Chapter 104: Old Crow

 

It was a four-hour flight to Old Crow. The Gulf Stream was svelte and elegant and cut through the air with silent efficacy, cruising just shy of the speed of sound and with enough gas to make the return flight without needing to refuel.

Yadriel was like a kid at Christmas. He let out a cry of sheer amazement as he entered the plane and then stopped, taking in the huge leather seats, the teak dining tables between groups of four, the geometric patterns on the rich gray carpet, the huge port hole windows.

“Man, I made it!” He tossed his duffel bag into the arms of the steward and leaped into the closest seat, stretching out with a pointed sigh of contentment as he interlaced his fingers behind his head and kicked out his legs. “Yo, you guys got any champagne up in here?”

“We do, sir,” said the steward with obvious good training. “Would Moet Chandon suffice?”

“Moet Chandon? You ain’t got Crystal?”

Serenity smacked Yadriel upside the head as she passed him, the other filing in behind. People dropped into the seats, almost everyone still beholden to the luxuries of the old world that they couldn’t help but gaze around themselves with some small measure of wonder and appreciation.

The main cabin had seating for ten, the plane being divided into two areas, and James sat in the back with Kerim, Serenity, and Olaf. After a brief wait, the jet pulled out onto the airstrip. A single figure was directing them with a glowstick, and James looked past the man at the dark bulk of JFK airport. The terminals were dark, the machines and cars and luggage trucks sitting silent. Was there a skeleton crew keeping things moving? Or had military folks come out here just to get them off the ground?

They took off smoothly, and a moment later the steward came down the length of the plane with a silver tray of chocolate dipped strawberries in one hand, another bearing flutes of champagne.

“Thanks hon,” said Serenity, flashing the man a smile. “You’re the best.”

“Enjoy,” said the dude. “Something tells me these may be the last chocolate strawberries in the world.”

James turned his over in his fingers and then took a bite. “Damn good.”

Olaf leaned forward, his champagne flute dwarfed by his massive fingers. “One thing I have been wanting to know: do you think there is chance we go back to normal after this is over?”

James exchanged a glance with Serenity. “Normal?”

“Yah. Chocolate covered strawberries. Good TV shows. People happy and living good lives again.”

James sat back. “That’s a hell of a question.”

“We’ve already lost, what, almost half our species?” asked Serenity.

“About that, yes,” said Kerim. “Though the ability to detail losses has degraded as we’ve lost more people. Given everything I’ve seen, however, I don’t think it would be untoward to guess three or four billion dead, especially in light of this fourth wave.”

Olaf frowned. “But we can win?”

“What does winning mean?” asked James softly.

“Defeat the Nemeses. Clean the Pits. Win.”

“Not the way things are going,” replied James. “I don’t think so. There’s an intelligence behind what’s going on, but I don’t get the sense it wants to leave us new and improved after the dust’s settled.”

Olaf drained his flute in one pull and set the glass on the glossy table before him. “Then what do you think it wants?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.” James looked at Kerim. “Professor?”

“Nobody knows, obviously. But it’s clear we’re rewarded for certain behaviors. We level as a result of using our powers to kill demons, and level faster for working in teams. The challenges that are thrown our way are always surmountable after terrible losses. It’s clear this System wants us to reach the Pits, to evolve and grow. It would have been simple to deprive us of Manna bread and cause mass starvation. But they didn’t. Our Fabricators can construct everything from shirts to War Hounds.”

“So the System is like parents?” asked Olaf dubiously. “Stick and apple?”

“Yes,” said Kerim after a moment’s hesitation. “But we still don’t know to what end. Are we a source of amusement? Do the demonic leaders watch us to see how long we will last, and place bets? Or is this meant to be a form of spiritual purification, so that the worthy - as determined by demonic morality - are rewarded if they survive long enough? Do the odds only grow forever until all are slain, or is there a hidden end point beyond which every survivor inherits the Earth? We don’t know.”

“They’re bastards,” said Serenity, tapping the base of her flute against her knee. “We know that much. They pretend to help us, but it’s as James said. We’re meant to suffer and grow weaker with every wave. As a species. Whoever’s in charge is a fuckin’ sadist.”

James nodded. “Yeah. That’s the feeling I get. The Benedictions, the Virtues, all of it. They’re tools, but insufficient. We’re being bled out as a species. The question is for how long we’ll remain distracted by our new shinies while the rest of us die.”

Olaf’s frown deepened. “So you do not think we can win?”

“Not if we play according to their rules. Hence this trip.” James saw the pain in Olaf’s eyes. “I’m sorry, big guy. I don’t think there’s any going back to the way things were. But if we fight smart instead of just hard, maybe we can create our own future, not just the one the demons want.”

Olaf sat back, crossed his arms, and stared out the window. Up front laughter broke out; someone had made a musical selection, and some bounce music had come up, the beat infectious, the bass deep. Kimmie jumped up and began to dance with surprising fluidity, prompting Yadriel to leap up and move behind her to start hip thrusting. She laughed, turned, and shoved him in the chest so that he fell back into his chair.

“I’m in love, yo!” Yadriel grinned up to Kimmie. “I didn’t know you could move like that, girl! Let’s make babies.”

Serenity snorted. “Guess some things never change.”

“Thank god,” said James, feeling as old as he was amused, and clinked his flute with hers before taking another sip.

* * *

They descended into Old Crow in the middle of the night. There was nothing to see outside the window but endless darkness. It felt like descending into the depths of a maritime trench. Down they flew, the pilot’s voice muffled from the cockpit as he made the occasional statement over the radio, and the whole plane grew silent as everybody crowded around the windows.

Nothing.

No moon, no illumination.

The steward bade them all buckle up, and half an hour later they landed, the runway gravely, the pilot skilled so that there was barely a bump.

“Welcome to Old Crow, Yukon Territory,” said the pilot over the comms. “The local time is 11:31 PM, and the temperature is -32 degrees Fahrenheit. The airport here is pretty bare bones, but I believe there are a couple of people on hand to help with your bags and get you oriented. Give us a moment and we’ll have you figured out.”

“Negative 32?” mouthed Serenity.

The seatbelt light switched off, and everybody began pulling out parkas and winter gear from their backpacks. James did the same, and for the next five minutes the cabin was full of the sound of synthetic fabrics rubbing on each other, muffled laughter, and people getting ready for the brutal cold.

Rupert, the steward, pushed out the doorway and helped direct a push-staircase up to the side of the plane. He helped affix the railing, then descended into the blistering cold, the others crowding after.

James paused at the top of the metal staircase. There wasn’t much to take in. A small building with sloping roofs stood close by, lit up by exterior lamps and with its windows blazing yellow. The airport terminal. The cold was wicked, and he hunched his shoulders as he descended to the runway, which was packed dirt.

Two men were helping Rupert unload their baggage, but one straightened and pointed a heavily gloved hand toward the building. “Wait inside the terminal,” he said, voice gruff. “Sarah is waiting for you inside. Warmer.”

Nobody needed further prompting. Hefting their bags, everybody hurried across the snow to the terminal.

I’m going to take a quick look around, said Jelly. Be right with you.

They pushed their way into the large, empty-feeling building. It was new construction, the polished cement floor covered in huge black rugs, one side dominated by AirNorth kiosks, classic airport seating for a dozen people filling up the rest of the space.

The place was empty but for a woman in a fur-fringed parka, who smiled widely as they all entered the warm light. “Hello! Welcome to Old Crow, the northernmost non-Inuit community in North America, and the only one located north of the Arctic Circle.”

“Sarah?” asked James, moving forward.

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“Yes, Sarah Josie. I own the Porcupine Bed and Breakfast. We don’t have enough space to accommodate you all comfortably, but your point of contact, a, ah, Star Boy?”

“Yeah,” sighed James. “Star Boy.”

“Yes, he has already settled your accounts for the next week and asked that I help get you situated. You are military like the others?”

“The others?” asked Serenity.

Sarah’s eyes widened slightly. “The other teams? You are the third group to arrive this week. The larger Ch’oo Deenjik Accommodations are taken by them?”

“No ma’am,” said James. “We’re not with anybody else. You catch who they were?”

“Yes sir, the first group arrived three days ago. Canadian military, they helped us with the Nemesis 3’s. The second group arrived this afternoon by helicopter from White Horse. I think they’re also American?”

“American military?” Jason’s head reared back. “Here?”

“Yes sir,” said Sarah nodding firmly. “They were asking about Patrick Belanger?”

James felt everything grow still. “You know Belanger?”

Sarah made a face. “Old Crow is a very small community, sir. Everybody here knows everyone else.”

“Is he here? In town?”

“No sir, Patrick never came into town much, and not since his arrest a few months back.” Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Why is everybody so interested in him? What has he done?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” said James heavily. “You know where he lives?”

“He claimed the old Billington homestead when he moved into the area a couple of years back. That’s a good fifteen miles north, accessible by snowmobile. Was he telling the truth? About the apocalypse?”

“There’s a chance he was,” said James. Sarah’s wariness was growing rapidly, her suspicion and alarm. “We don’t want to get him in any trouble. We just want to talk to him, see what he knows. It’s why we’ve flown up here from New York. Just to talk and see if what he knows could help.”

“I see. Well, you can speak to Robbie tomorrow about snowmobiles if you want to get out there. If they haven’t all been rented already.”

“Great,” said Yadriel. “We shoulda brought the Wings.”

“Yeah, should of just stashed them in the overhead compartments,” said Denzel.

“Maybe we can get situated at your B&B,” said James. “Talk a little more there?”

“Sure. It’s not far, but you won’t want to walk in this cold. I can fit three of you in my truck at a time. I can take you there in groups.”

“Sounds great, thank you.”

“Thank you,” said Kimmie with a broad smile. “We will appreciate everything you’re doing.”

For a moment James expected to feel Kimmie’s power, for her to start working on Sarah’s reluctance with Inspire, but when it didn’t come he felt a sense of relief.

The two guys brought in the last of their suitcases, and it turned out Rupert and the pilot, Captain Jeramy, were going to be staying closed by at one of their homes until needed for the return flight.

Everybody said their thank you’s and goodnights, and then Sarah took James, Olaf, and Kimmie out to her truck.

The cold was wicked, and James hunched over the backseat as Sarah turned on her truck and put the heater to blasting. It didn’t do anything, and the layers of arctic gear felt useless as he hugged himself and stared out the window.

Old Crow was a tiny community set alongside a broad river, the roads broad like avenues, the buildings dwarfed by the immensity of the starlit skies and looking to be mostly log cabins or other single story buildings. The truck drove slowly through the snow, and four minutes later pulled up outside Sarah’s home.

It was a large wooden building with a peaked roof and nothing to indicate it was a B&B. A solitary pine tree grew at an angle as if it had been hit by a car, and the motion sensor light lit up the white snow that blanketed everything.

Sarah led them inside with forced cheer. The interior was warm and homey, with patterned blankets thrown over couches or hanging like tapestries from the wooden walls. There were three small rooms in the back, each large enough for two, and Sarah had clearly prepared for them by turning the living room into a campsite that could accommodate another three.

“Coffee’s there, tea, you can raid the fridge, make yourselves at home.” Sarah smiled and returned to the front door. “I’ll be right back with the next lot.”

Half an hour later they were all present, and the building felt packed, voices interlacing, people stomping around, the fireplace roaring. Kimmie helped Sarah make hot chocolates for everybody, and folks paired off while Yadriel, Jason, and Kimmie claimed the couch and sleeping bags laid out in the living room.

James waited for the right moment, and when Sarah was left alone in the kitchen stepped inside with a handful of dirty mugs and moved to the sink.

“Oh, you’re fine, I’ll clean those in the morning.”

“Happy to help,” he murmured. There was no dishwasher. He took up a sponge and small bottle of dish liquid. “You been in Old Crow long?”

“My whole life,” she said, turning to regard him. “Feels like it, anyways. I moved here in ‘93 to marry Pete. He passed five years ago, and now I think I’m here for good, though I’ve a sister who keeps telling me to move to Dawson City.” She considered him. “But you just want to know about Belanger.”

“Guilty as charged.” He set a dripping mug aside. “You remember anything about his arrest?”

“At least you’re straight forward about it. Yes, was a big to-do. He’d only come into town a dozen times, less and less as time went by. Word was he’d claimed the homestead, though I don’t know how, that old place was half collapsed. But he bought some tools and an old snowmobile. Not sure where he got the money from, Kevin said his notes were all crumpled and old like he’d been sitting on them for several decades. He’d come in for supplies, but nobody really liked him. Too…” Sarah paused, looking for the right word. “Wild? Like he was more wolf than man. But he was tough. Like old roots. You’d have to be, to live out there by yourself.”

“Mmmhmm,” said James, setting another mug aside.

“Anyways, he kept to himself and we were glad to leave him alone. But then on the 19th he showed up yelling about the apocalypse. He tore across town, trying to find someone to listen to him. Some of the boys confronted him, told him to simmer down, and he started throwing punches. That got him arrested, but he broke free somehow and got back out onto his snowmobile. Left town. Chief Anderson filed his report, and then everything went to hell.”

Sarah sighed and stared out at nothing. “Guess Belanger had been right. Anyways, some military types came out to investigate Anderson’s report, flew out to homestead in a chopper. There was no sign of Belanger, but there was a demon symbol thing floating above his house. It’s still there, last we heard.”

“Huh.” James turned and crossed his arms. “Nobody’s seen Belanger since?”

“No. And if he don’t want to be found, nobody will, either. It’s a big country out there. Belanger’s comfortable with the wilderness. If he’s gone to ground, nobody will find him.” Sarah’s gaze turned hard. “Not you, not the other soldiers, not anybody.”

James, there are two men watching your building from across the road. They’re using military gear I don’t recognize. Want me to buzz them?

No, hold on. I’ll be with you in a sec.

“I see. Well. Thanks for the information, Sarah. It’s much appreciated.”

“It’s been a month since Patrick disappeared. Whatever you’re looking for, Mr. Kelly, I can tell you one thing: it’s long gone.”

James pushed off the counter. “We’ll just have to see about that. Good night, Ms. Sarah.” And he stepped past her to rejoin his crew.

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