by Jim LaVigne
“Wow!” said Justin, genuinely impressed. “That’s pretty amazing.”
“Thought you’d like it, “ said Baron Zero. “And it sure beats nothing, huh Doc? Now, she won’t go too fast—only about forty miles an hour at top speed—but she’s tough and dependable and, well, as I see it, just about your best shot at the coast. So? Whataya think?”
“Amazing,” said Justin. “Simply amazing. And I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I had thought we were going to have to walk.”
“All the way to Cali?” said Zero. “No, you take the car. You’re gonna need it.”
“Does this mean,” said Justin cagily, “that you’ve decided that we have a chance to make it there after all?”
“No, not really,” Zero shrugged. “But what kinda guy would I be if I just cut you loose and sent you out with nothing but the clothes on your back? I mean, hell, you might not stand much of a chance, but you sure deserve a shot. All I’m doing is trying to even the odds a little.”
“Well, I appreciate it,” Justin said. “Very much. Especially after all you’ve done for us already.”
“Oh, I ain’t done yet,” said Zero slyly, gently guiding Justin away from the mechanics. “This car is just the icing on the cake. See, we’re gonna pack this thing with everything you’ll need—food, water, guns, ammo, you name it. Plus, I’m gonna send one of my people with you, if that’s OK.”
“May I ask why?”
“Mainly ‘cause he wants to go,” said Zero. “But also because I think you’re a good guy and deserve all the help you can get. Sure, this mission of yours is crazy and probably hopeless, but then what isn’t nowadays, right? And this guy could make the difference.”
“Of whom are we speaking?” asked Justin. “Is it someone I’ve met?”
Baron Zero nodded. “You remember Cornell, right?”
“Of course. Your head of security.”
“Well, he’s originally from California,” said Zero. “San Diego, specifically, and he wants to get back there to see if any of his family made it through the Fall. He’s a good guy, Doc, and what’s more, he’s a demon in a fight. If I was you, I’d agree to let him go.”
“Very well,” said Justin, thinking that he could most certainly use all the help he could get. “Mr. Cornell will accompany us. And I welcome the assistance, and all of the supplies.”
“Eh,” Zero said dismissively. “You’re gonna need it a whole lot more than we will. So there you have it, Doc. My humble contribution to saving the human race, I guess. And in a day or two, the scouts’ll came back, we’ll get an idea of what’s out there, and then? Well, then I guess you’ll be on your way.”
“Such as it is,” said Justin gloomily. “I just wish we hadn’t lost all of our vehicles and gear, back with those horrible cannibals.”
“Yeah, that sucks,” said Zero. “But then, you didn’t lose everything and, well, when you think about it, we’ve all lost quite a bit, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” said Justin, “we have.” Then he had to ask, just to be civil and reciprocating, despite the fact that he really didn’t want to, “But what about your… condition? Your hernia, that is.”
“What about it?”
“Well,” said Justin, “I probably shouldn’t bring it up, since you didn’t seem prone to, but I could, if you were so inclined, perform an operation. Not that I want to, of course, but…”
“Uh, I don’t think so,” said Zero. “I mean, you’re obviously perfectly capable and all, it’s just, well, you said it yourself. You’re an epidemiologist, not a surgeon. I think I’ll just hold off on that for the time being.”
“Maybe that’s for the best,” Justin said, suppressing a sigh of relief. “And from what you’ve told me, I don’t think it will be life-threatening.”
“So, alright, then,” said Baron Zero. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Like, at the moment? Because otherwise, these are my Office Hours and I really should get back.”
“No, I think that’s all,” said Justin. “And thanks again. For everything.”
“Don’t mention it, Doc,” said Zero jovially. “Hell, if you actually make it Cali, just put in a good word for me, huh?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tom Hartingford: Alcoholic, certifiably unstable, a spouse-beater and an abuser of illegal drugs, convicted three times of corruption and graft. Is this really the sort of man we want to reelect to Congress?
—campaign ad, George S. Parkinson for U.S. Senate, 2054
As he negotiated the House after the meeting with Zero, wandering a bit, Justin came upon none other than the Old Man, apparently delivering some sort of lecture. Seated on the top step of a staircase, he was surrounded on all sides by a few dozen House residents, with Teresa at his feet, and was, in his usual bombastic fashion, holding forth to what appeared a more or less rapt audience:
“… and it never was a democracy, anyway,” he was saying as Justin arrived. “It was a representative republic. A democracy means one man, one vote, and that sure as shit wasn’t the case! Far as I can see, though, the main problem was that people were just plain stupid. Not surprising, considering the way the GOP was always gutting the public school system, one way or another, but still, these people were fucking dumb, OK? They swallowed just about every single lie, no matter how crazy and contradictory, and they voted for these dumb-ass Neocon jerks like they were the Second Coming! Like, oh yeah, let’s spend like a drunken sailor on leave, but no way will we raise taxes to pay for it. And especially not on the rich! No, if anybody’s gonna pay, it’ll be the regular Joes, the working people, and, like I said, they were just too goddamned stupid to see that they were bein’ ripped off! So there you go. That’s about all I remember about that time, turn of the century U.S. Greedy stuffed shirts and a voting public too stupid to see the problem.”
Suddenly a dozen urgent hands shot up in the crowd, just as if Lampert was a president or CEO fielding questions at a press conference. The Old Man paused, had a sip from a can of beer he’d gotten from somewhere, and surveyed the throng, obviously about to field another lucky resident’s question. Seeing an opportunity, Justin interrupted, striding through the crowd and up the stairs. Lampert watched him approach, drinking his beer, and then grinned.
“Howdy, Doc!” he said, his usually sharp eyes a bit unfocused. “Just givin’ the kids here a little history lesson.”
“So I see,” said Justin. “But I think maybe it’s time for you to return to our rooms. It looks like you’ve had a big day.”
Lampert grunted and polished off the can of beer. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said grudgingly. “I am gettin’ kinda sleepy.” He looked to the assembled House dwellers. “I guess that’s it, children,” he said expansively. “Thus endeth the lesson for today. And remember: read all you can and don’t believe everything you read!”
To much clapping and some hearty cheers, waving the beer can, Lampert took his seat in the wheelchair and Teresa rolled him away. As they negotiated the many twists and turns, she kept up a steady stream of questions for Lampert, most of which apparently centered on early 21st-century politics. Obligingly, Lampert answered each one, but seemed to be losing steam. Finally, as they reached the door to their quarters, the Old Man gave an exasperated kind of sigh and looked up at her.
“Let’s give it a rest, huh kid?” he said, not unkindly. “We’ll talk some more later, but I’m an old man and all this activity’s wearin’ me out.”
That and the beer you drank, thought Justin. But Teresa only smiled and nodded.
“OK, Howie,” she said sweetly. “I go see what we got for eatin’, hey?”
And, tossing her head, she left them alone in the hallway. Justin slowly looked down at Lampert.
“Howie?” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Since when does she—or anyone else—call you Howie? If I may be so blunt as to ask.”
Lampert laughed shrugged. “Since I told ‘em to. It’s what people always called me Before, so…” He p
aused to peer at Justin for a moment. Then: “Whassa matter, Doc? You ain’t jealous are ya?”
“What?” Justin said abruptly, blinking. “Me? No, of course not! I just find it interesting that you prefer Teresa—a beautiful young woman—to address you so familiarly, while the rest of us seem constrained to—”
“Aw, knock it off, Doc,” Lampert interrupted. “Don’t get your shorts in a knot. She’s way too young for me, anyway. Plus, she’s too damned smart, asks too many damn questions, you know? Anyhow, did you get to talk to the Man? Doctor Zero?”
“Er, well, yes,” said Justin, adjusting. “I did, as a matter of fact.”
“And?” said Lampert. “What’s new with Mr. Kurtz?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Justin shook his head. “I don’t understand. Mr. Kurtz?”
“Din’t ya ever read Heart of Darkness? Joseph Conrad?”
Justin shook again. “I’m afraid not. I’ve heard of it.”
The Old Man snorted. “Eggheads…” he said under his breath. Then: “Well, you should check it out some time, Doc. Good book.”
“And,” Justin coaxed, “what? It’s in some way applicable to our present situation, I take it?”
“Sorta,” said Lampert vaguely. Then he shifted in his chair to look at Justin. “Hey, Doc, do me a favor, huh? Roll me down the hallway. There’s a little balcony-thing down there where I can smoke.”
Justin frowned. “Where did you get cigarettes?” Then he shook his head. “Never mind, I don’t think I want to know. But are you asking me, your physician, to help you to smoke?”
“Yup. How ‘bout it?”
“If I do, will you tell me about this Mr. Kurtz?”
“Sure thing.”
“Fine then,” sighed Justin. “Just don’t tell the AMA, alright?”
“Deal.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It’s raining, it’s pouring
The old man is snoring.
Bumped his head
And he went to bed
And he couldn’t get up in the morning.
—nursery rhyme, traditional
Surveying the decaying, overgrown building, the Kid finally decided, after much deliberation, that this was the best place he’d found and that he’d be unlikely to find better. It was secure, for one thing, made of some kind of square rocks and with only two means of access, and not too close to anything else. There was no sign of Howlers having been there, no telltale urine puddles from Rippers or Screamers, and no swarms of Biters. It was a little too close to one of those long ribbons of white-striped black ground, but then, these things seemed to be everywhere out here beyond the woods, so what was he to do?
The place was also partly filled with all kinds of stuff that he didn’t recognize but that he knew, by virtue of their constituent materials, were not made by Nature. He was aware of the fact that there were such things as other people; he’d seen quite a few of them, always at a distance, and had finally concluded that these large versions of himself were something to be avoided. They acted crazy, for one thing, chasing and hurting each other for no apparent reason, and they always seemed to have some odd kind of strange, flame-spouting, incredibly loud weapons that he instinctively feared. They moved around in bizarre box-like things that spewed smoke and noise, like angular animals made of brightly-colored stuff like polished rock, and they seemed to always travel in packs of two or more. All in all, the Kid had decided, they were even worse than his other foes. At least Howlers didn’t have bang-weapons or shiny animal mounts!
In his mind, when he had the rare moment of leisure in which to think about it, the Kid sensed that all of this, the flat black spaces, the weird, intricate objects, the Big People and their noisy things, all meant something. It wasn’t a kinship or familiarity with such things, rather a feeling that it should all signify something, that it related somehow to the Big People, and that he himself was in some way connected to it all.
Maybe it was like the great bug mounds and critter villages he’d encountered, where the animals actually built things; maybe the Big People built things, too. But then again, why did they build things and then either abandon or destroy them? He’d seen plenty of their mounts lying dead by the sides of the black spaces. He’d seen more than a few places like this, his prospective new home, only completely wrecked or burned up. Everywhere he went, in fact, there were little bits and pieces of this alien stuff, and most of it had been obviously damaged or broken. To him, it just didn’t make sense; why build all of these things only to destroy them or leave them behind? The bugs and the critters didn’t do that! What would be the point?
Of course, he’d also had to leave his things behind; the fine pile of hopper pelts with which he’d lined his cave were now long gone. So maybe that was it. Maybe the Big People had had to leave their things when they were attacked. It made sense, but it also meant that, given the sheer amount of places and things not of Nature, there must have been a whole lot of attackers; it would have taken a great many Howlers to account for that! At any rate, it was usually at about this point that something (like the need for food or water) intruded on his thoughts and he’d have to put them away for later. Always, though, the little connections were made, the thoughts linked one to the other, and his conjecture and wondering grew and slowly became theory. In time, maybe he’d finally make sense of it.
Now, though, he had other things to worry about. The new place still needed to be completely checked out, he still had to get water (luckily, there was a small lake only about a quarter mile away), and it would be dark before too long. Cold, too, if he was any judge. He’d have to hunt soon, as well, but he could wait till morning for that. With a resolute nod, he hefted his tire iron and slowly entered his new home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
So what if you got all the money?
Still can’t tell me if it’s raining or it’s sunny.
And when you die, where does it go?
To your worthless spawn, the Forbes 400 freak show!
—lyrics from Proletariat Robots by The Skull Monkeys, Ebola Records, 2057
The next day, everything seemed to be going well as far as their departure was concerned when the mission was dealt somewhat of a blow. It didn’t derail their efforts, by any means, and it didn’t mean that they were any more or less doomed, but to Justin it felt like someone had punched him violently in the stomach: Teresa wasn’t coming.
He and the others had been packing their personal things that morning when Justin had noticed that Teresa, while hovering about at hand, wasn’t making the least effort to join them.
“You should get packed,” he’d said.
“I ain’t goin’,” she’d said, and there it was, a nice big haymaker in the belly. Ooof!
“What?” said Justin, when she made no word of explanation. “You’re not going with us? But why not?”
“Why should I?” she shrugged, a deadly spark in her lovely eyes. “Ain’t nothin’ out there they ain’t got here. An’ I don’ wanna die on the road like some hopper under a truck. Or get shot by some banger for my food. Besides, ya know what they got here, Case? A school! A real, no-shit school, like Before! I gonna learn ta read an’ write and arthimajig and all that ploop!”
Crestfallen as could be, Justin did his best to shrug it off and seem unconcerned, but it wasn’t at all easy. What was more, he could feel the eyes of the others on him, judging his reaction. With a frown, he turned to them.
“Could we have some privacy, please?” he asked, hearing the tightness in his voice. “Just for a moment.”
The others all nodded gravely and, leaving their belongings, shuffled out into the hallway. Justin closed the door after them and then, fighting a hot lump in his throat, turned to Teresa, who stood with her arms crossed and a serious look on her face. He thought for a second about the various surveillance devices in the room and about who might be watching—and why—but thought to himself, to hell with it-let ‘em watch.
“Please,
you have to reconsider,” he told Teresa, trying not to sound too desperate. “We need your help!”
“I don’ have to do nothin’ Case,” she said sullenly. “Don’cha know that by now? ‘Sides, you don’ really need my help. You gonna have that car, all that gear, plus that Cornell dude, who one ripper maximum in a fight, believe it. Naw, you be OK without me.”
“But,” said Justin, a pit-like feeling in his stomach. “What about California? Don’t you want to live somewhere decent? Without all the bangers and survies?”
“Meh,” she shrugged. “I ain’t so sure they is such a place. An’ even if they is, it can’t be that hot ploop, like they say. Nowhere is. And anyway, this here place is the safest I ever seen. You can sleep at night, they gots that kick-shit runnin’ water, you don’ hafta crap outdoors. They got food, water, smoke, a whole crew watchin’ yer back, everything you need, hey? Plus, like I say, a real got-dammit school! Now, far as I can see, this is good as it gonna get. I be total doopy to leave.”
He had to admit that, vernacular aside, she made a lot of good points, but his sinking heart wouldn’t let him give up so easily.
“Then what about my mission?” he asked. “Don’t you want to help me to save all those lives? To save the human race?”
“Eh, I ain’t so sure ‘bout that, neither,” she said dismissively. “I mean, we ain’t dead, is we? An’ we been aroun’ folks with the Sick. So what up with that? Way I hear it, if I ain’t caught the Sick by now, I ain’t gonna. An’ that’s same for all people. We like, what-you-call-it—immune. Anyway, s’what I heard.”
“But that’s only partly true!” Justin protested. “This virus is different. It mutates! It changes, becomes a new strain, and then goes right on infecting people. It is true that you and I and probably everyone here at the House is immune, but that’s only to the present strain. And once it has a chance to mutate, it will return. Do you understand? If we don’t find an antivirus, it’s only a matter of time.” He paused as she paced back and forth a little. Then a thought occurred: “May I ask, who exactly you heard that from? That we are all immune?”