The Library at Mount Char (48 page)

Carolyn opened her mouth to deny it, then shut it again and, after a long pause, surrendered the smallest possible fraction of a nod.

Michael spoke to the wolves and the cougar, and all of them lay on their backs in the snow, showing her their bellies.

Carolyn stared at him, aghast. “No! Don't! What are you doing? Get up!”

But he wouldn't. He lay on his back, trembling and afraid. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

She plowed through the snow to him, the yellow eyes of her cartoon
cat poking up through the crust. She clouted him in the ear—gently. “Get up, Michael. Please get up. It's only me.”

Michael stood slowly. “You…what you did…you…”

“I'm so sorry, Michael. I had to. There was no other way. Don't you see?”

He looked at her for a long time, doubtful. He didn't answer.

Desperate, she smiled, then touched his cheek. “It's freezing out. Are you hungry? Any of you? You should all come inside. There might be food, or…”

Michael considered this for a moment then, slowly, he smiled back. Seeing this, something in Carolyn unclenched. Michael turned to the wolves. He spoke to them. She didn't quite understand it, but they wagged their tails.

She led them into the house.

It turned out that there
was
food in the refrigerator, lots of it, five roasts of beef and a whole turkey. Michael and the animals ate hugely, then huddled together and went to sleep in front of the bay window in the living room. Carolyn pulled a pillow onto the floor and sat with them.

Then, for the first time in a very long while, the sun rose. Under its orange glow the shadows of Michael and his pack stretched long across the floor.

Seeing the angle of the sunrise, she thought
the American word for this time of year is “April” or, sometimes, “spring.”
That was true, but it was also true that in the calendar of the librarians it was the second moon, which is the moon of kindled hope. Carolyn, clean and warm, sat watch over her sleeping friends. The pink cotton of her robe lay soft against her skin. The stuffed heads of the cartoon-cat slippers covered her toes. She sat this way for a time, watching as the new sun began to melt away the gray ice of the long winter.

She was smiling.

T
he shit that landed Erwin in prison took place in the span of a single sweaty afternoon, but it ended up costing him ten years, minus time off for good behavior. This was just after the air raid on the pyramid, around the time that food was starting to get seriously scarce. There was a trial, but it only lasted about a week. After that he went straight to USP Big Sandy, a federal high-security prison in Kentucky. Erwin was surprised to discover he didn't mind prison.

For starters, the pressure was off. He'd sweated for a week or two before he finally took his hostage, wondering whether it was the right thing to do, worrying about, well, ending up in prison. Now that it was over and the deed was done, he could relax.
Really
relax. For the first time in years, there was nothing left to worry about.

Life in Big Sandy had a regimented quality that sort of reminded him of basic training. He'd made a deal to keep his mouth shut about what he'd actually done in exchange for a relatively lenient sentence. The ten years sounded like a lot, but on the whole it could have been a lot worse. The president assured him they'd find a way to make it “life without parole” in Supermax if he gave them any crap. Jail was surprisingly comfortable. Not a luxury hotel, mind you, but his cell was newish and clean, and he had it to himself. Most everybody had seen the Natanz movie or read the book or whatever, so they knew who he was. In exchange for Erwin dropping an occasional war story, one of the guards, a card-carrying Natanz fanboy named Blakely, made runs to Barnes & Noble. Dashaen, the kid Erwin had taught to fight, was now in his twenties and a
successful bond trader. He insisted on paying for the books, and also put a couple hundred into Erwin's commissary account every month. Erwin appreciated everyone going to the trouble. Also it was nice to have some way to pass the time besides jacking off.

A couple of the other prisoners tested him, of course. Erwin understood. They had tested fucking Mike Tyson when he was inside. One guy tried to take his pillowcase, so Erwin knocked out his fillings. A couple of days later the guy's buddy, an Alabama weight lifter, came by to talk it over. Erwin hit the second guy so hard that for a couple of weeks he thought people were reading his thoughts. Actually he was muttering to himself without realizing it. He had brain swelling, or some shit. Erwin felt bad about it, but the big fella had rushed him. Listening to him think out loud
was
sort of comical, though. He got real excited when it was banana-pudding night in the cafeteria and made a lot of mental notes about who to jack off to when everyone was watching TV in the commons area. It cleared up after a couple of weeks, though, and after that everybody was polite to Erwin.

Other than that, it was pretty peaceful. He got to Kentucky just after the sun came back, but for the first couple of weeks all the prisoners were still on food rations. Six hundred calories a day didn't leave you much energy to go starting shit. By the time that bread stuff started falling out of the sky, guards and prisoners alike had more or less concluded that the smartest thing to do with Erwin was let him be.

That suited Erwin fine.

As a new prisoner, he wasn't supposed to get mail for the first two months. But one of the guards knew of him from Afghanistan and another had actually been there at Natanz. They accidentally dropped off letters from Thorpe, Dashaen, other guys he had served with. They didn't know the full story, of course, but their faith in Erwin was absolute.

It was kinda nice.

So he had mail, he had books, he had a place to himself when he wanted it and people to play chess or whatever with when he didn't. Admittedly the food sucked, but whatcha gonna do? On the whole, he was content with his lot in life.

Tonight, though, lights-out snuck up on him. He was reading a new
book he'd been looking forward to
—To the Nines
, the next Stephanie Plum—and he'd lost track of time. The guard, Blakely, had popped an eyebrow when Erwin asked him to pick up
that
particular title. Erwin explained that one of the perks of being a Medal of Honor winner was that he could read whatever the fuck he wanted to. Anyway, fucking Janet Evanovich was fucking funny as fuck. Blakely, cowed, asked if he could borrow it when Erwin was done. Erwin said sure.

He'd been planning to hand it over the next day, but he'd gotten a letter from Dashaen today, and he spent half an hour answering that, and so had ten pages left when it got dark. He gave a moment's thought to trying to read by the light spilling in through the observation slit in his door—the book was good, and he'd just put in a fresh chew—then decided against it. Instead, he folded down one of the pages and put the book on the floor next to his bunk.

As he was setting down the book, someone grabbed his wrist.

Erwin didn't yell, but it was a near thing. He twisted around to peer over the edge of the bunk. There was just enough light to see that there was an arm coming up out of the floor.

“Da fuck?”

Erwin pulled hard, twisting, trying to break the hold on his wrist, but the angle was bad and whoever—whatever—it was, was
strong
. A moment later, the tip of another hand popped up through the floor. With a motion like someone pulling themselves out of a swimming pool, it gripped the concrete and pulled.

A woman's head rose up through the concrete. She let go of Erwin's wrist and, pushing against the concrete, muscled her torso up out of the floor. She pulled her legs up
—nice legs
, Erwin thought disjointedly—and stood.

“Hello, Erwin.”

He squinted forward, then leaned back with a sigh. “Ah, shit. It's you, ain't it?”

“Yeah,” Carolyn said. “What are you doing in here? It took me forever to track you down.”

Erwin thought of mentioning that he might have asked her the same thing, but decided against it. “Eh,” he said, sitting up. “You know how
it is. I kind of roughed a guy up a little bit. Nothing much, just a couple cracked teeth, but”—shrug, spit—“he took offense.”

Carolyn furrowed her brow, confused. “I don't see why that's such a big deal. It's part of your shtick, right?”

“This particular guy was the president.” Seeing the look on her face, he added, “The new one. Not the head.”

“Oh.” She thought about this for a couple of seconds. “Why'd you hit him?”

“He kept squirming. I was afraid the gun was gonna go off.”

“Gun? Did you kill him?”

“Nah, just the teeth. Plus I held him hostage for, like, three or four hours.”

“Oh. What happened then?”

“He caved. I knew he would.” Erwin spat in his cup. “Pussy.”

“What do you mean, ‘caved'?”

“Well,” Erwin said, “I was kinda blackmailing him. I told him if he didn't launch a couple of missiles, I was gonna spray his brains over all the nice woodwork. He thought about it for a little while, and then he launched 'em.”

“At who?”

“Well…you.”

“Really? Me? Why?”

Erwin sat up on his bunk and turned to look at her face. His eyes were adjusting to the dark. “That Steve kid told me what he was gonna do if our air raid didn't work. Which, you know, obviously it didn't. I gave it a week after that to see if he could convince you to un-fuck stuff, but no change.” Erwin paused. “Did he really go through with it? The Everclear and…you know.”

“The lighter,” Carolyn said. “Yeah. He did.”

“Damn.” Erwin was quiet for a moment. “Well…whether he had or not, it was obvious it didn't work. I couldn't see that we had much else left to try. The president didn't agree, though. He said he was ‘exploring other options.' Maybe. But I'm pretty sure he was just worried about getting reelected.” Erwin shrugged. “After a while I got sick of arguing about it.”

Carolyn stared at him. “So you blew up Mount Char? You
nuked
it?”

“I blew up what?”

“Come again?”

“You said I blew up…‘Mount Char'?”

“Did I?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” She smiled a little.

“Yeah, I'm lost.”

“What? Oh. Sorry. When we were kids, me and Steve used to have all these nicknames for things. Secret names, you know, the way kids have. We even drew a map. Scabby Flats and Cat Splash Creek and like that. Mount Char was Father's house.”

“Any particular reason?”

“You know, I don't—” She snapped her fingers. “Actually, I
do
remember. Steve told you about Father, right?”

“Some.”

“Bear in mind, back then, we thought Father was just a regular guy. You'd see him outside every so often, but he never really socialized. I get it now—boy, do I ever—but at the time it was weird. People would invite old Mr. Black to come hang out, have a beer, but he always said the same thing: ‘I'll be along once I get a good char on this pork.' Every time. The grown-ups made fun of him for it. And his house was on top of a pretty steep hill. So to Steve and me, his place was Mount Char. Back before the Library and…all the other stuff. When we were just kids and…you know…everything was OK.” Carolyn smiled. To Erwin she looked wistful but not especially unhappy. Then she snapped back to herself. “Well, it made sense at the time. I wonder what made me think of that now. I haven't called it that in ages.”

“I dunno,” Erwin said, even though he thought he might have a guess.

“And you blew it up?
Nuked
it?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Erwin looked at her. “You didn't notice? They was all direct hits. Twenty megatons, total. You could see the mushroom cloud two states away.”

“Sorry, no. I must have missed it.” She gave him an apologetic look. “I've been really busy.”

“ 's OK.” Erwin's brow wrinkled. “I figured you was here to kill me. Revenge or whatever. But maybe that
ain't
it.”

“Kill you? Don't be ridiculous.”

“What, then?”

“I'm here to offer you a job, Erwin.”

“Come again?”

“You've already been a big help. And there's plenty more to be done.”

“Thanks, but I've kinda had my fill of shooting people.”

“That's not what I had in mind. Well, maybe not
never
, but it wouldn't be the main point.”

“What, then?”

“Odds and ends. Errands. Things I'm not good at.”

“Such as?”

“The first thing I had in mind is that I want you to look for a dog.”

“A
dog
? There's fucking dogs everywhere.”

“No, I mean a particular dog. I really need to find him—I promised—but me and dogs don't get along.”

“Oh. Which one?”

“His name's Petey. He's a cocker spaniel.”

“I don't know no cocker spaniels named Petey.”

“Probably he's also dead.”

Long pause. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I would never, ever do that, Erwin.”

Then, from the stainless-steel toilet, a man's voice. “Sheee would not. Carolyn like you.”

“What the
fuck
?”

“That's my brother. His name is Michael.” Then, softly, “His English isn't great, but he's trying. Be patient, OK?”

“Yeah, sure,” Erwin whispered back. Then, in a normal voice, “Well, I'll be happy to look around the cell, but if he ain't in here I prolly won't be much help.” He jerked a thumb at the cell door. “That's locked, ya know.”

“Don't be thick, Erwin. Of course I'll get you out. I'll do that even if you don't take the job—I certainly owe you that much. But there are other benefits as well. I could teach you things.”

“Things?”

She nodded. “
Interesting
things. Lots of them, actually. I have a library now.”

He chewed this over for a second. “Maybe you'd start by telling me what the fuck you did at that bank? How you made them tellers be so helpful?”

“Sure, if you—”

The man's voice again, rapid-fire blabber in some language Erwin didn't recognize.

“Cha guay,”
Carolyn said.

“Aru penh ta—”

“
Cha
guay,” Carolyn said, more firmly this time. The toilet fell silent.

“What was that all about?”

“He says they're coming.”

Erwin heard a rumbling out in the hall, a huge noise, like the sound the World Trade Center towers made when they collapsed. Then, screams. Through the window slit, he saw a cloud of gray dust rolling down the hall.

Carolyn grimaced. “Decide now, Erwin. I'll do whatever you like, but I really do need to go. Are you coming?”

Erwin thought about it for about half a second. “Fuck yeah. Sign me up.”

“Do you need to bring anything?”

“Nope. Well”—he grabbed the Evanovich—“just this.”

Carolyn smiled. “You're going to fit right in. Here, take my hand.”

Erwin did. Out in the hall he heard a groan of wrenching steel. “So…you said ‘they're coming.' Who's ‘they'?”

“I'm not completely sure yet. My Father had enemies. Some of them are my enemies too, now. They've begun to move against me.”

“Dangerous folks? Dangerous like you, I mean?”

“Some of them, yeah.”

“Hmmm.”

“Don't worry,” Carolyn said. “I have a plan.”