WARNING: This is NOT the BEGINNING of “EVEREST & THE EXCEPTIONS.” To start at the beginning, go HERE.
The dream again. Everest is startled from his bed by a growing rumble. He wanders the house with urgency, but as he moves, the floor tilts and sways. He maneuvers the room, bracing himself against both sides of an open doorway. The further he moves, the greater the agitation. As Everest arrives in the empty living room, he stands solid through the house while its contents continue to vibrate. The rumbling ceases. Startled by silence, Everest turns to look out the window. Outside, a blaze. The whole world is on fire. But, not merely fire - for as Everest stares the flame down, it agitates and revolts, a low groan coming deep from the belly of its molten gut - a sound Everest cannot help but recognize. The blaze is a magnet - though he tries, he cannot look away. As he stares, it feels as if the thing is eradicating his soul, destroying it. A guttural rasp emanates from Everest and his entire body bursts into ash.
Everest is jarred awake in the backseat of the Yugo, piles of half-processed research in his lap. It is deep night. He glances into the rearview mirror and can see Harrison stretching his eyes wide as they trek upward on Interstate-65, fending off tiredness, scrolling the radio for anything worthy. Finally, a contender from Ireland.
To let it go. And so to fade away.
I’m wide awake, the brogue in the song bellows, wide awake.
I’m not sleeping.
He is glad Bono seems to believe that sentiment, but Everest is a little more clouded on the issue. With the dusk light gone now, the piles of random and disconnected information swamping the backseat are momentarily fruitless, a reason for Everest to need to deal with his anger toward his twin for the newly-discovered life-sized lie. Everest glances at V0Go, silent but blinking the location cursor on the Beacon Bright that will lead them to Indiana - to her. Everest peers out the window to see the road wipe quickly into a blur as the October rain droplets skitter like ants in disarray against the glass. He doesn’t like road trips. Bad things happen on road trips. Especially on his birthday.
He clutches a photo he has found of her in one of the files. The girl he called Indiana. On the back of the image, the name Victoria is scribbled hurriedly alongside a date some time last spring. It serves as a reminder that he can trust his gut. He always knew there was something about her - and that knowing has proved indeed to be very real. He only had one brief moment with her. Out of nowhere at the Clarksville Exit on I-65, just a matter of hours from where they are actually on route now. At the time, Everest was seated alone in the backseat of the car. Forbidden to leave. Waiting - unsure of his brother’s delay and hoping Mother and Father would not realize Harrison had snuck out. Everest heard footsteps in the brush. He turned, and there she stood - just outside his window. He blinked twice from the sunshine behind her and sneezed from the blindness of it as his hand cupped his eyes.
“Bless you.” She handed him the postcard of Indiana. It smelled of her. Coconut and earth.
Her head shifting to block the sun, Everest could see her face and was immediately smitten. The smoothness of her skin, the deep inset kindness of her eyes. She could see him. As if she had known him all along. He turned the postcard over in his hands, “what is this?”
“For hope, “ she replied with an easy smile, “Everyone should carry a little bit of hope with them.”
Flushed in foreign feelings, Everest scrambled for a return object. A bright orange leaf had stuck to the bottom of his shoe, a remnant of Franklin. It was all that he had to offer, but it was a small piece of home. He weaved it through the two-inch open crack at the top of the window.
“That’s not from any of these trees.”
“That’s Tennessee.”
She took it gingerly, floating it between her fingers, admiring the colors, the design as the sun peered through it, “Never been there. But, I think I would like Tennessee very much.”
She cinched up a backpack, Everest realizing she must be traveling on foot. She took a quick peek back toward the buildings, confirming she is unfollowed. Then, she scanned the horizon, “I can’t linger any longer.” She met his dumbfounded gaze, “but for what it’s worth, you are not weak. You have more strength in your eyes than you could possibly comprehend.”
The emotion undoes Everest. An unexpected wallop. By the time he gets his bearings, the girl is wandering away. He cracks the door, risking everything if Mother and Father see, “Wait.”
She turns, “Not now. Another time. I am certain of it.”
He watched her disappear over the hill. Not a name. Not context. Not a reason she was alone without a means to travel. Simply there. Inserted into his life permanently with the gift of a blank postcard. And then, gone. Until now. He clutched it and the newly-found photo to his chest and sighed.
“What time is it?” They are the first words Harrison has offered his brother since the offense.
Everest glances at his digital calculator wristwatch, “After two. Where are we?”
“Not completely certain. I got turned around for a bit. Should be Kentucky.”
“You doing okay driving?
“Does it matter?”
Harrison is, of course, correct. Everest doesn’t know how to drive. He was always too nervous. It is a bold, mean reminder that there have always been too many things Everest simply expected Harrison to be the one to handle.
“Should we stop?”
“Believe me, right now craving unconsciousness is all I can think about,” Harrison yawns, “but I have concerns.”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
“I don’t mean about our situation at large. That’s a whole other category. I mean I don’t know that we should - or even can stop this Yugo.”
“Why not?”
“Because we can’t communicate with V0Go, and I don’t know if this thing will start back up without him once I turn off the ignition.”
“Wouldn’t he have thought of that?”
“Everest, we don’t know anything about the man behind V0Go. Nothing.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. He saved our lives.”
“He saved our lives by knowing things that the whole world seems to have been keeping secret from us. And he still hasn’t told us most of it. Now, we’re chasing his beacon, hoping that it’s the right choice.”
“Do you think he’s listening?”
“See. You don’t trust him either.”
Everest contemplates the thought. Maybe not everything V0Go said was well-intentioned. Maybe it wasn’t even all true. Everest has far more reason to trust his twin than the robo canine. The hot rise that has been building in Everest’s skull against his brother cools a bit and Everest leans back on old habits by not addressing the elephant in the Yugo. He will not question Harrison’s trust. Not yet anyway.
“We must almost be out of gas by now.”
“That’s what’s strange. Not even close. Unless the gauge is broken. I don’t know what V0Go did to this piece of crap, but it’s like we’re not even using the gasoline.”
“Doesn’t matter, though - if you need rest.”
“I will be fine. I’m always fine.”
And, there it is. What Everest has assumed. That the seemingly loving, supportive brother who does most of the hard stuff for his fogged twin has always been a bit pissed about it and just doesn’t want to be that guy.
“At the treehouse, I threw a couple of mixtapes in the backpack.”
Everest reaches in, fumbles about and feels the distinct edges of a Maxell 100-minute extended-play recordable cassette, “Found one. Which ones did you bring?”
“Best of Eighty-Four.”
“God, I love that tape. Remember Ace Roller Rink?”
This is where they bond. Their love of the great song and the experiences that inevitably result from one. Everest had, of course, never considered there was actually more to that than simply escape, but music has always been the one commonality - the cloud lifter where he and his twin felt things - great and deep things - together.
“Of course, the roller rink. That’s why I threw it in the bag. Mary Tanner?”
“I can’t believe you did that in public. How on earth did you talk Mother and Father into letting us go?”
“I didn’t. I lied.”
“What?!”
“I totally and completely lied. They thought we had chess club.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Because I didn’t want you screwy and stressed all night. When you’re screwy and stressed, I can’t be with Mary Tanner. I have to be with you.”
“Have to be?”
“You know what I mean. I just wanted you to have actual fun.”
“Knowing you lied would not have made it fun.”
“Made it fun for me.”
Everest considers a beat, “Of course, they were probably watching.”
“I’m beginning to think they were always watching.”
The idea of just how alone he is without his brother brings a new appreciation to Everest. He’s being an idiot. Benefit of the doubt.
“Isn’t this the mixtape with all the sound-bites between the songs?”
“Yeah. Hulk Hogan’s on there once and Arnold’s “I’ll be back.”
“And Axel Foley’s laugh right after Hüsker Dü. I mean, who would think to do that? Such a brilliant move. I was fist-pumping.”
“It all starts with the 20th Century Fox overture and then goes right into Prince.”
“Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today to get through this thing called life.”
Harrison continues the mantra, “Electric word life, it means forever and that's a mighty long time. But I'm here to tell you, there's something else…”
In unison, guttural, “The afterworld.” Everest expels a laugh, though just barely.
“And then The Smiths and R.E.M. sprinkled weirdly with Footloose and Heartbeat City.” Everest’s enthusiasm brings a smile to Harrison’s face, “It’s like it was strategically orchestrated to force the hand of a party. You’re a genius.”
“God, I love talking about this stuff with you when you’re not all medicated.”
Everest swallows hard. He doesn’t like Harrison continually bringing up the medication. It makes him feel inferior, “Although, constructive criticism: you do have a tendency to include a smidge too many love songs.”
“Um - well, that’s a little reductive. Love songs come in all colors and tempos.”
“I just mean there are so many on each mixtape that the ulterior motive becomes desperately obvious.”
“Hello, uninvited vitriol. What crawled under your skin? My mixtapes don’t have an ulterior motive.”
“No? Because it seems to me like you sleuth out that Mary Tanner swoons over Madonna’s “Crazy for You” and then reverse engineer the mix to lip-lock during the couples skate.”
“That’s not an ulterior motive. That’s fifteen-year-old hormones.”
“Sure, but six out of twenty-four songs bringing down the party? Feels like overkill. I mean, “Careless Whisper,” Bryan Adams, Corey Hart, Thompson Twins and - for crying out loud, “Don’t Walk Away”?!”
“Do NOT hate on Rick Springfield. That song has a righteous saxophone solo.”
“True. And I will admit “Never Surrender” is rad. But that doesn’t negate the manipulation of it all.”
“You wouldn’t be saying this if you had ever kissed a girl.”
Everest doesn’t answer. But, he does smile with his eyes into the rearview mirror.
“Wait. Why aren’t you humiliating yourself by over-protesting?”
“Dunno. Doesn’t matter.”
“No way. You kissed a girl?!”
“Maybe.”
“Holy crap! Why am I just now hearing about this?! I share the details with you every single time!”
“No. You rub it in every single time. Not the same as sharing.”
“I think it’s the same.”
“I didn’t tell you because - it didn’t go great.”
“How can a kiss not go great?”
“We’re not all you, okay? It’s possible. I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Too late. Tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me…”
“FINE.”
“Where were you?”
“It was - we were in a, in a kitchen.”
“In a kitchen - like at her house? You’ve never been to a girl’s house.”
“More like a snack bar.”
“Uh huh. Okay. Narrows it down. Was it one of my ballgames?”
“No. Different snack bar.”
“Different snack bar? You don’t go anywhere. Do you mean the food court?”
“No. I wouldn’t kiss a girl at the mall.”
“Of course not. Can’t notice a girl if you’re poring over a Choose Your Own Adventure book while sucking down an Orange Julius. Priorities, right? Wait,” Harrison’s eyes become slits as he studies the perspiration forming on Everest’s forehead, “Not - the snack bar - at Ace Roller Rink?”
“Maybe.”
“You absolute STUD! The SAME NIGHT I played this mixtape?! Did it help?”
“Um - you could say that.”
“So, who - who was it? I hardly remember who was even there that night. Have I ever met her?”
Everest doesn’t answer. He just stares.
A little slow on the uptake, Harrison begins to unravel the narrative, “Wait. No. Does she - work at the Ace Roller Rink snack bar?”
“Let me explain.”
“Rhiannon Cartwright?! You KISSED Rhiannon Cartwright?!”
“You weren’t dating her any more.”
“BARELY. We had JUST broken up.”
“Didn’t seem to impact your moves on Mary Tanner!”
“I cannot believe that Rhiannon would…”
The silence between them at that moment was not an accurate indicator of the degree of mounting tension.
“Everest?”
“Hmm?”
“Everest.”
“Yup?”
“Did she think you were me?”
“She definitely thought I was you.”
“EVEREST!”
“The mixtape helped.”
“How COULD you?! How could you kiss one of my girlfriends…”
“Ex-girlfriend.”
“…while she thought you were ME?!”
“I don’t know if you have noticed this or not,” Everest defends, “but I’m not a genius around girls. I didn’t realize that she thought I was you until I was well past the benefits of it and then, I just went ahead and rode that maelstrom.”
“I cannot believe this. Severe brother foul. SEVERE.”
“I wouldn’t bring up brother fouls if I were you.”
“Do NOT make this about something ELSE!”
“I wasn’t trying to kiss her. I wasn’t even trying to make her think I was you. For crying out loud, we were wearing different clothes! My hair is longer! She is NOT what I would call observant.”
“I didn’t date her for her brains.”
“Clearly.”
Five seconds of tension. And then, both brothers burst out laughing. It is a relief for both of them. After at least a minute, Harrison breaks the silence, “How did it not go well?”
“What?”
“You said the kiss did not go well. Specifically how?”
“Wasn’t really certain what to do with my teeth. I think I chewed on her bottom lip a little. That startled her, so she yelled out Harrison, which is how and when I realized she didn’t know who I was and - forget it.”
“No. Now, you are required to tell.”
“I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath. So, I exhaled really fast. Really big. Right into her mouth.”
“NO. You are lying.”
“Her eyes bugged and her nostrils popped out into little hula hoops.”
“Swear to God.”
“In the panic of it all, I spit my gum all the way back to her uvula. She gagged and then swallowed it. Kinda avoided the snack bar after that.”
“Bummer. That was free refill popcorn night.”
“In the slightly abridged words of Alfred Lord Tennyson, Better to have loved and lost free popcorn than to never have loved at all.”
“Yeah. Jokes like that are why girls don’t kiss you.”
“Noted.”
“Well - “ Harrison pauses before admitting the next sentiment, “I suppose I deserved that. Never really figured out how to end things with a girl.”
“I never really figured out how to begin things.”
“Wow. Combined, we’re the whole package.”
Both ride in silence for a while, each with a satisfied smile for wholly different reasons. Harrison finally offers, “So, how did the mixtape help?”
“Oh. The last song. Which, I know you put on there just for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Boss. I’m on Fire. Dreamy and romantic but sad. Like me.”
“Yes - and no. I’m on Fire was for you. But, it wasn’t the last song on the mixtape. You’re just supposed to think it is, because of the melancholy fade-out. But, then the mix surprises one last time.”
“With?”
“Ghostbusters.”
“Oh. I forgot. Such a dumb song.”
“Yeah. The best.”
“It really is. Put it in.”
Harrison pops the cartridge into the deck. The satisfying click and hiss that serve as prelude to a great night disappoint this time. It is not the “Best of Eighty-Four” mixtape. It is the sound of a voice mid-interview. The voice of Mother.
You cut your knee open. You really are a terrible boy, Everest.
Can I just play with Legos now?
You cut your knee open when you left the yard. Mother warns you about leaving the yard, Everest. But, you left the yard anyway and this is what happens. You cause bad things to happen.
I was chasing the squirrel out of the house.
There was no squirrel. You mustn’t lie.
It was almost a squirrel.
You mustn’t lie. And you mustn’t leave the yard. Either of those things will make very bad things happen.
The squirrel said his friends would kill Father.
There was no squirrel - and squirrels cannot say things.
He didn’t say it with words.
Everest sinks lower into the shadows of the backseat. His voice sounds eleven. Only four years ago, yet he does not remember. Or he does not want to. Shouldn’t his brother have turned this off by now? But, Harrison is transfixed, eyes solid on the road. The hum of the highway makes the din of the recorded conversation hypnotic, the hiss of awkward pause between exchanges excruciating.
I want you to draw the imaginary squirrel as you believe you saw it.
I don’t believe I saw it. I saw it. Give me my Legos back!
Legos are for boys who are not terrible. Boys who tell Mother the truth.
Give them back!
You aren’t allowed to cry, Everest. Remember Father saying you aren’t allowed to cry? Why did Father say you aren’t allowed to cry?
Crying makes bad things happen to Harrison.
That’s right. Every time Everest cries, a bad thing will happen to Harrison.
I need my Legos.
Take him out of the room.
Silence. A door shuts. And then, after a measure, a third voice emerges. A man, piping into the room on an intercom - wheezing through gritted teeth.
How the hell did an Affliction get inside this house?
Harrison gasps short and instinctively ejects the cassette out of the player. It juts out like a thumb, invading the space.
“Was that?” Harrison tightens his temples.
Everest remains in the shadows of the backseat.
Harrison looks dead into the rearview mirror, searching for a response from his brother, “That sounded like Uncle Asthma.”
Everest concurs with the thought. Though the words were brief, they were undoubtedly the voice of the man they had always been told was Father’s boss: the mysterious Uncle Asthma. Whenever he turned up, both Mother and Father deferred to him as if he controlled their fortunes and fates. In light of this audio recording and recent epiphanies, it seemed more than possible that he actually does. Everest speaks from the darkness, “I need to pull over.”
At half past two in the morning, there never seems to be a highway rest stop handy that one might label bright, cheery, or safe for trespassing. But, after a brief wander off of Exit 26 in Kentucky, Harrison pulls over at a small free-standing bathroom accompanied by a lone vending machine. The building is made of crumbling adobe and is clearly abandoned. The rain has finally subsided, leaving the witching hour world outside more maneuverable but dreary. Harrison remains inside the Yugo, maintaining a running motor and aiming the headlights toward the structure for Everest’s sake, “If they have a packet of those vanilla creme cookies, I wouldn’t say no.”
Everest wanders out, needing to clear his head more than empty his bladder. He’s feeling especially thick right now, rife with too many emotions that he definitely does not want tumbling out of his mouth. He needs to breathe. Or Chili Fritos.
Everest steps toward the vending machine. The usual nonsense. Hot Fries and Rollo’s and pink wafer bars - all looking like they’ve been sitting behind this clouded plexiglass for months. And, yes, the vanilla creme cookies. Those notebook-flavored cookies that no one in their right mind would eat if they weren’t the top of the machine’s limited food chain. Everest snaps his head paranoid, startled by the click-click of a cicada somewhere to his left in the shadows as he digs furtively in his jeans for a few crumpled bills. He attempts to smooth them on the metal edge of the machine, the only way they might work. Holding the one-spot up to the light and deeming it smooth enough, Everest inserts the bill, only to have it kick back out with a lit machine notation of coins only.
“Dang it. Harrison.” Everest calls out and takes a few steps toward the Yugo, only to see his brother fast-asleep in the driver’s seat, engine humming low.
Everest reaches deeper into his right pocket as he turns back toward the vending machine and, with a glance, feels all of the color drain from his face.
Everest is no longer alone.
There, seated on the bench by the ladies bathroom entrance, absolutely still - is a woman. Native American braids in her grandmotherly hair. She sits, mouth agape and utterly motionless, staring into the void. She seems dulled, her head elsewhere. Strapped to her back, a sleeping baby, his head turned away from Everest. The woman was not seated there before. She was certainly not there before.
Everest locks eyes on her as he pivots slowly back to the machine, hand still snug in his pocket, praying for easy access to quarters. A wheeze pushes out of the woman’s decrepit lips, “Huuuuu….”
Everest feels the sweat flow down the small of his back now, “Hello,” he offers as he swallows, “Are you - are you okay?” The words seem an entreaty, but Everest does not dare move in her direction.
“Huuuungry.”
“Oh, of course. Of course. Yes. I may have something here.” Everest takes what meager change he discovers and pours it all into the machine, fingers fumbling. Dropping a necessary dime rolling just out of easy reach underneath the machine, “Come on.” He bends down to fetch it.
“Huuuungry.”
Come on, Everest. Keep it together. Be polite. Be generous. Then get back to the car. Get the hell out of Kentucky. What am I thinking getting out of the car in the armpit of hell at two-thirty in the morning?! None of these thoughts bring solace, but Everest cannot help spinning, “Is that your baby? Is that your baby, miss? Does your baby need food?”
“Pleeeeeease. Hungry.”
Finally, the dime. Everest clinks it into the machine and thumbs Q4 - cheese and crackers. A baby can have that, right? The gears turn, the ka-lump of stale carbs landing in the clumsy retrieve vestibule, and Everest finally has the donation in hand.
He approaches her slowly, guarded, but wanting to make good on his promise. The woman’s eyes never once fall upon him. He would wonder if she could even hear him if it weren’t for her left hand slowly raising to receive the gift. Reticent to stand too close, Everest reaches at arm’s length and places the cheese and crackers in the woman’s hand. At that precise moment, the infant peeks out from behind the woman’s neck, meeting Everest’s gaze. A faint yellow glow emanating from its eyes.
A sensation overwhelms Everest. Something about those yellow eyes mesmerizes him, gripping him like a tractor beam.
The woman stands. She turns and wanders slowly into the trees, away from the beams of the Yugo.
Everest knows he should return to Harrison, every muscle in his body yearning to get back inside that Yugo. But, something outside of his own control compels Everest to follow the woman. Warning signs go off in Everest’s mind. What is happening? Don’t do this. Get out of this place. And yet, Everest continues to follow into the dark, wet woods - past the reach of the car’s headlights.
Regret overwhelms Everest as he struggles to not trip over jutting stones, bracing himself against beech trees for safety. What the hell am I doing? Turn around, Everest! It’s 2:30 in the morning in the middle of nowhere Kentucky. Stop following this stranger! And yet, Everest persists - as if his body has a different agenda than his common sense. He hears the ripple of nearby water in motion, and he can only see the silver top of the woman’s hair in the glow of the moonlight, just now peeking out behind dissipating storm clouds. She is moving more quickly than he is, in a daze as if she isn’t even steering herself. The eyes of the infant lock on Everest now. They make him feel queasy, but he finds that he cannot break that gaze. He cannot stop his own legs from the follow.
Everest hears the groan of wind pressing against metal ahead before he sees its source. As the clouds momentarily dissipate to reveal the full moon, an enormous structure just past the woods becomes illuminated. At the far edge of this cluster of beech trees, a cliff overhangs the rocky shore of a rushing river. Jutting out over the cliff ’s edge, a long-abandoned link of three cattle cars rests atop a stretch of train trestle bridge, stretching out far, high above the river. The trestle itself has collapsed halfway across this chasm, ending in a mangled deathtrap, the broken rail edges drifting downward. The cattle cars themselves are covered in threatening graffiti. They appear rusted and more than precarious, swaying slightly against the strong gusts of wind. Each movement an agonizing creak of a death rattle.
Everest hears feet against metal and he realizes the woman is climbing inside the rear cattle car. Before he grabs the bar to pull himself up to the first step, Everest knows deep down that there is nothing he can do to stop himself from following inside.
Harrison jolts awake with a wide-eyed swallow. How long has he been out? He rubs the sleep out of the corners of his eyes and glances up to urge Everest to hurry back. But, Everest is not there. Harrison turns to the vacant backseat. What the actual hell? He puts the car into reverse and starts to roam slowly, allowing the headlights to do the wandering. He sees Everest, but barely - at the top of the wood on the hill, his brother entering an abandoned link of train cars set atop a lane of tracks teetering high over a rushing river chasm. As Everest steps on board, Harrison sees it - ever so slightly, the train begins to move.
The sheet metal floor creaks with an echo underfoot as Everest keeps pace inside the train with the woman and this child. A gust fills the train car, side doors barely cracked open but allowing just enough moonlight to reveal that Everest and the old woman are far from alone. Everest begins to hear whispers - but not from the woman. From the infant - or no, not an infant - the thing strapped to her back, momentarily releasing the toothless parasitic mouth it uses to suckle on the back of her neck, turning and locking its eyes on Everest. It’s ancient, decrepit, corpse-like eyes. This is not a baby. This tiny gaunt thing is akin to death. Everest’s heart begins to race as he realizes it is one of the terrors. The things he sees. It hisses at him, “Huuuungry. Huuuungry.” And it is not alone.
As Everest keeps pace, all around him are vacant faces, drooling, numbed. Real people, but not so real any more. A ray of moonlight reveals needle marks in their arms. He sees the situation precisely for the first time. These are addicts. Squatting in this abandoned length of box cars, these junkies are unaware of the invisible leeches that invade each from behind. Afflictions that are always drawing from them, sucking them dry, dehumanizing them and perpetuating their unrelenting state of insatiable craving. It is an unimaginable horror given the sudden clarity. Everest has seen this sort of entity before - but never more than one at a time. These things (these, as Uncle Asthma called them, Afflictions) are something altogether different than Everest had understood. They have a vile purpose for their victims of choice. A very specific intent. Everest is chilled to the core but cannot expose that he is aware. He knows the Afflictions can see him. But, do they know he can see them as well? V0Go said they would be looking for him. Now that his powers have begun taking shape, they would have a way to find him. But, did these know that he was the one for whom they are searching? Everest swallows hard in an earnest attempt to maintain his desperate secret.
As he shuffles his way through the doped-out horde, the actual people do not notice Everest in their midst. They moan, perpetually asleep yet sleepless, numbed to the threat, their undoing. The old woman finds her pile of people and disappears into it, the Affliction on her back sinking its gums into her throat, never letting his eyes leave Everest as he passes. Everest attempts to glance away, to not betray the secret of his understanding. He cannot stop himself from continuing to walk forward. A shaft of moonlight reveals there is someone - something else entirely waiting for him at the far end of this rotting carcass of a train.
“Boy.”
The word out of the echoed metallic shadow of nothing hollows Everest. He did not expect to be addressed, to have anyone in this nightmare be acutely aware of his presence. Something bangs abruptly against the side of the train, startling Everest and prompting words out of his mouth.
“The woman was hungry,” Everest stammers, surprised to hear his own voice out loud, “I was only trying to help. I’m leaving now.”
“You do not leave.”
Not a good answer. Everest hears an upheaval of skin, the shifting of a great weight. Then, leaning into the moonlight from the far back wall, a mound of a man, layers upon layers of rolling fat, bulbous and undulating. The largest person Everest has ever seen. If it is, indeed, a person. At this juncture, all bets are off.
The voice continues, “No one leaves.”
“I - I don’t belong here. I’m not one of them.”
“Them? They are not them. They are mine.” He says mine with a bite of ownership, “Are you authority?”
“Authority?”
“The law?”
“No - no. I’m not a threat to your enterprise. I’m - I’m fifteen.”
“Everything that I do not own,” his body heaves with movement, the words coming out slow like a gas expelled, “is a threat to my enterprise.”
“I am leaving now.”
“You are - not.”
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake coming here.”
“Indeed.”
And the click of a cicada to his left causes Everest’s head to jerk. Only it isn’t a cicada. It is the toothless mouth of one of these bratbacks with the fist-sized emaciated skulls, clicking its tongue against its lips in signal to its sibling parasites in the darkness. It sees that Everest can see it. It now knows that Everest can hear it. It clicks again and again, triggering its siblings to echo the sentiment. One-at-a-time, they each release their victim and begin clicking their mucous-covered tongues against lips, Everest panicking - his eyes darting left and right, making eye contact with each in the confusion and terror.
And then - silence.
A harrowing howl of wind sweeps in and overwhelms the cavernous metallic husk, and a ghostly chorus of decrepit whispers creak in unison, The boy knoooooooows…
The mountainous thing at the end of the train fully realizes the Exceptional nature of Everest. And in a sudden flurry, the body of the gelatinous mass reveals its secret. The trafficker, the actual human pusher to whom Everest had been speaking - the person - is himself not large at all - he is as gaunt as the rest, as hollow-eyed. More paranoid and unfettered and likely violent, yes - but no larger in size. But, to the eyes of Everest, he is covered in an undulating sea of Afflictions - each the shape of a severed and decaying human hand, clutching at the man as if hanging on to his meager life force in order to empty it. And they are all now releasing him to give chase.
In a sudden scream and a violent rush, the vile appendages burst into a scatter and Everest explodes with a bold cry of “HARRISON!” at the precise moment that his brother, having abandoned the Yugo, physically seizes Everest from behind.
“Everest! GET OUT!”
And the hundreds of hands skitter like enormous decaying spiders in pursuit of these rare and unexpected young men who are fully aware that the monsters exist. Hands from every direction trample and scurry over numbed bodies, all completely unaware of the violation. They climb the walls and grab at Everest and Harrison by the ankles as the brothers sprint. Trying to get a firm hold, in order to overtake the boys. Now that they have been discovered, the fiends intend to complete their mission here and drag the brothers down with the remnant of these degenerates into the shadowy depths of the water below.
They are fast approaching the way out at the far end as Everest sees swarms of hands scaling the walls, attempting to surround him and his brother and to block the path of their escape. The movement of it all causes the boxcar to begin to roll. The bottom entry car is now askew, tilted downward, careening over the collapsed edge of the train tracks, dangling above the river. A creak, a groan, and the floor underneath the boys tilts, gravity threatening their existence. Drug-addled men and women begin to slide, oblivious. Some slip out the door, with barely a coherent murmur heard from their mouths as they plunge into the water, their certain end.
“The ladder! The ladder to the roof!” Harrison bursts while half-throwing his brother toward the lower rung of the only option for escape. Everest and Harrison scramble upward to the roof of the train, the hands quickly changing their own trajectory, jettisoning themselves toward the boys in a flurry.
Everest makes it first into the moonlight atop and Harrison is hot on his heels until the fingers of the many Afflictions grope at Harrison from just beneath the trap door, dragging his body downward. Everest leaps, seizing his wrists around Harrison’s arms just like his brother taught him. He pulls Harrison up to momentary freedom and the two of them smash their feet down hard on the monstrosities attempting to scramble upward and gain a fingerhold. Many slide off the train edge, but there is an overwhelming horde of them - and Everest and Harrison find themselves near-consumed with the onslaught, crawling atop one another, scrambling like wounded animals, outstretched fingers desperate for a final taste of actual life-force.
The train tilts more, enough to shift the dynamic - and Everest and Harrison smack away the few severed hands that are grappling themselves up the boys’ bodies. Amid the chaos, they do not notice that every time they hit one of the monsters hard, it splits and forms two more.
Harrison seizes Everest’s shoulders and looks him square in the eye, “Run - run faster than you ever have, Everest - and do not hesitate!”
The train begins to severely lurch forward now, speeding off backward underfoot as they traverse its roof, full cars spilling violently off of the decrepit track and into the wild river beneath. The hands are now a fast-approaching swarm. Pulled by his brother in front of him, Everest feels the necessity of running faster than ever before. The two brothers sprint, lungs burning, angling upward and upward as the disembodied hands grip and tug and just barely lose hold. Everest sees that the space between the train underneath them and the precipice they need to reach is a growing chasm. He knows deep down that he will never be able to muster the strength to bridge it with a leap.
Just then, Everest feels a sudden and unexpected jolt of adrenaline. As the far lip of the train - its end by more than one definition - capsizes backward into the sky to hurtle itself down into its watery grave, the twin brothers leap from its escalating tip, landing and seizing the grass precipice at the edge of the Kentucky birch wood. They are safe.
The train - the sea of severed hands still digging their fingernails into its rusty carcass, and the end of many ruined lives all crash with a tragic tumult into the cold, cold depths of the river below.
Harrison is heaving gusts of expelled breath.
Everest retches, throwing up nothing. Then, he bursts into tears. Harrison places his palm on Everest’s chest, “Are you HURT?! Everest, please - PLEASE! Where are you hurt?!” But, Harrison quickly realizes that it is not that kind of pain.
“You can SEE THEM! Harrison, you could always see them!”
Everest sobs, slowly and unrelenting. Years of amassed grief spilling out of him like broken glass.
Harrison rolls over in his own silence, warming his brother tenderly - wiping the sweat from his twin’s brow. Everest’s tears come hard and relentless.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ever tell me that you knew they were really there?”
Visit www.EverestandtheExceptions.com for more information about Mark Steele’s forthcoming adventure novel. There, you will find character dossiers, music playlists, and other news to keep you waiting for the book’s debut in October 2024
Next: Read “EVEREST & THE EXCEPTIONS” Chapter 7 PREVIEW: the horrific and thrilling continuation of Mark Steele’s upcoming fictional novel coming in October 2024.