Page 38 of Battle Mountain

Someone—Double-A?—came into the room with their headlamp every four to six hours, and he’d feel a sharp prick on his right forearm. Then he’d drift away. They were drugging him. He assumed it was to keep him quiet and out of it.

He’d only awaken when he’d hear either muted conversations through the door in the next room, Rankin’s animal-like grunts, or gunshots.

How many of them were there? And what were their plans for him? For Rankin?

—

The door openedand the light from the next room hit him in the eyes, making him wince. He hadn’t heard anyone approaching the door, but he recognized Double-A by her silhouette.

She said, “The younger one is awake right now” to someone behind her in the other room. Then, to Eisele, “Good morning. It’s time for your medication.”

“Please—I don’t want any. I think I might be hungry, though.”

“Are you, now?” she asked without kindness.

“I think Mr. Rankin is dying,” Eisele said. “You’ve got to help him.”

Double-A ignored him. She seemed preoccupied by something going on behind her in the lit room. Then she stepped to the side and a lean figure glided into the room as if he were walking on air. It was otherworldly, and Eisele thought he might be seeing things that weren’t there. The man was outside the room one moment, and then he was standing right next to his cot as if he had floated there. Eisele could feel his presence.

“Can we have a little light?” the man asked Double-A over his shoulder. She responded by twisting the lens of a headlamp until it shone into the room. The beam danced up the length of Eisele in the cot, but there was enough ambient glow that he could see more of the man standing next to him.

Eisele realized the man hadn’t been floating after all, but had deftly propelled himself into the room using crutches. Like Double-A, he was dressed in rumpled camo.

“Thank you, Double-A,” the man said to her in a kind voice.

The figure at his cot was in his early thirties; his thin, gaunt, craggy face with sharp facial features was shadowed by the beam of the headlamp. He had high cheekbones, sunken cheeks, and a buzz cut with a growth of beard approximately the same length. The man’s eyes were piercing, and he looked at Eisele with the cool dispassion of a bird of prey.

“My boss is dying,” Eisele said, assuming the man was in charge of the frontier village. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

“That’s out of the question,” the man said quickly.

“I haven’t eaten anything since I’ve been here.”

“You seem to be doing okay.” Without turning toward her, he said, “Double-A, see if you can get him some food. There should be some leftovers in the mess hall.”

“Sure,” Double-A said. “Then it’s time for his medication.”

Eisele asked, “Do you think you could take the cardboard down from the windows? It’s like a cave in here.”

“I’ll think about it, but no promises,” the man said.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Axel.”

“Thank you,” Eisele said. “What was all that shooting about that I heard earlier?”

“Drills.”

“Drills? For what?”

“You ask a lot of questions and make a lot of demands,” Axel said flatly. “You’re lucky we kept you alive. Frankly, there was adebate about it. My commanders voted and it was two to one in favor of keeping you alive. I was with the majority.”

Eisele thought,Commanders?, but didn’t say it.

Instead, Eisele said, “I thank you for that. But I’m really worried about my boss. I think he’s spiraling.”

Axel turned and beheld Spike Rankin in the next cot. As he did so, Rankin grunted weakly.

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