20.

 

            The old woman had been true in her description: as they cleared the foothills and began the steep ascent into the Sierra Nevada range, the landscape became hard and rocky, cracked and broken.

            They all realized, if only subconsciously, the inherent paradox of this place. It was dead, and yet unseen life—gross and dangerous and vile—seemed to lurk unseen, just beyond the stark shadows and beneath the scorched surface of the baked sandstone.

            John shivered. The venom from the brown snake was gone, but he’d suffered another wound. Leggy had assured the lad with a hearty clap on the shoulder that whatever didn’t kill him could only make him stronger. But Leggy wasn’t so sure; the old man had begun to worry over John’s continued silence.

            And the solemn, unspoken danger of these hills didn’t help matters. Leggy knew that he sounded like an old wife or a handmaid when he said that success was 50% attitude: You had to remain positive‑-but however foolish it sounded, he knew it to be true. Years of desert survival had proven it to be true. But how could they maintain a positive outlook? These rocky wastes had cast a pall over them, something here was dark and evil. This was not the tone Leggy would have wanted to set as they neared the Wasteland, and it was not a tone that was conducive to the group’s moral. Something was wrong here in these hills. Even the mules could sense it‑-each step forward was more tentative and forced, and the almost whispered, whickering neighs were the only sound accompanying the otherwise silent travelers. They were all struck with a sullen, fearful feeling.

            Teddy was the most visibly uneasy. He walked tentatively ahead and was prone to stopping without cause and refusing to budge until Derek consoled him with secret whispers and urged him forward again. Teddy clutched his flute tightly in his fist and held it out protectively in front of him, perhaps hoping to ward off any evils that might be coveting their passage. And when the world grew the most quiet, when the shrill wind for reasons unknown decided to cease its busy passage around weathered rocks, over towering precipices, and through cracks in the tired stone, he would play. He would lift his flute to his lips and blow. With no rhythm or tune discernible to the others, or perhaps the music was all his own, a subtle, secret comfort, Teddy would fill the dangerous silence with discordant, untuned sound of their passage.

            The “music” annoyed the bejeezus out of Derek. But he would admit to himself (if not to the others) that he preferred it to the stretches of eerie quiet that seemed to fall over the place with increasing frequency. Let Teddy have his flute. If it kept him moving forward, then Derek really couldn’t complain.

 

            It had been almost totally silent now for two days, save the wind and the flute, and they’d neither seen nor heard any signs of life—no birds of prey circle above, no insects crawled below. The enormous moths had not reappeared at night, and they were free to light a tentative campfire without intrusion. John had fully expected to hear the horny clamor and song of wolves by night, the desperate chorus of mating calls and the frenzied bark of the hunt. But only silence had accompanied the harvest moon’s lazy sojourn across the ruined sky. And what’s more, not only were there no signs of life, but Leggy had been quick to point out that there were no signs of previous passage through these parts. The road that they traveled (if one could be so generous as to call it that, it was more of a twisted alley that cut and wound between giant boulders and steep cliff faces, threatening a dead end at every turn) was desolate.

            “There’s no markings,” Leggy had grimly pointed out. “No ruts in the road, scratches in the stone. No old campfires. No markings, no litter… no recently dropped stool, either. I think it’s a safe bet that no one’s come through here in ten years. Maybe longer.”

            In Moses Spring they’d been warned of bears and wolves and raiders, and the old woman had confirmed those dangers-‑but they’d seen nothing to indicate that these dangers were indeed anything other than illusory goblins and fantastic bedtime tales. Or perhaps the dangers lived on the east side of the mountain range?

            “The Paladins said that their motorcycles can’t handle the terrain…” John offered.

            “But what about the Bedouins, surely they come through here often enough?” said Derek. Teddy smiled at the mention of the Bedouins.

            “Unless they have their own secret trade routes,” Leggy answered wryly. “Or else we’ve strayed off the trail proper… It’s said that a Bedouins could come in the night, be gone in the morning and back again by lunch with a fresh stock of supplies, and even the scorpions wouldn’t notice his passing.”

            “Or perhaps we’re on the wrong road,” suggested Derek.

            “Well, either way,” said Leggy, “We’re headin’ east. And east goes to New York.” He smiled, “’Course, if you boys want, we could always go back and ask the Paladins for better directions…”

            Derek didn’t answer, but instead turned and started walking. Leggy could see his fists angrily clenching and unclenching at his sides. Leggy shook his head. ‘That boy is a powder-keg’ he thought.

            With Derek in the lead, the others picked up their packs and followed, hoping at each turn that they would not discover a dead end, or worse.

 

21.

 

            On the morning of the fourth day out from the homestead, they found themselves at the top of a cliff, just as the old woman had described. The hard, high spine of the Sierras ran to the north and south. Behind them, to the west, was home. And before them, the east. A morning mist settled in the hills and valleys beneath them, obscuring their view of what lay ahead. Maybe it was better that way, thought Leggy.

            “Now what?” asked John. To him they seemed at a dead end. Perhaps, just perhaps they make have to backtrack their way to the homestead and find another path? But he didn’t know about the notch they were supposed to search for, the notch that the old woman said would lead them down, down into a stony valley. His face fell as Derek related the old woman’s instructions, but he searched with others, and was first to find it.

            The notch lay between two huge knuckles of rock. They peered through it to see a steep slope that led to a series of switchbacks running ever downward.

            “I’ll be damned,” said Leggy.

            “Why?” asked Derek. “You thought maybe she was lyin’?”

            “I don’t know,” said Leggy. “Somethin’ about her made me uneasy. Like maybe she’d put us on a wild goose chase, send us wandering in circles until we died out here, just because she’d think it was funny. But her directions were right as rain.”

            He eased himself in the saddle and patted Ahfa on his flanks. “Hope you’re as sure-footed as Tariq thought you were,” he said to the mule. “Goin’ up is hard work, but goin’ down is careful work. One slip and…” he made a falling gesture with his hand.

            “Anyway,” he said, “that crone was right about this being a short cut. If we had to follow my route, we’d still be on the way up.”

As they began their descent, Derek felt excitement growing in his belly. Each step toward the valley was another brick in the wall between him and his old life. Once the Sierras were well and truly between him and San Muyamo, nothing could ever drag him back.

It was in the afternoon on the first day of their descent when they heard the first foreign noise in days.

            Tap! Tap! Tap!

            The sharp sound of metal on stone assailed their ears, which had become accustomed to the silence.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

            They stopped, and listened for a time. The tapping was steady and monotonous. It echoed throughout the hills, making it hard to located its origin. But after a few moments Leggy smiled. Derek had noticed the old man’s lips moving, a quiet counting between echoes.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

            “There’s a trick to it,” Leggy finally confided. “Counting the echoes to locate the source. I’ll teach you sometime.”

 

 

            The tapping continued to grow louder and sharper as they drew slowly nearer to the valley. As they traveled on, the dull tap became the clear clink of metal on hard stone.

Perplexed, the troupe continued their steady pace, descending the rocky slopes and switchbacks, making their way doggedly towards its source. After days of silence, the source of the tapping was a welcome mystery.

            The switchbacks ended at a gravel-strewn and slippery slope between two steep cliff walls. Teddy took the lead. Placing a huge hamfist firmly against each wall to either side, he braced himself and formed an immovable human barricade should any of the others (mules included) lose their footing and begin to slide. Their descent was slow and arduous. Pebbles and gravel broke loose and rolled down the hill in ahead of them, mini avalanches which announced their coming to any who might reside in the canyon below.

The tapping stopped.

            Eventually (having given up an ideas they might have had about being silent or inconspicuous) they reached the bottom of the slope and turned a corner into the canyon. Not knowing what to expect, Derek pushed his way forward, fingering the barrel of his shotgun. He squeezed past Teddy and stepped into the wide opening of the canyon. At first there seemed to be nothing to see, just more rock, and only the shrill sound of the wind cutting over the cliffs high up at the lip of the cliff walls above. Then a movement on the opposite end of the valley, about a hundred yards away, caught his eye. Someone was sitting on a pile of rocks and waving to them.

            The strange figure reposed on the mound of gravel was pale and dressed in equally faded rags, making him nearly indiscernible from the slate and granite all around. As they neared him, they could see that it was a man, a very old man‑much old than Leggy (who Derek and John both considered to be well into his geriatric years, if surprisingly sharp and spry for his age, even without legs). The old man stood up from the rock pile and waved again. “Heloooooo-eeeee, there!” he called, squinting his eyes and peering in their direction. “I wuz waiting fer you slowpokes ta git here!” He laughed gruffly and then sat back down on the rocks waiting for them to come to him.

            His hair was long and flowed down past the tops of his broad shoulders. Despite the loose rags, it was obvious that the thin, wiry elder possessed a great upper-body strength. Hard knots of muscle wrapped their way across his shoulders and down to his disproportionately large forearms and tanned wrists. By contrast, his legs seems to be fragile twigs buckling under the weight of the his barrel-chested torso. And he was impossibly old. His hair was an ashen gray, and a ragged white beard covered most of his shrunken face. What wasn’t hidden by his whiskers was wrinkled and pitted, sunken and dry, pulled taught over his skull but tanned to the shade of tough, oiled leather which had been bleached by many years in the sun. His eyes peered out from behind bushy gray eyebrows, sharp jewels set into rough sandstone. Though it was hard to make out his expression beneath his rampant beard, he exuded an air of friendliness and seemed to carry about him a perpetual sense of warmhearted mirth.

            “Sorry, but you boys missed lunch,” he remarked casually when they were close enough to speak without yelling. “But that’s okay. Dinner’s coming up on us real quick,” he glanced up at the sky. Though the sun was out of sight bhind the lip of the canyon, the shadows were beginning to grow long. “’Nother hour or two, I should guess. Drop your bags wherever ya like, you’ll be camping here. For tonight at least.

            “My name is John,” John offered, stepping forward and extending his hand, when the old man didn’t take it, he let it drop limply back to his side. “This is Derek, and on the mule is Leggy‑er, Nickodemus…” John stammered, his face flushing with embarrassment. He didn’t know what the legless wonder (as Derek insisted on calling him behind his back) preferred to be called in company.

            “Leggy,” the old hauler smiled, easing John’s discomfort.

            “And I’m Teddy!” the giant lumbered forward, throwing a shadow over the old man.

            “Oh my,” the old man looked up at Teddy, who stood a full head and shoulder taller than Leggy, mounted on the mule.

            “We’re goin’ to New York!” Teddy announced proudly.

            “Oh my,” repeated the old man.

            “And what’s your name,” Derek asked, looking him over with distrust.

            “Me?” said old man. He appeared surprised, as if he’d never before considered that he might one day be posed such a question. “Well, I don’t rightly have one, I guess you could say. Never needed one. No one around to call me by it even if I did have one.” It took a moment for the gravity of this to hit Teddy, but when he did grasp the old man’s predicament, he exclaimed in surprise, “You don’t got no name?!”

            The old man shook his head. He was smiling widely now, a long thin horizontal “U”-shaped split formed in the hair of his beard, revealing a collection of brown and twisted teeth, survivors of an ages-old war fought against tough food the old man subsisted on. Most likely jerky and hardtack, Derek thought wryly. He’d noticed what appeared to be a small smokehouse over on the other side of the narrow valley, and sniffing, he could smell the faintest traces of aromatic wood‑-possibly hickory or applewood. There was a pile of cut logs, bark and shavings stacked neatly next to the smokehouse (a rusty old barrel-smoker, actually, with a neat brickwork of loose rocks stacked around it, and a large, heavy stone on the top, no doubt holding the lid down to keep the smoke in and the predators, if there were any, out). Derek couldn’t guess where the wood might have come from. They hadn’t seen any trees growing anywhere in the rocky ranges surrounding the old man’s canyon. And Derek guessed that someone who, by his own admission, had no use for a name, wasn’t apt to do a whole lot of regular trading.

            “I’ll give you a name!” Teddy offered excitedly, and the old man smiled even wider.

            “Will you, now?” he chuckled.

            “Stu…. Stu…. Stubert!” said Teddy. When there was no reaction from the man he tried again. “Horace!” the giant wrung his hands and chewed on his tongue, engaging himself in deep contemplation. “Bartlefish! Monkos! Humpety-Dumpety!” he offered.

            “Those are all good names there, Teddy,” Leggy laughed and winked at the old man. “But a name’s not a thing to be chosen quickly. Why don’t you think about it for a while, and tell us what you come up with later?”

            Teddy nodded in agreement and sat down on his huge haunches. He began silently mouthing syllables, compiling a list of potential names for the mysterious stranger‑-a man who (at least in Teddy’s mind) would remain a stranger until he could be fixed with the appropriate accolade.

            “So, you live here in the canyon?” Leggy asked, in an attempt to provoke conversation.

            “Yep,” said the man. “Always have.”

            “All by yourself?” asked Derek.

            “The winters must be hell” said Leggy.

            “Purtle-pus…” muttered Teddy.

            The nameless old hermit nodded. “Yep and yep.”

            “Why?” asked John.

            The old man looked surprised again, as if the answer was obvious. He swept his hand around to indicate the pile of gravel. “Why? Because there’s work to be done.”

 

            The old hermit’s “work” turned out to be as much a mystery as everything else about him, if not more so. He led them around to the other side of the hill of gravel he’d been sitting on when they’d first spotted him (or rather, when he’d first spotted them).

            On the other side of the pile was a deep hole in the ground, a pit wide enough that Derek doubted even Teddy could leap from one end to the other at its widest part. And it was deep enough that, without getting closer, they could not see its bottom.

At the pit’s north edge was an even stranger site. A concrete abutment, nearly twelve feet across, and as tall as the old man’s shoulders, was set into the ground, half buried in the sandy earth. On the top of the structure, set into a small, second level of concrete, at a roughly a forty five degree angle was a large round rusted steel door, nearly four feet in diameter.

The door was quite obviously sealed tight. It was marked with numerous scrapes in the rust and dents in the metal where someone (the old man, presumably) had taken a pick-axe or shovel to it. Likewise, the concrete all around the door was chipped away and broken, several inches deep in some places. In some of the deeper burrows, John could see the brown rust of metal set within the stone.

Suddenly, John realized that the pit next to the abutment was an excavation. The hole had been dug into the ground next to the concrete structure, and in fact, the old man had managed to bore himself a tunnel of sorts that ran several yards downward and into the very heart of the concrete. The mountain of gravel that the old man had been resting on, was in fact, countless years of concrete chipped away from the strange artifact.

“What is it?” asked Leggy.

“Damned if I know!” exclaimed the hermit. “If I knew what it was, do you think I’dve spent my whole life diggin’ away at it? And my Daddy before me?”

Leggy shook his head. “Your whole life?”

Derek leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to the old hauler. “Is it one of your stockpiles? One of those army bases you was talking about?”

Leggy shook his head. “No. I’m pretty sure it ain’t. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what this thing is… I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

Something occurred to John. He turned to the old hermit. “You said your daddy used to work on digging this thing up before you. He must’ve named you, then. He must’ve called you something…”

The old man smiled broadly, revealing cracked lips and more rotting teeth. “’Coure he did. He called me ‘Boy.’ But considering my age, and your youth,” (Leggy grinned at this), “I don’t think it’d be appropriate fer you to be calling me that.”

They all laughed at this. “Bingo!” Teddy offered. “ Barney?”

            Leggy coaxed Afha and Minna closer to the edge and peered into the pit. “Whew-boy,” he whistled. “That is one hell of a hole. You dug this all by yourself?”

            “Yep,” grinned the hermit proudly. “Well, my Daddy started it, but I been chippin’ away at it ‘long as I can remember. It’s my life’s work.”

            “No doubt,” said Leggy shaking his head. “You try blasting?”

“Yep. But it’s reinforced like a motherfucker,” The old-timer sighed, not even trying to conceal the fact that he was sizing up Teddy’s enormous form, his strong arms and solid back. “There’s as much steel down there as concrete. I’m beginning to think I may not see my way into it in my lifetime. And I’ve no progeny to hand over the shovel to.”

Leggy turned to the old man. “I take it not to many lady-folk pass through here. Specially not the motherly types,” he laughed.

“Not a whole lotta anybody passing through here,” the old man agreed. “Occasionally a coyote pack’ll sniff out the smoke-pit. Every couple’a years or so a mutie or two’ll wander up from the Wastes. But that’s about it. Used to be, when I was a lad, there was some trouble with raiders, but not no more. And the traders, they never come through here. Hell, I haven’t seen a trader or Bedouin in well over fifteen years. I ain’t seen no one worth talking to in… shucks, in quite a long time,” he finished with a sigh.

Derek wondered what it was that the old man ate, other than the occasional coyote. This place, it seemed, was full of mysteries.

Leggy nodded. “Then we’d be best getting on our way. Like Teddy said, we’re heading to New York.”

Derek frowned. He didn’t trust the old man. Why not tell the nameless wonder, as he’d already begun to think of the old-timer, everything while you’re at it? he thought bitterly.

“New York?” muttered the hermit. “I think I heard about that once. City of bugs, that right? I didn’t think it was real. Is it far from here?”

John opened his mouth to answer, but just then a flutter of movement caught his eye. A few yards away, where the valley floor met the base of the canyon wall, something gently stirred on the ground. Indeterminate shapes seemed to blend in with the white granite and gray slate. He squinted, and then gasped and jumped back with a start.

There, nestled together in a disgusting, heaving pile, and emitting soft purring and chittering sounds, were three of the moth-creatures, apparently fast asleep.

Their wings were folded like paper fans and held tightly against their backs. In the light of day, John could see that their bodies were translucent (he could just make out the grayish coils of internal organs and the motion of ichor through veins and arteries. The translucent skin was covered with a sparse down of white fur. Long antennae drooped lazily over lidless eyes. The delicate bodies of the creatures were dusted with a fine white powder, and their powder covered the ground and wall where they lay. In their sleep, John thought, they looked all the more angelic.

Each of the creatures was pierced. A fist-sized rusted eye-hook broke the skin at the rear of each of the three bulbous bodies. The skin appeared to have healed and grown around the hooks, as if they’d worn the metal adornments for a long time, perhaps all their lives. Each hook was affixed to a thin silken length of cord, which was coiled neatly on the ground and staked securely into the cliff face with an iron spike.

“What’s with the bugs?” asked Derek.

The old hermit smiled. “Them’s my pets. Caught ‘em myself. They make a pretty sight at night, fluttering toward the moon and stars.”

When no one spoke, the hermit bent forward and picked up an armful of shovels and a pick-axe. He handed one to each of the group, including Leggy, “Well, let’s say we get in a few good hours of digging before dinner, eh?”

 

 

22.

 

            “Fuck that,” said Derek, tossing aside the pick-axe. “We ain’t doing any diggin.’ We can still get in a lot of travel before dark.”

            The old man raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Not dig? But think about it boy--with your help we might be able to crack this nut.” He turned and patted Teddy’s shoulder. “Especially your help.”

“Flabia!” offered the giant. “How about Flabia?” The old man shook his head no. Teddy bit his lip and returned to his word hoard.

“Just think how quick we could get this done!” said the old man. “We could work two shifts--day and night. At that rate, I figure we’d open this old whore in three, maybe four years!”

            “Four years?” shouted Derek. “We don’t even know who the hell you are. Why should we spend four years diggin’ a hole?”

            Now the old man’s eyebrows threatened to leap straight off his face. “Why help? To find out what’s in there! Saints and angels, don’t you got any curiosity?”

            “Who cares what’s in there,” said Derek. “Probably a lot of useless junk from the Before Times.”

            “Useless?” hooted the old man. “Useless?” He scrambled off his rock pile and ran for his stone house.

            “Let’s go,” said Derek. “This old man is cracked.” But before they made their exit, the old man emerged from his hut bearing a large crate. He staggered over to them and dropped it at their feet.

            “Useless?” he said, reaching into the crate. He emerged with a brick-shaped tin. The old man pulled a ring tab at one end of the tin and popped it open. “You call that useless?” he said, shoving it under Derek’s nose.

            Inside the tin was shredded beef, mashed potato, and carrots and green beans, all divided into neat portions. The food looked fresh, and smelled good.

            “Go on and try it!” insisted the old man. “I got hundreds more just like it. You just try it and tell me if it’s useless.”

            Derek turned his nose away, but Teddy stuck a big finger into the beef, which was covered in gravy. He licked his finger thoughtfully, then lifted the tin out of the old man’s hands and proceeded to devour its contents.

            The old man reached into the crate again, this time emerging with an armful of rattling bottles. He lined up several on the ground.

            “Pills,” he said. “I take these ones when I get sick,” he said, pointing to a bottle labeled ‘Amoxicillin.’ “I take these if I can’t sleep,” he said, indicating a bottle labeled [some well-known sleeping medicine, of which I don’t know the names of any.] “And I take this one if I ain’t feelin’ so energetic--pep me right up, it does.” That bottle was labeled [the name of a pep drug].

            Next, the old man pulled out a fat, short wand with a black grill at one end and several buttons on the other. Leggy, Derek, and John leaned in, curious. The old man also took out a pair of small stoppers, and inserted one into each ear. Then he grinned slyly at his guests and hit one of the buttons.

            Instantly they were blasted by a shriek of noise, a two-tone siren that seemed to detonate in their ears. They fell back as if struck by a blow. Ahfa reared, threatening to throw Leggy from the saddle. Teddy put his hands over his head and howled, his own roar of pain drowned out by the siren. The moths awoke with a start and leapt into the sky. They were halted painfully by the lengths of rope affixed to their piercings. The sound rocked back and forth between the canyon walls.

            The old man pushed the button again. The horrible siren cut out, but it took several long seconds for the echoes to exhaust themselves in the canyon.

            “Pretty good, huh,” he said, removing the stoppers from his ears as the group recovered themselves. “I ain’t had no trouble with muties, thieves, bears, coyotes, or bugs thanks to this little beauty.”

            Derek, who was torn between anger and awe, said “Where’d you get all this?”

            “From the first bunker,” said the old man. “The first bunker my Daddy dug up.”

            “You mean this isn’t the first?” asked John, pointing to the hole in the ground.

            “Heck no. That’s number two. Number one is about a mile south. We finished it years and years ago. Daddy figured since we found so much good stuff in that bunker, we might as well try this one. Problem is, this one turns out to be tougher than the first. A lot tougher. So the way I figure it, the things inside must be that much better.”

            He turned and winked at Derek. “You still think what I’m doing here is useless?”

“Youslus!” shouted Teddy. “That’s it that’s it that’s it. Your name is Youslus!” He grasped the old man and shook hands properly, pleased to have fixed him at last with a name.

Youslus eventually extracted himself from Teddy’s grip and looked them all in the eye. “Well then, now that we’re on a first-name basis, what do you say about diggin’?”

“I must admit,” said Leggy, scratching his head, “I’m mighty curious about what might be in there.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” agreed Youslus.

“But four years? That’s an awful long detour.”

“Way too long,” said Derek.

            “Well, maybe three years,” said Youslus. “I got a few things I ain’t showed you yet that might help speed up the dig.”

            “I think,” said Leggy carefully, “that we’ll be on our way. But good luck to you.”

            Youslus nodded. “Oh well,” he said. “I suppose I can’t expect everyone to be as curious as me.” He looked them over once more, and then at the sky. The sun had dropped completely behind the Sierras, and daylight was fading rapidly to dusk.

            “I don’t suppose you’d consider stoppin’ here for the night? I got plenty of food and water. And I ain’t had no one to talk with since Daddy died. I’d appreciate your company.”

            “I believe we could stay the night,” said John. Derek scowled at him--he didn’t want to stay, but John was already moving toward the hut. Teddy followed quickly, asking Youslus about the tins. “Can we have food boxes for supper?”

            Youslus chuckled. “Round here you got two choices--whatever’s in the can, or whatever’s on the ground.” He reached down and picked up a rock. “And this is all that’s on the ground.” Teddy took the rock and chucked it far into the distance.

            “Can,” said Teddy.

            “Yep,” agreed Youslus.

 

 

            For an insane man, Youslus made a good host, thought Leggy. He invited them into his stone house, which was crammed with food tins, digging implements, and other strange items, including some kind of lantern that didn’t run on oil or batteries. Youslus simply turned a switch and two white tubes inside the lantern began to glow. When Leggy asked about its power source, Youslus shrugged. It was another excavated treasure, but he had no idea how it worked. He hung the lantern from his roof beam, then started a fire in the hearth while his guests washed up in a small spring out back.

            As they washed trail dust off their hands and faces with clear, cold water from the well, Derek turned on John.

            “What the hell you doing, volunteering us to stay for the night?”

            John looked at the ground. “The old coot’s lonely. He wanted some company.  I just felt sorry for him.” In fact, that wasn’t the reason at all. John had a plan, one that he didn’t want to share with his companions. He was going to set those moths free.

            “Well let’s just hope we don’t end up feelin’ sorry for ourselves if he decides to pick-axe us in our sleep,” said Derek.

            When they returned, they found Youslus warming food tins by the fire--three for Teddy, and two each for everyone else. Just before they tucked into the food, John asked how old the tins were.

            Youslus shrugged. “Don’t know. I found ‘em maybe twenty years ago. But I’m sure they’re a lot older than that.” He saw a strange look cross John’s face.

            “Don’t make no difference,” said Youslus. “The food’s still good. Look at me--I been eatin’ ‘em for decades, and I’m fit as a fiddle.”

            They couldn’t argue with his logic, so they set to. As they ate, Youslus enquired about their journey. He regarded their attempt to cross the Wasteland as sheer madness, but that didn’t stop his questions. He was thirsty for talk, and he soaked up everything he could about them.

            “Any of you fellas have experience with motors and such?” he asked at one point.

            John looked at Leggy. “He used to fix our generator back home.”

            “I see,” said Youslus. “And how did you come across that skill?”

            Leggy pursed his lips. “You could say I have an affinity for mechanical parts. I used to work on motorcycle engines when I rode with the Paladins. Even fixed an automobile once, way back.”

            “Is that so?” asked Youslus.

           

            As the fire burned low in the hearth, John felt himself growing sleepy--almost irresistibly so. He fought hard against the feeling. He wanted to stay awake so that he could sneak out in the middle of the night and free the moths. He looked around at his companions and saw that they too were droopy-eyed and yawning--everyone except for Youslus. The old man watched his guests sharply.

            John didn’t like that look. He thought about standing up and rousing his companions, but a kind of grand lethargy had entered his limbs. The urge to sleep was growing stronger now. He remembered the bottles that Youslus had show them earlier. One had pills to help him sleep.

            “I think, I think somethin’ wrong…’ murmured John. He turned to Derek, who was fast asleep on the floor. John nudged him but got no response. Leggy’s head had drooped forward onto his chest, and Teddy began to snore.

            John looked at Youslus, who was watching him fight the sleep.

            “What did you do?” asked John. He was flickering in and out of consciousness now, so that the old man’s face seemed to jump like a poorly threaded film reel. Youslus got up and stood over John.

            “Nightie night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” he said with a grin. John sank into a long, dreamless slumber.

           

 

            John awoke with the sun in his eyes and curses in his ear. He squinted and held up a hand against the light. As his vision focused, he realized he was at the base of the canyon wall. His ankle hurt, and he bent to examine it. He was surprised to find himself in irons--a steel cuff was strapped around his left ankle. The cuff was attached to a short length of thick, rusty chain that ran to a bolt driven into the rock wall of the canyon.

He looked to his right and saw the source of the curses. It was Leggy, cuffed at both wrists, his chains also ending in bolts in the rock face. Derek was to his left, still asleep, with a cuff on his left ankle. Beyond Derek were the moths that John had hoped to free.

In front of them lay Teddy, unbound. His chest rose and fell with the easy rhythm of sleep.

“That goddam son of a bitch,” said Leggy, heaving himself into a sitting position. “He must of drugged us. My head hurts.” He turned and looked at John. “You all right?”

John nodded. He was all right as he could be, considering the situation.

“Can you reach Teddy? He ain’t tied for some reason.”

John stretched forward the full length of his chain, but Teddy was still out of reach.

“He’s not bound because he’s going to help me,” said Youslus, coming toward them from his house. He stopped and looked them over. He had Derek’s shotgun in one hand.

At that moment Derek began to stir. They watched him as sat up, rubbed his eyes several times, and then looked around him. It didn’t take long for him to comprehend their predicament. When he did, he cast a withering look at John.

“Just a harmless old coot, huh? Just lonely for some talk, huh? Swear to God Johnny, you sure got us in a fix.”

“Oh don’t be so hard on him,” said Youslus. “You’ll see it differently when we crack that bunker open.” Youslus grinned at them.

“Why ain’t Teddy woken up yet?” asked Derek.

“He got a larger dose than the rest of you,” said Youslus. “I might’ve overdid it a bit, just to be sure he went down. But he’ll wake up by and by.”

“What do you mean to do with us,” asked Leggy.

“Why, get your help,” said Youslus.

“You mean digging?” asked Derek.

“Yep.”

Leggy rattled his chains. “But how are we supposed to dig when you got us staked to the side of the canyon?”

“Oh, I got plenty of chains and anchors about. I can fix you up just about anywhere I’d like. I just put you all here to begin with, so there won’t be any trouble.”

“But you said it would take us three or four years to open that bunker,” said John. “You plan on keeping us locked up that long?”

Youslus’s eyes gleamed. “I hope it won’t come to that. No no no. Not if this man here,” he gestured to Leggy “is truly good with motors. And if we get a little luck. Just a little.”

He reached down and patted Teddy on his back. “And your friend here is just what I need for the Stone Biter. He’ll be perfect--assuming we can get it working.”

“What’s the Stone Biter?” asked Leggy, but Youslus declined to answer. He wanted to wait until Teddy was awake, so that he could explain it all at once.

He didn’t have to wait long. Within a few minutes Teddy’s breathing speeded up, and then his eyes fluttered open. He sat up unsteadily, mashing his fists into his eyes and yawning like a hippopotamus.

He squinted into the daylight, then recognized the old man. “Hi Youslus. How come you got Der-Der’s gun? You aughtent to have that. Der-Der gets mad.”

“Now listen Teddy,” said Youslus calmly. “I want you to do exactly as I say. Don’t make any sudden moves. Just sit and listen to my instructions. If you leap up or try and attack me, I’ll put both barrels in you.”

Teddy thought for a moment, then turned and saw his brother and his companions. He looked at them curiously.

“Why you tied up, Der-Der? You been bad?”

“We’re in trouble Teddy. All of us,” said Derek. “You just sit tight and do like Youslus tells you. Otherwise, he might hurt us.”

Teddy turned back to Youslus, confusion in his eyes. If Derek had told him to charge for the shot gun, he would’ve done it in an instant, even if it meant getting his heart blown out through the back of his rib cage. But his brother had said ‘Sit tight!,’ so Teddy sat.

Youslus smiled. “Good, that’s good. Things will so much pleasanter if we cooperate. Now Teddy, you see that shed over there?” asked Youslus. He pointed to a smaller stone structure next to his domicile.

Teddy nodded.

“You go and bring me what you find inside.”

Teddy stood up slowly and went to the shed. Soon he emerged wheeling an old cart loaded with heavy equipment. When he returned to the group, Leggy saw what looked to be a generator among the gear, though bigger than any he’d ever seen before. There was also a large metal cylinder. At one end it had hand grips that stuck out from it like stubby arms on a cross. At the other end gleamed a metal shaft that tapered to a thick point. The cylinder was connected to the generator by a length of thick, black cable.

Youslus was quivering with excitement. “This is Stone Biter. That’s what my Daddy called it. It’s a mechanical hammer. They used in the Before Times to pulverize rock and stone, to drill holes in the ground, to break up concrete.

            “My father knew what it was, and he told how quickly it would speed our work. Unfortunately, something’s wrong with the motor. In here,” he said, tapping the generator. “Daddy and I could never get it to work. We tampered with it off and on for years, but we don’t know machines very well. Anyway, even if it did work neither of us could wield that hammer. It’s too heavy and powerful.”

            Youslus looked off into the sky. “For seventy years it’s sat in that shed. Just think about that--seventy years of possessing a magnificent tool that you could never use? Imagine havin’ an itch you couldn’t scratch--for seventy years! A body might just go crazy.”

“Might?” thought Leggy.

“My poor Daddy died having never seen it in action,” continued Youslus, “and I was beginning to think the same might happen to me. Yet now here you are.”

            He pointed to Leggy. “You can fix the motor. And Teddy here can operate the hammer. It will be fantastic! Absolutely fantastic. We’ll crack that bunker wide open! Open, do you hear? OPEN!” The word echoed off the canyon walls.

            Then Leggy asked “And what if I can’t get this motor to work? Then what?”

            Youslus shrugged. “Well, we’ll just have to dig without it--pick axe and shovel until we get inside. Or until we die.”