The Divide Read online

  21

  A second symbol on a tree, ten feet away from the first, gives us a direction. While I want to sprint in pursuit of my son, moving through the forest in a straight line is impossible. Even the Golyat would have a hard time maneuvering through the number of obstacles in our way without being driven off course. So we move at a steady clip, spread out in a line, twenty feet apart, with the hopes that Salem won’t stray beyond our combined line of sight.

  The quiet hike reminds me of home, of stalking and guiding deer, of time spent with a younger Salem. The birds keep us company, their songs the same as though in New Inglan, the species no different on this side of the Divide.

  Part of me expected the whole world to be corrupted, but life, it seems, has continued undaunted by the Golyat.

  Then again, we have yet to see a single mammal larger than squirrels, which skitter in the trees, twitching their tails and chirping as we pass. While squirrels populate all of New Inglan, there aren’t nearly as many here.

  There’s nothing to eat them here, I think. But since there is little else to hunt, and our supplies won’t last forever, the squirrel population will soon take a hit, albeit a minor one…and only if we survive long enough to run out of food.

  Two chipmunks scurry past, one chasing the other, both squeaking as they partake in a battle for territory, or mating rights. I follow their course up a tree, and stop as they climb past another symbol carved by Salem.

  “Here,” I say, placing my hand on the fresh carving, feeling my son’s closeness. Then I move on, searching for another marking.

  “Over here,” Shua says, standing by a marked tree to my left. The new markings turn us forty-five degrees to the right, heading west. We’ve already been walking for miles. I’m not sure why Salem hasn’t stopped, or why he’d head west, but there must be a reason.

  “Too bad he didn’t think to carve a note into the tree,” Shoba says.

  We’re all wondering the same thing. Where is he going?

  “Look,” Plistim says, pointing ahead. Just fifty feet away, due west, is another symbol. Further still, another. “His balloon was the furthest south. He knew everyone would come to him. With the Golyat stalking the area, fire isn’t an option. So he’s creating a net. Everyone moving south will come across his carvings. He’s trying to unite us.”

  The theory is sound enough, so I don’t bother questioning it. All that really matters to me is that we now have an easy trail to follow. If we move fast, we might even catch up. While Salem and Del might be running, too, they have to stop long enough to carve the symbol every fifty feet. Spread out any more than that, there’s a good chance it will be missed.

  I set the pace, which turns out to be too ambitious once more. It will take a few days of rest for my legs and head to feel normal again. Since being mauled by a mountain lion, I’ve spent the majority of every day on the move. Happily, for my pride’s sake, it’s Plistim who calls for a rest first.

  “As much as I would like to find the boy, I’m not as spry as you three.” Plistim stops by a tree carved with the ancient symbol. He looks older now. Tired. But I can still sense his strength underneath. Like my father, the power of his convictions are enough to fuel his body.

  After a drink of water and a bite of jerky, Plistim restarts the journey, though much slower than before.

  We walk in single file now, with Plistim in the lead, Shoba with me, and Shua in the back.

  “Do you know him well?” I ask Shoba.

  “My cousin?”

  I smile and nod. While I’m displeased about everything that’s transpired since returning to my father’s hut, I am secretly happy that my son has another relative whose bloodline does not trace back to Micha. As much as I would like to throttle Shua, he is a better man than my husband, in character—and if my memory of that night is trustworthy, in bed.

  “I spent nearly every day with him since he arrived, though there were times when he and Del snuck off to…”

  When her cheeks turn red, I say, “I was young once, too. I know what they were doing.”

  Shoba clears her throat. “When we met, and he learned I was his cousin, he hugged me in a way that said he would never let go. Family is important to him, you know. It’s why you’re here. Why grandfather agreed to risk everything to get you here.”

  I nearly say, ‘I wish he hadn’t,’ but that’s not true. The Modernists couldn’t have been stopped—by me, or Micha. My being here with them is the best case scenario. And now that I know them, and the truth about the Cull and how it affected them, I could never take part in such a thing.

  “If you’re wondering if he missed you,” Shoba says, and I do my best to hide my anxiety over the sudden, and insightful, shift in topic, “he did. He spoke of you often, and never negatively. He asked Plistim to recruit you on several occasions.”

  “I’m assuming Plistim said no?”

  “You did follow us to Boston with the intention of killing us.” Shoba gives me a nervous smile that says she’s still worried about the possibility.

  “I wish you no harm, child,” I tell her. “I still don’t agree with all this. I think it’s the epitome of stupid. But you are my son’s cousin. I’m not sure what that makes us, but—”

  “Why not auntie?” Shoba says.

  “I’m not married to your uncle,” I point out.

  “I see the way he watches you,” she says. “My uncle.”

  “He’s simply making sure I don’t slit your throats.”

  Shoba manages a laugh at my dark humor. “Is that what he was doing when my cousin was conceived?”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “He was drunk.”

  “He wasn’t,” she says. “He told us. He knew what he was doing and who you were. He fancied you then. Still does.”

  “And the woman he loved, whom your grandfather married?”

  Shoba giggles this time. “A fiction meant to gain your trust. Honestly, I think the story was inspired by you, if you switch Plistim for Micha.”

  I roll my eyes. “How could such a thing be true? We only spent a few hours together.”

  “In the time before, it was called ‘love at first sight.’” Shoba is beaming. A romantic. “They wrote books about it.” She gives me a sideways glance that says she knows more, and then quickly can’t stand the anticipation. “You knew him before. As a child.”

  “I knew a lot of children.” As the daughter of an elder, I was either stowed away, learning from my father, or attending social events held by one of the many elders’ families. Four gatherings per year were required, all during the spring, summer, and fall months, but many more occurred in plentiful years.

  “You knew him as ‘Bear.’”

  The revelation staggers me, and I need to catch myself on a tree. I glance back at Shua, reexamining his face again, looking for similarities. Could he really be the same boy? Bear was…chubby. And for a series of summers, he was my closest friend. Intelligent and funny, we would spend entire days walking together, me showing off, him making me laugh.

  When the Modernist movement became public, I never saw him again. Or perhaps I did, but I didn’t recognize the man as the boy I once knew.

  “Please don’t tell him I told you,” she says.

  “I suppose I’ll just have to ‘recognize’ him.” I glance at Shua, who’s now walking backward. I nearly move on when I see that he’s slowly assembling his spear.

  I take a step toward him, but am stopped by Shoba’s worried voice. “Wait, now?”

  “Not now,” I tell her. “Something’s wrong. Catch up with your grandfather.”

  Shoba takes a look around the forest, no doubt worried that the Golyat is about to storm through the trees and gobble us up. It’s not an unfounded concern, so I don’t bother trying to put her at ease. The girl’s fear will help keep her alive.

  Instead of hurrying back to Shua, I simply hold my ground and wait for him to reach me. Watching him move, I search for any signs that he is, in fact, my old f
riend. But nothing about the man resembles the boy. Not the way he moves, with confidence and strength. Not the way he looks, rough and handsome. He is a different person, but is that really surprising? He became a man in Aroostook, which is a hard enough life, but then he joined, or was dragged into life on the run as a Modernist. But that did not happen until after Salem was conceived. The only true explanation is that at some point, the boy whose physique garnered the nickname Bear, had decided to become a lion.

  “What is it?” I whisper to him as he approaches.

  “A smell,” he says. “Just a momentary whiff.”

  He doesn’t need to say more. We’re moving uphill, the air flowing down carrying our scents with it. That he smelled anything out of the ordinary means whatever the odor’s origin might be, it was close. And since the rest of us did not pick it up, it was coming from behind, or to the side, rather than from ahead.

  “You’re the expert,” he says. “Thoughts?”

  I turn my head uphill. Shoba has just reached Plistim, who is looking back at us. The hill’s crest is just a hundred feet beyond. “If we can crest the hill, we’ll be downwind of it. If something is stalking us, we’ll smell it coming.”

  “If it doesn’t attack first,” he says.

  “Predators are patient. If its plan is to ambush, it will approach with stealth.” When he starts moving uphill, about to charge, I grasp his arm. “Unless we run. But we do need to group up. Being together will buy us time.”

  “And then?”

  “If it attacks, it will try to separate us, driving the healthy away from the weak.” I ponder the scenario for a moment, and then add. “It will try to eat your father, because he’s old, or me, because I’m wounded.”

  “Animals are smart enough to tell the difference?”

  “They can smell the difference, and instinct drives them.” I start up the hill, motioning for Plistim to wait for us. “But until we know what’s out there, we need to be prepared for anything. Predators beyond the Divide, in Golyat territory, might be nothing like what we’re accustomed to. Their instincts and hunting styles could be entirely different.”

  “And here I thought you’d just get us all killed,” he says with a smile. “Maybe you’re actually here to save us.”

  And that’s when I see it. The crinkle of skin around his eyes. The joy he finds in his own humor. This is Bear. The realization nearly makes me laugh and weep. The father of my son is Bear. As children, we would have both found this immensely funny. But now…

  I shake my head. The boy Shua once was is nothing like the dangerous man he became. I can’t let our past cloud my judgement of who he is now, and whether or not I will allow him to continue being a father to my son.

  When we reach Plistim and Shoba, a series of silent hand gestures gets them moving again. Atop the hill, I whisper, “When we start down the far side, run for ten seconds, and then stop. That should give us a little distance.”

  “From what?” Shoba asks.

  Shua shrugs, and even that now seems familiar.

  “Are you able to run?” I ask Plistim.

  “I am rested enough,” he says.

  I step ahead of the others and say, “Stop when I do. No talking.”

  The moment we step beyond the hill’s crest, invisible to anything still climbing behind us, I sprint. Running hard, and downhill, we cover two hundred feet in ten seconds. I slide to a stop beside a thick oak bearing Salem’s carved symbol.

  The others follow suit, crashing to a noisy stop in the leaf litter.

  Then, aside from our rapid breathing, the forest is silent again.

  Totally silent.

  The bird songs have stopped.

  The chipmunks and squirrels have hidden.

  And despite the quiet, I don’t hear the animal stalking us.

  I smell it.

  The scent is new to me, but I have no trouble identifying its origin.

  It’s the Golyat…somehow moving without a sound, and thus far without being seen. But now that I know where it is, I lean out from behind the tree and peer uphill.

  When it steps into view, a disturbing realization presents itself.

  The Golyat is not an it or a he…

  It’s a them.

  22

  “You go ahead,” I whisper to Plistim and Shoba. “Get to Salem. If I don’t make it, tell him we tried. Tell him I love him.”

  The pair hesitates.

  “What do you intend to do?” Plistim asks.

  “Slow it down,” I say. I have no illusions about killing a Golyat, even if this one is not much bigger than me. The creature at the top of the hill shares the same stretched, black skin and withered form as the monstrous creature that attacked earlier. If not for the orange-tinged illumination emanating from the creature’s insides, I’m not sure I would have identified it as a Golyat, though. Despite the size difference, they do appear to be similar. “Draw it away.”

  “Can you not do that on your own?” Plistim asks, revealing his concern is more for his son than for me.

  “I assumed your son would not leave,” I say, giving Shua a glance. Knowing he is Bear, I feel more confident in his loyalty to me. Bear would have never left me. If Shua remains, perhaps that boy I once trusted with my life is still part of the man?

  “I would not,” he says, and I’m glad for it. “If neither of us follow, tell Salem his parents died fighting together.”

  “I’m sure that will be of great comfort to him,” Plistim says, voice oozing sarcasm.

  “I will tell him,” Shoba says, backing away.

  “Go,” Shua says, urging Plistim away, and then he attempts to reassure his father with, “We will follow.”

  With a sigh, Plistim turns and follows Shoba down the hillside, following Salem’s path.

  “How do you want to handle this?” Shua asks, when Plistim and Shoba are out of earshot.

  “Heck if I know.”

  He tries not to laugh. “What I thought.”

  A chattering locks us in place. It’s close, and loud, a sharper version of the big Golyat’s ear-shattering thump. This is closer to a woodpecker.

  Shua and I lean in separate directions, peeking around opposite sides of the tree that hides us from the creature. It’s just one hundred feet away, squatting atop a slab of granite, its blackened body lit by the sun, as though on display.

  Head upturned, the thing sniffs at the air, tracking us by scent. It squats on its hind legs. Its forelimbs and broad, clawed paws are raised for balance. Its eyes, like its body, are black, but the most disconcerting feature is its skin. The black flesh is tight and separated into layers, stretched tight over bone. A few patches of black fur cling to the sides of its face, like mutton chops. It looks like a living corpse, emaciated by time, dried in the sun, its skin cracked apart and pulled tight.

  It takes a long drag of air through its nose and then goes rigid. A gurgling churns in its gut, as the orange light there flares brighter. The illumination spreads, twisting down, following the path of its intestines.

  I have felt intense hunger before. I know the sound of a stomach so starved it would eat itself. I understand the pain that goes with it, and I remember what I did to satiate that all-consuming pang.

  The Golyat isn’t just a predator, it is a creature of intense hunger so great that it seems to literally burn within the creature, like a liquid furnace.

  When its eyes drift toward us, Shua and I roll back behind the tree.

  “It’s a bear,” he whispers, catching me off guard.

  “What?”

  “Ten summers ago, the bears in Aroostook were struck by mange. Lost all their hair.” He points toward the creature now hidden behind the tree. “That’s what they looked like. Well, the dead ones. But those that survived didn’t look much better. Except for the glowing. I don’t know what that is.”

  How can something be both Golyat and bear?

  I don’t have an answer for that, and there isn’t time to debate the matter.<
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  A repetitive, dry huff coinciding with a crunch of leaves announces the beast’s charge.

  “Don’t move until it passes,” I say, and before Shua can agree or complain, I leap up and sprint away at an angle. Fully exposed, I run, doing nothing to cloak my presence.

  I glance back at the hairless, former bear, sliding through the leaf litter, attempting to alter its downhill course. Its claws scrabble across the ground and then catch, propelling the monster toward me. Its jaws tremble with frenetic energy, its teeth snapping together.

  Finally knowing what the sound is doesn’t take away its power. Somehow, as I remember the resounding chatter from the larger Golyat, knowing the sound came from ravenous jaws makes it worse.

  Arm hair standing on end, I focus on running, and on coming up with a plan. If this was a normal bear, the tactic used on the mountain lion would be my first choice. Let the monster’s own weight and force fuel its demise. But this isn’t a normal bear. It’s a Golyat. A destroyer of mankind.

  But what do I really know about them?

  What does anyone know about them?

  Rumors.

  Imaginings.

  Even the Prime Law is silent about the Golyat. About where they come from. How and why they kill. And how, or if, they can be killed in return. I’d guess our ancestors knew the answers to most of those questions, except maybe how to kill the Golyat.

  I doubt my small collection of primitive weapons will be much more effective against the creature than the Old World’s power, but I’m not about to run myself to exhaustion and die without a fight.

  My knife is not an option. Nor is the machete. The Golyat has the sharp claws and teeth of a bear, and though it looks gaunt and severely malnourished, I suspect it retains all its strength. A quick look back reveals the creature hasn’t been slowed by its deformities. In a few seconds, the thing will be upon me.

  Rounding a tree, I make a sharp turn to the right. I don’t see it, but I hear the Golyat bear slide past as it tries to make the corner. I pump my legs, but I’m spun around as something tugs on my backpack.

  The bear’s hooked claws are buried in the backpack’s skin. Another few inches and it would have been mine. Rather than allow myself to be carried along by the monster, and flung downhill, I let my arms go slack. As the pack is torn away, I catch hold of one of the two spears and manage to free it.