofas, occasional tables, lamps; in the corner what looks like a piano. In the middle of the room three high-backed chairs, also covered, have been arranged around a low table.

I look around, confused; I thought I heard somebody telling Hicks to come in but there doesn’t seem to be anyone here. I walk over to one of the windows. The snow’s drifted up, obscuring the panes near the bottom, but higher up it’s only found purchase in the corners. I cup my hand to the glass and peer out. Tables and chairs have arranged themselves haphazardly around something that might once have been a fountain; large plant pots sit empty under a blanket of gray snow. It all seems cheerless and vacant now, but I can imagine how it must once have been to stand here and look out onto that terrace, with sunlight streaming in through the windows.

‘It has lost some of its former glory, hasn’t it?’

I turn around to face the voice behind me. A slender woman sits in one of the chairs, her back to the door we just came through. Her head doesn’t come close to clearing the top of the chair, but that’s not why I’ve missed her. The white lab coat she’s wearing has been washed so often it’s hard to distinguish from the dustsheet behind her. Above it her skin is wan, pale, and the hair that frames her narrow face is the color of ash. Even the eyes that regard me over the top her narrow, metal-rimmed glasses are gray. It’s like she’s an almost perfect absence of color.

‘Dorothy Draper, wasn’t she just a genius?’

She speaks in clipped, precise tones, each syllable enunciated perfectly. The accent is foreign, but immediately familiar. It’s the one Mom was going for when she’d read to me from the book about the English rabbits.

The expression on my face must tell her I have no idea who Dorothy Draper is however. She smiles, a barely perceptible lift of her thin lips, and raises one hand from the arm of the chair to gesture around the room.

‘Romance and Rhododendrons. It was her theme for The Greenbrier.’

This doesn’t get me much farther; I’ve no idea what a rhododendron is either. I look over at Mags for help. She shrugs and says ‘The big pink flowers on the wall, Gabe.’

The woman looks over at Mags, as if noticing her for the first time.

‘Yes dear, very clever. A big flower. The state flower of West Virginia in fact. So delightfully pretty.’ She sits forward in her chair, as if sharing a secret. ‘They’d burn it all if I let them, you know. Wouldn’t you Sergeant?’

Hicks’ voice drifts out from somewhere in the shadows behind her.

‘Yes ma’am, I believe I would.’

‘Every stick of furniture, each beautiful painting, traded for an instant of light, a few moments’ warmth. The world is so full of old and broken things now. I just can’t bear to let a treasure like this place go.’

Outside the wind gusts, rattling the windows behind me in their frames. It’s cold in here, and even though I like the colors some of the furniture actually looks kind of ugly, so maybe I’m inclined to side with Hicks on this one. After my unfortunate comment in the dining room I figure that’s an opinion best kept to myself however.

‘Please, do have a seat.’ She points to the chairs opposite. On the table in front of her a porcelain teapot and three matching teacups wait on a tray. The rims of the saucers are trimmed with gold and what looks like the same pink flower adorns the teapot and each of the cups.

‘My name is Doctor Myra Gilbey.’ As she lifts the teapot and starts to pour the light catches something silver circling her neck. But the pendant that hangs from the delicate chain that shows itself just above her lab coat spells out the word Amanda, not Myra. ‘And you must be Gabriel and Magdalene.’

I catch Mags rolling her eyes at that but she doesn’t say anything, and Dr. Gilbey’s busy serving us tea so I don’t think she notices. I take a seat while Mags looks around the room one more time.

She passes me one of the cups. It shifts in the saucer as I take it and for a moment I’m afraid I’ll drop it. I’m not used to drinking out of anything so delicate.

‘I’m afraid I can’t offer you milk or sugar. Sergeant Hicks does what he can but unfortunately there are limits to even his considerable talents. We must accept our lot and live as barbarians.’ She looks at me and smiles again, but this effort’s not much more convincing than the last. It’s an expression that just doesn’t come naturally to her, like she’s had to teach herself to do it and maybe somewhere along the way she lost enthusiasm for the practicing.

Mags finally sits down. Dr. Gilbey holds up one of the cups but she just shakes her head.

‘We thought this place was a bunker. But it’s just a big hotel.’

Dr. Gilbey finishes pouring her own tea while she answers.

‘Oh, The Greenbrier has its secrets, my dear, she just hasn’t revealed them to you yet. This is indeed a hotel, once perhaps America’s finest. But for thirty years this is also where your politicians would have come in the event of a nuclear war.’ She sets the pot down. ‘That was the genius of it, you see. Everything hidden right where you could see it, all in plain sight. The entire wing you’re in now actually sits on top of a huge bunker. It was decommissioned decades ago of course, and then for a quarter of a century it simply sat idle. It was only re-activated when it became clear that places like this would soon once again be needed. I’m not sure any of your leaders ever made it here however. There was only one poor soul waiting for us when we arrived. I believe you’ve met Private Kavanagh.’

There’s a noise from the shadows behind her as Hicks opens the door to let himself out. Dr. Gilbey leans forward in her chair.

‘Excuse me for a moment, will you?’ She turns her head, even though she’s not tall enough to see over the top of the high-backed chair. ‘Sergeant Hicks?’

There’s a pause and Hicks steps out of the shadows.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Could you wait outside? I’ll need to speak with you when I’m done here.’

‘Ma’am.’

The door closes behind him. Dr. Gilbey raises the cup to her lips, takes a sip and returns it to its saucer. She looks at me again but for a long moment she says nothing and for some reason I feel uncomfortable, like I’m being sized up, examined. It’s Mags who breaks the silence.

‘You’re not American?’

Dr. Gilbey turns her head to answer and I’m released from her gaze.

‘Oh good Lord, no.’

‘But Hicks obeys your orders.’

‘Yes.’

‘So how’s that?’

Dr. Gilbey gives Mags a look like she’s not used to being the one who answers questions.

‘Well, my dear, as it turns out I hold the rank of colonel in what remains of your armed forces. Does that surprise you?’

I’m not sure Dr. Gilbey’s expecting an answer to that. Mags takes a moment to consider what she’s just heard and then says ‘Yeah, sort of.’

‘And why might that be, dear? Is it my diminutive size? Or the lack of uniform? Or because I’m British?’

Mags just looks back at her and shrugs inside her parka.
Take your pick
.

I sense this conversation might soon be headed the way of the franks-and-beans misunderstanding with Truck earlier. I put on my sweetest smile and try to steer us back to safer waters.

‘That sounds like an interesting story Dr. Gilbey, you becoming a colonel I mean. How exactly did it come about?’

Dr. Gilbey looks at Mags for a second longer then turns her attention back to me.

‘Well Gabriel that’s kind of you to say, but it was all rather mundane, actually. I was a virologist. A rather good one, if I do say so myself.’ She smiles again. I kind of wish she’d stop; she’s not getting any better at it. ‘I used to carry out research for your government, at a place called Fort Detrick. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it?’

I have, as it turns out, but I reckon owning up to that might give Dr. Gilbey a clue as to where we’ve come from so I just shake my head. Fort Detrick’s one of the places marked on the map Marv gave me. It’s right off the Catoctin Mountain Highway, the route we took when he brought me to Mount Weather. But there’s no code written next to it so I figured it wasn’t a bunker. It always puzzled me why he’d gone to the trouble of circling it, though.

‘Well, no matter. When it became clear how serious the situation was becoming the powers that be moved me to Atlanta, to the Centers for Disease Control, and put me in charge of the efforts to find a cure. Shortly afterwards that facility was brought under the control of the military and they made me a colonel. I’m not sure it was entirely legal, but then when you’re the President I suppose you can pretty much do as you please.’

I exchange a look with Mags.

‘So you took your orders from President Kane?’

The tea cup’s on its way to Dr. Gilbey’s lips but at the mention of Kane’s name it stops, and a look of cold, glassy anger crosses her face. In spite of her size I feel a shiver run through me that has little to do with the cold.

‘I did, once. If he were still alive I doubt there’s an order that man could give that I might follow now. I only hope he met the end he deserved.’

*

D
R.
G
ILBEY RETURNS
the cup to its saucer and places it on the table beside her. When she looks up again the anger has gone.

‘Well, enough about me. So where have you two come from?’

I’m glad now that Mags made us get our story straight. I tell her we’re from Eden.