Let the Mountains Be My Grave by Francesca Tacchi

Author:Francesca Tacchi [Tacchi, Francesca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781952086410
Publisher: Neon Hemlock Press

8

The moon shines clear above us, snakes slithering in and out of its holes and valleys. The stars are unblinking reptile eyes. Goosebumps spread on my arms as the smooth sensation of snake-skin slithering on my body engulfs me. I shiver and bend over, my breath suddenly labored, my eyes struggling to focus.

“Veleno, stay with me buddy, we have to move. We’re in the middle of a square.” Rame’s voice pulls me back to reality.

I shake my head and straighten my back.

We’re in what looks to be one of the thousands of medieval towns scattered across the Appenini like grains of salt. The stone building where the Nazi kept us prisoners is right next to a small church, both of them in a sorry state. Not for the bombings—who would bomb a godforsaken village like this?—but like other isolated towns, they were likely abandoned once the war made commerce dry up.

There’s no trace of Herr Wolf anywhere, nor of his truck. My first instinct is to tail him, kill him and steal the truck before he can deliver whatever that lightning is to Montecassino. But while we have numerical superiority and the element of surprise, I can’t just ignore the fact I shot him dead once and he resurrected like the Christ himself. And I can’t ignore Angitia’s vision: the wheel of ice turning and turning, and the Nazi’s white eyes, cold and merciless as the ice itself.

“What do we do now?” Mosca asks.

I lick my lips. “We run.”

And so we pelt across the cobblestones, amidst the maze of old stone buildings, with only the stars and moon to light our way. My ears fill with the rush of pumping blood, and my whole body trembles with visions. Angitia runs beside me, her black hair whipping wildly, the serpents of her dress sporting scales as black as night. She leads me through the alleys, always taking the darkest turn, where the moonlight can’t reach. Until finally, she guides me to the entrance of the town, an arch of rotten stones engulfed in ivy. Beyond it we reach the quiet darkness of grass fields and the harsh silhouette of the mountains.

We don’t pause, despite Irma’s heavy gasps and Rame’s labored breaths. Only when we reach the relative safety of a pine forest do we allow ourselves to stop, to catch our breath and thoughts.

I lean on a tree, the rough bark stinging my skin as I close my eyes. I push the snakes and Angitia away, focusing on the here and now.

“Are we far enough from the town?” Mosca asks, her voice a chirp.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know where we are.”

“North’s there.” Rame points behind us, the moonlight making his eyes shine silver. “South, east, and west. That one—” he gestures to the mountain in front of us “is Mount Semprevisa, I would swear it on the Capital. I reckon one of our radios is hidden northeast of here, probably a two day march. We

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