Nuclear Town USA

by David Nell

  "Well, this is farewell," said Derek Mazer.

  Patrick Mazer extended his hand, and they shook.

  "I'll send a smoke signal," said the boy.

  "I will watch for it." And the boy joined the other boys, the hat slipping, the bag clanking, the gun wobbling, he followed the boys waddling under the weight of his pack. At the bay he turned and faced his father, faced him with a wide and wonderful smile. Then he touched his gun, nodded, and vanished into the entry bay light.

  The door swung shut, the stabilizers retracted. The rocket lifted with a puff of air and glided up toward the ceiling. The great hatch split in two and soon the rocket was slipping through, out into the void and calm and quietness of space, where it dwindled for a moment, almost seeming to hang there, as if unsure, for a split second, which direction to take. Then the engines blinked once more, and with a great flash, it hurtled toward the Earth, and was lost from sight.

  Soon the mothers and fathers turned away and left. And Derek Mazer left, too. He walked the empty streets, passed the shuttered market windows where shopkeepers swept away the empty shopping bags and receipts and clutter dropped from a thousand jostling customers. He tread and retread the moon dust until arriving at the observation bay window, with the print of his son's hand on the glass, and the cigarette butt still smoldering. From there he looked out into the darkness of space, and for a second thought that he could see the rocket rising toward the Earth. He traced it with his finger, and saw it floated upward, barely a speck now, and vanishing, vanishing, drifting higher and higher like the most beautiful red balloon Derek Mazer had ever seen.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Edd Howarth wrote his first short story in crayon on the walls of his mother's kitchen. He was twenty-one years old. Recently, his stories have appeared in Infinite Windows, M-Brane SF, the Absent Willow Review, Miracle Monocle, and The Foundling Review. He has been short listed for the 2009 Bridport Short Story Prize, and was a finalist in the National Irish Science Fiction Film Awards.

  RITE OF PASSAGE

  Robert J. Santa

  Waller was awake before the sun, gathering the belongings that were laid out for him with such loving tenderness the night before. He had not claimed the warrior's cave that was his custom – since refusing it, too, was a custom – and he moved about the communal hut stealthily, stepping over friends and family in the near dark of pre-morning. A testament to his skill was that not even the young mothers, the lightest of sleepers, stirred.As the ball of his foot touched down next to Mari's red curls, he paused. She was beautiful, and when she volunteered to come to him as one of the Warrior's Chosen, he cried real tears unlike those he was required to shed at the banquet. Mari was thethird and last, and though he was utterly slated with wine and roast pork and even female company they stayed in his hut until her older brother pounded on the walls and hollered with laughter. They had emerged red-faced and sweating, and Jon-jon clapped him between his broad shoulder blades and toasted his prowess in all things mighty. Then Jon-jon moved off to wrestle with his younger cousins, leaving Mari to stand up on her toes and whisper into his ear "I want to bear your child." She kissed him on the neck and rejoined the banquet, and he cried again.

  In that moment, with his weight resting on his front foot, her hair that smelled of apples so close, he almost laid back down on his mat. But he was the Warrior, and this was the first Day of the Two after the autumnal equinox. That was the day the Warrior set off to slay the Beast since long before even Gran-Papa Barooss could remember. He sighed once, then lifted his footand left the longhouse.

  Punjin and Sika were sitting on the bench by the well. Waller suspected they couldn't see him as he saw them, and he knew they hadn't heard him rustle the doorway curtain because it hadn't. He let his feet scuffle in the dirt. His pack, too, shifted slightly, letting the sword click once against the bracelet on his left wrist. Sika heard the noise and whispered toPunjin. They strained to see him, only catching his outline against the stars when he was less than two strides from them. He tousled Punjin's long hair and felt the boy jump a little at his touch. His sister spoke, despite that it was bad luck to talk to the Warrior on the day of his leaving

  "When will you be back?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Punjin hugged her shoulder. He wasn't three years old; he had seen a few Day of the Two banquets."He can't talk to us," the boy said. "It isn't allowed."Waller knew they couldn't see him, not with the clouds covering the stars, but he smiled nonetheless. He wanted them to share his confidence in his training and his teachers, in the words of the elders who had never seen a finer Warrior, in his belief – and he truly believed it – that he would be the one to slay the Beast. He lowered the pack, silently, then squatted downand touched their knees. He squeezed them, as gentle as a toddler's hug. Sika smiled. Punjin didn't.

  Waller picked up his pack and walked towards the stairs. As he climbed out of the shelter he dared to glance back at the village. He couldn't see the children any more, for they had goneback inside to sleep away the morning. He sighed, wondering if the other Warriors had felt the way he did, torn apart by conflicting emotions that seemed to have real claws, their scraping on his insides as painful as any exercise wound. Waller knew they did, and he turned away from the village and set off for the south.It was not a full day's walk, and he followed the stone pathdespite its crumbling disrepair for it was much easier to spot the sunning dirt-brown, rattle-tailed snakes against the black rock than against the brown dirt. He had been repeatedly pricked by the teeth of those snakes for his entire life, suffered the days of fever and vomiting that followed, because the teachers told him that it would make him immune to their venom. As much ashe loved his teachers, Waller stayed on the ancient path more as a preventative measure than for its directness. He would have been highly embarrassed as he looked down from the afterworld to hear the Watchers tell his family that he was killed by a snake.

  He held out his hand to the sun, measured that it was a fullfive fingers above the top of the low mountains to the west. He knew the other path was near, and in less than a thousand steps he saw it, running away from the falling sun as if it were the tallest shadow. Waller turned and followed the new path, reachingup and patting the metal sign at the intersection for luck as wasthe tradition. He knew the Watchers could see him from their perch, even at this distance for they had eyes like golden-feathered eagles as was the requirement for being a Watcher. And he knew that if he didn't follow the traditions and failed then they would report on his foolishness, and the teachers would be dishonored for not imparting with effectiveness all of their knowledge.He made camp near a stream just before the sun touched the top of the stony ridge. Between that time and full dark he gathered wood, finding dried scrub trees everywhere he looked. Heassembled a bonfire that would provide light and heat for the entire night without needing to be maintained. Waller dipped his hands into his pack and retrieved every item, laying them out on a blanket. He stripped then painted his face and his body with the designs and whorls that would most greatly favor the gods. Lastly he took out the fire stick and scraped it on the face of asmall stone at the base of the bonfire. It sputtered angrily to life, and he pressed the flaming head against the ball of dried grasses beneath the small twigs. Then he stood and prayed, and when the prayers were finished he danced. He sang as he danced around the fire, low songs performed with more vigor than skill, but the Watchers were a good way off and couldn't hear that clearly, interfered with as they were by the coyotes and crickets. Waller's dancing was graceful and powerful, and it lasted for a long time, somewhere between sundown and moonrise, when the brightest of stars had traveled a full third of the way across the arch of the sky. At last fatigued, covered in a sheen of fine sweat and distorted paint, he lay down on the blanket beside his equipment and was asleep in a heartbeat.It was not the sun that woke him, for it had been up a long while before he opened his eyes. Still naked, he walked to the stream and bathed himself, scrubbing the dried salt and paint from his skin so that he was as
clean as if he had just left the steam hut. He drank heartily, filling his belly with as much water as it could hold. Then he returned to the dwindling embers of the fire to dry. He dressed in a new, clean loincloth, laced up his sandals, tied the band around his hair. Then he buckled the wide sword belt to his hip and set off for the east, leaving everything else behind. He took no food, for the walk was not long, and a meal would be a moot consideration if he failed to slay the Beast. But he was confident, and he had a sealed cup of wine and some salted meat in his pack for his return. That it wasthe same cup the last Warrior had used made no difference to him,and he considered it neither lucky nor unlucky to hold a possession with such history.The fence was lying across the stone path almost within sight of his camp. He could see low buildings of stone and steel that glinted with reflected sunlight beyond the fence. Sitting atop the length of the fence, like a twisted flock of nightmare birds, were coils of fat ribbons of metal sharp enough to cut. Waller didn't even pause in his stride as he approached the fence. He simply lifted the sword out of its sheath, and with a tremendous, double-handed stroke brought the edge down against the wire links. His strength and that of the blade were too much for them as the fence separated with a brief scream and shower ofsparks. He lifted the flap of fence and stepped beyond it. Then he waited. He had considered climbing the fence; he knew he was agile enough to maneuver through the razor coils without being cut. But he needed to damage the fence for it would bring on the spiders. Even now, only heartbeats after he swung the sword, theywere coming.

  There were three of them, quickly covering the desert between the closest building and the broken fence. Despite the mid-day sun, he could see their sets of eyes glowing. His teachers had told him they would not immediately attack him, thatthe Watchers always relayed this information. As the first spiderlaunched a web from a point on its underbelly directly at Waller's legs he thought that someone had not informed the spiderof this. They were ten good strides apart, and it must be as far as the spiders could throw a web for the point of it dropped and struck the ground beside his foot. Waller took one step forward and cleaved the spider through its armored center. It twitched and hissed viciously, but it was dead and only in its final throes.

  Waller then spun and kicked a foot out at the second spider.It stumbled, and in that moment, Waller removed its head. The third spider also launched a web, and from a much closer distancethe line lashed around Waller's waist and held him firm. He dropped his left hand down and pulled hard on the web, dragging the spider forward in one great bound. As it landed before him hespiked it to the earth, driving his sword down with such force that it buried itself half-way up the blade. The spider was stillvery much alive, clawing at him, drawing blood from his wrist. Waller raised his hhands high and brought them down on the base ofthe spider's head. Then the spider was still. Waller removed his sword. There was no point in searching for the Beast. He knew it would come to him.

  Waller forced himself into a state of calm, for he was seething with a combination of thrill and fright and anticipationand a dozen other emotions that boiled over inside him. He walkedforward into the scrub, one hundred long strides, then another hundred. There he sat, his sword resting on his thighs, and he waited.He heard the Beast before he saw it, its breath a massive exhalation of air that spoke volumes about its size. It was as large as the longhouse itself, each of its six legs as thick around and as large as a tall tree. They were many-jointed, like an insect's, so that as large as the Beast was it held itself lowto the ground, its withers no higher than Waller's head. its tailwas reed-like and held straight up in anticipation of danger. Butit was the Beast's head that held Waller's fascination: the massive rows upon rows of teeth both square and sharp for eating all kinds of food, the dozen eyes that moved on stalks independently from one another, the triple-horn that jutted from its tapered forehead. He stood, mesmerized by the thing. It seemed not to notice him, and when he realized this he drew in a great lungful of air and bellowed the Challenge."I am here, Beast!" Waller shouted, and as he did so all of the Beast's eyes swung over to point at him. "Today you will die!"

  It moved quickly, much faster than Waller had believed from the reports of the Watchers. It covered the distance between themin such little time that Waller thought he would simply be trampled by the Beast before he even swung his sword. But as it neared it also slowed, dropping its head to his height. It openedits great mouth and aimed at his groin.Waller stepped aside and whirled, striking at the Beast's foremost leg. The blade caught the lowest joint and rang like a bell. The vibration of the impact stunned Waller's hand and his arm and appeared to do no damage to the Beast. It was a mighty blow, one that would have severed a man and possibly a second standing behind him. The Beast's bite missed, but it swung its head backwards so far that Waller thought the thing's neck would snap right before he was butted off-balance. The Beast swiveled quickly and struck again, and Waller had to retreat. He stabbed forward against the head and felt the tip of his sword contact the heavy, armor plating. Again, there was no damage, but he had not expected a thrust with no forward momentum behind it to do any. Once more the Beast advanced. Once more Waller retreated.

  When the Beast lowered its head a third time, Waller charged, bellowing loudly to addd strength to his swing. He moved forward, side-stepping the head and chopping down hard on the thing's right shoulder joint. He aimed for the crease between theplates that should be the weakest point, and as his sword struck true he was rewarded not with the loud ringing of blade on armor but a softer sound of something struck beneath.

  The Beast did not scream as it was wounded, instead keeping enough presence to snap down at Waller's back leg. It struck him high up on the leg with just the tip of its bite. Blood poured out of the wound as Waller ducked under the Beast's limp foreleg.He gave the injury a quick look and saw that it was not as bad asit could have been. There was some meat missing, and there was a goodly amount of blood, but he could fight on.From the Beast's side he struck at its underbelly. It was a weak blow, being delivered underhanded, but the Beast apparently had little armor beneath for its ribs broke under the attack. He struck again, harder this time, again finding softer tissue only lightly armored.

  The Beast stumbled a moment, but when Waller tried for a third blow it struck him with its leg. It was a rasping injury that tore him open from his hip to his neck, though only lightly.As the leg came down and dealt him the blow, he spun around it, bringing the sword around in a fast arc as he did so. The blade made perfect contact on the Beast's flank, but it was well-armored there and felt the blow not at all, Waller suspected. Before the Beast could reorient on him he dealt it another blow to its underbelly. Then, as it spun to face him, he stepped back.

  His teachers had told him not to strike at the head. Many Warriors before had made the mistake and been taken, but none hadever crippled the Beast, either. It came at him, with head lowered and jaws agape, its right foreleg dangling. Waller moved to the side and hacked at the connection of jaw to skull. His sword bit deeply, and while the Beast still made no utterance of pain it exhaled, a vicious snort that puffed hot, wet air against Waller's bare skin.

  His blade was wedged in the bone, and in the moment that it took him to free it he was bitten again, this time on the forearm. It was a good bite; the Beast had him held. It drew its head back, and he was pulled along, his shoulder wrenched from its socket so abruptly that it dislocated. The Beast opened its jawss to deliver a killing blow, and Waller swung one-handed at the scar he had just left. It was a telling blow, and the Beast recoiled from it, its senses rattled for it wobbled dramatically.

  Waller pressed on, ignoring the pain of wounds that would reduce a smaller man to wailing tears. He gripped his sword and swung it once more at the Beast's head, striking it in the centerof its mass of eyes. He struck again and again, raining the blowsdown upon its skull in such quick succession it could not recoverin time to defend itself. And suddenly, before the Beast even hadtime to consider escape, it dropped its ma
ss to the desert floor and was still.

  Waller stepped back, looking at the fallen Beast. He remained ready in case the Beast's stillness was a ruse, but after a long time, time enough for Waller to control his breathing, it did not stir. Then he set about binding his wounds,tying off the one on his leg with his loincloth. When he leaned against the cooling body of the Beast to reinsert his shoulder he nearly fainted with the pain.

  He saw movement by one of the buildings and saw another three spiders racing generally toward him, but as they approachedhe could see they were interested less in him than mending the broken fence. He watched until they climbed onto the fence, theirlegs and mouths working to return it to whole, sparks flying fromtheir progress. He knew they would be finished by the time he returned with the treasure, and he would have to cut through the fence again. But then he would be beyond the fence where they refused to follow and heading home with the spirit of the gods.

  The building that housed the treasure was clearly marked with the black and yellow triangles that formed a circle, like a pie alternating the color of its slices. He entered the building through a shattered window and searched for the flight of stairs.He went down and down so far that he thought he would reach the center of the world, so far down that the air was wintry cold against his naked flesh.

  The stairs eventually stopped, and Waller searched some moreuntil he found the vault, also marked with the black and gold triangles. The small sign was beside the door, the one with the symbols he had memorized from childhood. But the symbols were different than the ones he had learned. They weren't completely different, such as the symbol that was one circle standing on another circle though this one looked more like it could be drawn with one continuous line. There were, however, some differences that he guessed at, such as the triangle with the two feet. He had memorized an open box with two feet, and since there were no other symbols with feet he assumed it was that one. So, too, withthe circle, for the one on the sign was taller than it was wide and was more like an egg than it was a circle. But he pressed it twice, as he should, then some other symbols, and when the glow beside the sign turned from red to green and the door opened, he smiled.