Justin Cronin - The Twelve

“Quiet!” Cruk barked. “Tifty, goddamnit, what is it?”

Vorhees felt it through his knees. A rumbling, like thunder, followed by a shrieking groan of metal gears engaging. The sound was coming from behind them.

Tifty jumped to his feet. “Get out of here!”

It was water. The sound Vorhees was hearing was water being released from the impoundment. One vent and then the next and then the next, moving in a line. That’s what Tifty had seen.

They would be smashed to pieces.

Vorhees rose and grabbed Boz by the arm to yank him away, but the boy wriggled free.

“I want to see him!”

“There’s nothing there!”

The boy’s voice cracked with tears. “There is, there is!”

Boz made a dash for the outlet. Tifty and the others were already racing toward the ladder. The sound of thunder was closer now. The adjacent tube had released; theirs would be next. In another few seconds, a wall of water would slam into them. At the tunnel’s mouth Vorhees gripped his brother around the waist, but the boy held fast to the bars.

“I see him! It’s Coffee!”

With all his might, Vorhees pulled; the two of them crashed to the floor. The others were calling: Come on, come on! Vorhees gripped his brother by the hand and began to run. Cruk was waving at them from the base of the ladder. Vorhees felt a pop of pressure in his ears; an ice-cold wind was pushing in his face. As Cruk disappeared up the ladder, Vorhees began to ascend, his brother right behind him.

Then the water arrived.

It slammed him like a fist, a hundred fists, a thousand. Below him, Boz cried out in terror. Vorhees managed to keep his grasp on the ladder, but could do nothing more; to release even one hand was to be swept away. Water swarmed his nose and mouth. He tried to call his brother’s name, but no sound came. This was how it ends, he thought. One mistake and everything was over. It was so simple. Why didn’t people die like this more often? But they did, he realized, as his grip on the ladder began to fail. They died like this all the time.

It was Cruk who pulled him free. Cruk, who would forever be his friend; who would one day stand with him while he married Dee; who would watch over his children on the day when everyone had brought the children for a summer picnic in the field; who would join him in the final battles of their lives, many miles and years away. As Vorhees’s hands tore away, Cruk reached down and seized him by the wrist and yanked him upward, and the next thing Vorhees knew they were climbing, they were ascending the shaft to safety.

But not Boz. The boy’s body wouldn’t be recovered until the next morning, crushed against the bars. Maybe he’d seen Coffee and maybe he hadn’t. Tifty never gave them an answer. Over time, Vorhees came to think it didn’t matter. Even if he had, there’d be no comfort in it.

By midday, the detassling crew had covered sixteen acres. The sun was blazing, not a cloud in the sky; even the children, after a morning of games and laughter, had retreated to the shelter. At the pump, Vorhees removed his hat, filled a cup and drank, then filled it again to pour the water over his face. He removed his sweat-sodden shirt and wiped himself down with it. God almighty, it was hot.

The women and children had already eaten. Beneath the shelter, the work crew gathered for lunch. Bread and butter, hard-boiled eggs, cured meat, blocks of cheese, pitchers of water and lemonade. Cruk came down from the tower to fill a plate; Tifty was nowhere to be seen. Well, so what? Tifty could do as he liked. They ate heartily, without speaking. Soon all of them would be dozing in the shade.

“One hour,” Vorhees said after a while, rising from the table. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

He ascended the stairs to the top of the tower, where he found Cruk scanning the field with the binoculars. His rifle was resting against the rail.

“Anything interesting out there?”

For a second, Cruk didn’t answer. He passed Vorhees the binoculars. “Six o’clock, through the tree line. Tell me what that is.”

Vorhees looked. Nothing at all, just trees and the dry brown hills beyond. “What do you think you saw?”

“I don’t know. Something shiny.”

“Like metal?”

“Yeah.”

After a moment, Vorhees drew the binoculars away. “Well, it’s not there now. Maybe it was just the sun flaring in the lenses.”

“Probably that’s it.” Cruk took a sip of water from his bottle. “How’s it going down there?”

“They’ll all be asleep soon enough. A lot of the kids are down already. I don’t think anybody expected it to be this hot.”

“July in Texas, brother.”

“Gunnar wanted to know if he could help. That boy is all heart and no sense.”

Cruk took up his rifle. “What did you tell him?”

“Just you wait. Someday you’ll realize how crazy you sound.”

Cruk laughed. “And yet we were the same. Couldn’t wait to get out into the world.”

“Maybe you couldn’t.”

Cruk fell silent, gazing out over the rail. Vorhees sensed that something was troubling his friend.

“Listen,” Cruk began, “I made a decision, and I wanted you to hear it from me. You know there’s talk about the Expeditionary getting back together.”

Vorhees had heard these rumors, too. It was nothing new; rumors circulated all the time. Since Coffee and his men had disappeared—how many years ago?—the subject had never really died completely.

“People are always saying that.”

“This time it’s not just talk. The military’s taking volunteers from the DS, looking to build a unit of two hundred men.”

Vorhees searched his friend’s face. What was he telling him? “Cruk, you can’t be seriously thinking about it. That was all kid stuff.”

Cruk shrugged. “Maybe it was, back then. And I know how you feel about it, after what happened to Boz. But look at my life, Vor. I never married. I don’t have a family of my own. What was I waiting for?”

The meaning sank in all at once. “Jesus. You already signed on, didn’t you?”

Cruk nodded. “I turned in my resignation from the DS yesterday. It won’t be official until I take the oath, though.”

Vorhees felt stunned.

“Look, don’t tell Dee,” Cruk pressed. “I want to do it.”

“She’ll take it hard.”

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you first.”

The conversation was broken by the sound of a pickup coming down the service road. It drew into the staging area and pulled up to the shelter; Tifty climbed out. He stepped to the rear of the truck and drew down the tailgate.

“Now, what’s he got?”

They were watermelons. Everyone crowded around; Tifty began to carve them up, passing fat, dripping wedges to the children. Watermelons! What a treat, on a day like this!

“For Christ’s sake,” Vorhees groaned, watching the performance. “Where the hell would he get those?”

“Where does Tifty get anything? You got to hand it to the guy, though. He’s not going to die friendless.”

“Did I say that?”

Cruk looked at him. “You don’t have to like him, Vor. That’s not for me to say. But he’s trying. You’ve got to give him that.”

The door to the stairs opened. Dee stepped out, carrying two plates, each bearing a pink wedge of melon.

“Tifty brought—”

“Thanks. We saw.”

Her face fell with an expression Vorhees knew too well. Let it go. Please, just for today. They’re only watermelons .

Cruk took the plates from her. “Thanks, Dee. That’ll really hit the spot. Tell Tifty thanks.”

She glanced at Vorhees, then returned her eyes to her brother. “I’ll do that.”

Vorhees knew he looked like a resentful fool, just as he knew that if he didn’t say something, change the subject, he’d carry this sour feeling inside him for the rest of the day.