Razor Mountain — Chapter 32.2

Razor Mountain is a serial novel, with new parts published every week or two. For more info, visit the Razor Mountain landing page.

General Reese had an almost cartoonishly military bearing. He was, after all, a man who had spent his life in the service, and his current position was as much about acting the part as it was about administrative competence. Today, however, there was something off, something ever-so-slightly loose or sloppy about the way he walked, a little ahead and to the right of Christopher, down the dull gray back halls of Razor Mountain.

“When did they arrive?” Christopher asked.

“What? Oh, about 05:00 this morning,” Reese said.

“I’ve had meetings with some of the secretaries, but we haven’t had the chance to talk, one on one,” Christopher said. “How are you feeling about everything that’s happened?”

Reese shrugged. “It’s hard to know what to make of it. I’ve done what I always do. Keep doing the work. We’ll sort everything out in due time.”

“That’s a good outlook,” Christopher said. “I tend to favor the long view of most things.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose so.”

“You have a son, don’t you?” Christopher asked. Reese visibly flinched.

Christopher let his left hand drift past his hip, ready to reach for the pistol stuck into his belt at the small of his back. But Reese kept walking without turning around to address him.

“Yes, he’s doing well. Made Captain just last year.”

“You must be proud.”

Reese nodded. “He’s a good man, and a fine soldier.”

Christopher felt almost as though he were watching a play, even though he was playing his part. He could sense God-Speaker directing all of it. The questions, to remind Reese just how old God-Speaker was, to remind him of his family and his personal honor.

They came to a corner. Reese stopped just short of it, hesitating.

“Tell me,” God-Speaker commanded.

The man deflated.

“Now.” It was a tone Christopher would never have been comfortable using, but it came out of his mouth with complete authority.

“I didn’t want to do it,” Reese said. “He said it would be a test, to see if you’re really who you claim to be.”

The lights went out. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Quiet footsteps beyond the corner. Then emergency systems kicked-in.

The emergency lights were dimmer, but adequate. Reese was already leaning despondently against the wall, eyes closed. Christopher pushed him further back, drew the gun, and peered around the corner.

Reed stood only fifteen feet away, gun already raised. Christopher pulled his head back as a shot rang out, chipping a chunk out of the wall behind him.

In the half-light, Christopher had also seen three more figures further down the hallway: Cain, flanked by a pair of men with MP armbands. He waited for two measured breaths, then peered around the corner again.

Reed was walking toward Christopher. He looked back and saw his pursuers. He threw down his weapon, but continued toward the corner as they closed in.

Christopher stepped out into the open to stare Reed in the face. The man wore a grimace. He drew a knife from his pocket and flicked it open.

The shadowy figure in God-Speaker’s memories resolved itself. Like an avalanche, that one uncovered moment turned into a cascade. Christopher’s perception shifted.

The knife came up toward Christopher’s chest, aiming to slip under his sternum, but the hand that wielded it was more than thirty years older, slower. Christopher turned his body so his profile faced Reed, his hand sweeping down to strike Reed’s forearm with the butt of the gun. Reed cried out, and the knife clattered to the ground.

Seconds thumped their passage in Christopher’s chest. His eyes were locked with Reed’s. Time and sound returned in the footfalls of Cain and the MPs, who immediately grabbed Reed’s arms and twisted them behind his back, pressing him against the wall.

“Are you alright?” Cain asked breathlessly.

Christopher looked down at himself. No blood, no wound. The change he was feeling was entirely internal. The world seemed to be painted with new colors.

“I’m fine.”

Cain moved between Christopher and General Reese.

“What about him?”

Christopher studied the man’s sad eyes, perched above the aquiline nose. He looked ten years older.

“He wasn’t involved in the original attack,” Christopher said. “I remember it now. I suspect we’ll find there was blackmail or some other leverage involved.”

“Should we cuff him?” one of the MPs asked. Cain looked to Christopher.

“Remove his sidearm. I’m sure he won’t cause trouble.”

God-Speaker fought to keep his emotions in check. After everything that had happened, this was the final, pathetic attempt on his life. A pair of old men, easily overcome.

“Call the cabinet meeting,” he told Cain. “Let’s put an end to this.”

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