State of Nature: Book Three of The Park Service Trilogy

by Ryan Winfield

  “Just a strip of it,” Bill says. “At least thirty meters long.”

  “We better get on clearin’ then,” Jimmy says.

  It takes us the rest of the afternoon to root out the gnarly weeds and haul away the loose stones, especially since we have to keep taking breaks and hiking back to the watering hole to slake our thirst. But by sundown we’ve finished, and we climb up the pyramid in the twilight and look down upon our work.

  “How’d you know this would make for a landing strip?”

  “I didn’t,” Bill says. “The Chief had been here before.”

  “And just who is this Chief you all keep talking about?”

  “We’re not supposed to say,” he replies. “Besides, you’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

  There’s a long silence where I hear my stomach grumble.

  Jimmy must hear it too, because he says, “I’m so hungry, my stomach is thinkin’ my mouth’s sewed shut.”

  “What should we do for food?” I ask.

  “I dunno,” Jimmy says. “Might have to wait ’til mornin’.”

  The last of the golden sunset climbs the temple’s flanks, leaving behind only darkness. When it finally comes to rest on us where we sit on its summit, it makes me feel as if we’re spotlighted on some ancient stage, perhaps preparing to put on a show for an audience in the jungle below. Then the last light leaves us too, and we climb down into shadows. The big stones at the base of the temple retain some of the sun’s heat, and we try our best to make ourselves comfortable amongst them. It’s less than ideal, but we’re all exhausted from the day’s work, and I don’t think any of us trusts sleeping on the ground tonight.

  “When do you think the drone will show?” I ask.

  “Could be any time,” Bill says. “Maybe it’ll be here when we wake up.”

  “I hope it has some food on board,” Jimmy says.

  We lie quietly for a long time, listening to the sounds of the jungle—insects chattering, a bird call, a bark.

  “Hey, Aubrey,” Bill says, after a while. “You awake?”

  “Yeah, it’s not very comfortable here.”

  “You don’t think it was my fault, do you?”

  “Do I think what was your fault?”

  “Roger.”

  I fight my immediate impulse to tell him no, and instead consider what it is he’s asking. It’s an honest question, and it deserves an honest answer.

  “No,” I finally say. “Roger wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

  “I just wish I’d treated him better, you know? I razzed him a lot, but I think he knew that I cared about him. Don’t you?”

  His question reminds me of something Jimmy said when he told me he loved me back in Holocene II. He said when you love someone you do things for them.

  “Yeah,” I say, “I think he knew.”

  We wake in the early quiet before dawn, the stone having long gone cold underneath us. It rained sometime in the night, because our clothes are all damp. We scramble up the steps high enough to see the entire runway, but the drone isn’t there.

  “I was hopin’ for a breakfast delivery,” Jimmy says.

  “It’ll be here,” Bill replies. “The Chief said so.”

  We hike into the jungle to refresh ourselves. And we’re not the only ones. As we approach the watering hole, several long bushy tails stick up over the edge.

  Jimmy reaches out both arms and holds Bill and me back. Then he signals for us to be quiet as he creeps closer. When only a few steps remain between him and his prey, he rushes up and seizes one of the wavering tails. There’s a wild scream, a flash of gray, and Jimmy staggers backwards, swinging a crazed mammal by its tail. As the other creatures leap out of the hole and bound off into the jungle, Jimmy wrestles with his catch. It looks like a raccoon to me, only bigger. And it isn’t happy. Its teeth are bared, and it’s hissing and clawing at the air as Jimmy swings it left and right to keep it away from his body. But it arches its back, swipes a blow, and bloody claw marks appear instantly on Jimmy’s forearm. As it twists and turns and snaps at the air with clicking teeth, Bill and I jump out of the way just in time to miss being clawed ourselves. Then Jimmy begins to spin in circles, still gripping the tail with both hands. The centrifugal force stretches the animal out to its full length, arms and legs spread, until it looks like some giant flying squirrel, its confused little face and white nose whipping past us as it whirls by again and again. There’s a loud crack when Jimmy smashes its skull against the tree, and the animal falls to the ground in a limp pile of flesh and fur.

  Jimmy leans over the dead animal to catch his breath.

  Bill stands, mouth agape, with a look of horror on his face.

  It only takes Jimmy about twenty minutes to skin and clean his kill, using a sharpened flint. We gather wood on our way back to the temple and build a fire near its base. Jimmy fashions a kind of rotisserie out of sticks and spears the animal on a pit to roast it over the coals. As horrified as he appears, Bill can’t seem to stop looking at it.

  “It doesn’t seem right,” he says, almost as if talking to himself. “It was just sentient and now it’s about to be eaten.”

  “It was hard for me the first time too,” I offer up, trying to be supportive. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “I dun’ see what the big deal is,” Jimmy says, turning his meat over the coals. “Ever-thin’ is made of ever-thin’ else, and this is jus’ goin’ back into the system.”

  “In a theoretical way you might be right,” Bill opines. “I mean, we are all just stardust in the end. But still, how would you feel if something just snatched you out of your morning drink and bashed your head into a tree and ate you?”

  “You mean like the drones do?” Jimmy asks.

  Bill nods. “Except drones don’t eat you.”

  “Well, it would be better if they did. At least it would make sense why they was doin’ it. I can understand somethin’ wantin’ to kill me ’cause it’s hungry.”

  Despite our conversation, Bill turns down eating any of the meat. Still, it was a big animal, and there’s plenty left over in case he changes his mind—which he will if he gets hungry enough. When we finish, Jimmy wraps the leftovers in grass and then bark and wedges them in a shaded crack between two stones. Then we hike to the watering hole again to wash up. Fortunately, the wound on Jimmy’s forearm is superficial. It looks much better already.

  We’re heading back when Jimmy dives to the ground.

  “Quick,” he says, “get down!”

  Bill stands with his eyes on the sky, following the drone as it descends toward the temple. It’s waiting on the runway when we return, gleaming like a sleek metal wasp. It’s smaller than the others I’ve seen, and much more compact than the drone that Dr. Radcliffe used to fly Hannah and me on tour of the park. Also, the Park Service crest has been scraped off of its nose, and just a hint of the valknut outline is still visible beneath the sanded metal. As we approach, I see there are two cockpits capped with clear glass. I stop in my tracks and look from the drone to Bill and then back to the drone again.

  “Bill, there’s only room for two of us in that thing.”

  He nods as if this is fine. “You boys had better go do your business now if you need to,” he says. “It’s a long flight, and there isn’t any bathroom on that little thing.”

  “No way am I leaving you here, Bill. You’ll never survive.”

  “I’m going back,” he says. “That was always the plan. Roger and I would go back.”

  “But Roger isn’t here, Bill. And even if he were, there’s no way you’d find that hole again in all that jungle. No way. It’s a death sentence staying here.”

  “I can’t go,” Bill says. “I’m sorry. I told the Chief I’d get you this far, and I did. Once you climb in, the drone will do the rest. Now I’ve got to be getting back.”

  Bill turns and walks away from us. Jimmy shakes his head, making it clear that he also thinks Bill’s a goner. I race after Bill, grab his shoulder, a
nd spin him around.

  “We have to find a way to all fit,” I say.

  “Sorry, Aubrey, but this is the end of the road for me.”

  Then he turns and walks on again.

  When I grab him this time, he shakes me off and keeps marching, so I tackle him. I drag him to the ground and sit on his chest. He struggles to get free, but he’s pinned.

  “I’m not leaving you here to die,” I say.

  Jimmy appears at my side. “He can have my spot,” he says.

  “What? No way, Jimmy. Don’t be stupid.”

  “I can hang around here and take care of myself,” Jimmy replies. “Maybe you can come back for me.”

  “No, Jimmy. Just no.”

  “Listen, you two,” Bill says, giving up struggling and lying his head back on the ground. “This is really cute what you’re trying to do. But I knew this was the deal when I agreed to come. Now, Gridboy’s planning to meet me back at the mine entrance, and I intend to be there. So get off me.” He pushes me clear, stands up, and brushes himself off. “I can’t believe how incorrigibly persistent you two are.”

  “You’re sure about this?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says, “I’m sure.”

  Bill follows us back to the drone. He unlatches the cockpit lids, opens them, and then gives us each a boost up: Jimmy first, then me. I slide into the narrow seat behind Jimmy and look for a safety belt. There isn’t one. There’s hardly even room to breathe. I notice a ration pack at my feet and stretch down to get it. I drag it up by sucking in my gut. I hand it out to Bill. He tries to hand it back.

  “But you’ll need this,” he says.

  “It’s yours,” I say, refusing to take it back.

  Jimmy holds his out to him. “Here, take mine too.”

  Bill relents and accepts the packs, but only after opening them and handing us the water bottles.

  “I can drink along the way,” he says.

  As Bill goes to close Jimmy’s hatch, Jimmy smiles at him and says, “There’s some meat left over there in them rocks.”

  Bill laughs and closes the hatch. Then he turns to close mine, but I put my hand up and stop him.

  “I always looked up to you.”

  “You did?” he asks.

  “When I used to come to the beach all the time, I would lie there and watch you. I wanted to be just like you.”

  Bill smiles and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Well, you’re grown up now, and you’re even better than me, kid.”

  I want to say more, but I’m not sure what. Bill seems to understand because he removes his hand from my shoulder, looks at me and nods, and then closes the lid. His face already seems a thousand kilometers away on the other side of the glass, as if he’s looking at me from undersea. He steps back and gestures farewell, raising a hand to touch his forehead, almost as if saluting us. Then the drone winds up, its electric engines building momentum, and when the brakes release, we launch down the cobbled runway at a frightening speed, lifting off just in time and nosing up into the blue and cloudless sky.

  Jimmy turns in his bubble to look back at me, and I can’t tell whether he’s thrilled or terrified.

  We circle wide above the pyramid and double back. I look down and see Bill standing on the edge of the runway, looking up at us, already a sad and helpless speck on the edge of all that endless wilderness. As we leave him behind and fly west over the sprawling jungle canopy, I know I’ll never see Bill again.

  CHAPTER 15

  China and the Chief

  Claustrophobia sets in almost immediately.

  I can tell that Jimmy feels it too, because I see him through the glass ahead of me, squirming to get comfortable.

  The drone rises, and the jungle disappears beneath us as we cruise west across the peninsula and fly out over the Pacific. The canopy glass ices over and then clears again. The cabin is pressurized, but my ears still ache from the altitude. We’re so high I can see the curve of the Earth on the horizon ahead, and I wonder just how far it must be to China—ten, twelve, maybe fifteen thousand kilometers. I hope this thing flies fast.

  I wish I could talk to Jimmy, but we’re separated by several feet of empty space and two panes of glass, so I pass the time trying to make shapes out of the clouds. The near ones whip by so quickly I have to guess fast. I see an algae ice cream cone, a billowy brontosaurus, an outsized ostrich. I wonder if there are any ostriches left. Probably not in China. A cylindrical cloud shaped like a submarine makes me think of the professor. And he makes me think of Hannah. I wonder if she’s been told already that we’re dead. I wonder if she believes it. Then I think about Red. I can still see his sad face the day we left him for Holocene II. I hope they treat him all right until we find a way to get him free. I think about Seth, heading up on the train, wearing Jimmy’s ankle bracelet and walking willingly into Eden and his death. I think about Mrs. Hightower and Jillian and all the other people still trapped in Holocene II. And I think about poor Roger, tortured on the surface and then swallowed by the ground he so hated to leave. Finally, I think about Bill left there alone. No, I won’t think of him. Not now. It’s too much.

  I come out of my daydream and notice Jimmy waving through the glass, desperate to get my attention. He points to our right where another drone is flying on our wing. I reach instinctively to do something, change our course, whatever, but there are no controls in the tight cockpit. We’re trapped and powerless. The other drone has no space for passengers, and the Park Service emblem is painted on its nose. Missiles hang from its wings. I watch helplessly as its belly-mounted camera swivels to take us in, running the image against some database no doubt, or maybe even beaming it back to the Foundation. Then it tips its wing and drops away, shrinking into the distance until it disappears.

  My breath fogs the glass as I sigh with relief.

  That was too close for comfort for me.

  The sun slides slowly down in front of us, and we appear to be flying directly into it, some human torpedo on course for a fiery death, but the entire flight it never does set. I close my eyes to shield them from its glare and try for some much needed rest. I wonder what we’ll find in China—I wonder about this Chief—I wonder about a lot of things—but mostly, I wonder what Mrs. Hightower meant when she told me that I had no idea who I really am. But wondering won’t solve a thing, so I push the thoughts away and sleep.

  I wake when my head hits the glass ceiling.

  It’s dark inside the thunderstorm.

  On all sides of us, including above and below, enormous clouds pulse with lightning, their shapes stitched out in the shadows by the blue electricity flickering within them. Bluish strobes silhouette Jimmy’s head in front of me, and I wonder how he’s doing up there. I know my feet have gone to sleep and I have to pee. I swallow down the last of my water and size up the empty bottle. I think I’ll hold it for now.

  The clouds eventually lighten from black to a less ominous gray, and the lightning flashes fade. At last, we pass through the thunderheads and fly into clear skies and the most breathtaking view that I’ve ever seen. The drone has dropped in altitude, and majestic mountains spread to the horizon, their snow-dusted peaks and ridges bright in the golden light of sunset, the deep valleys between them shrouded in silvery shades of purple. It’s windblown and wild and altogether barren, but something about the harsh landscape makes me feel at home, as if perhaps I’ve been here already in some other life, or maybe just visited in a dream. Jimmy turns around and smiles at me, obviously marveling at the view outside our windows himself.

  The drone turns to follow a mountain ridgeline, and I begin to notice something different about this range from the rest. A faintly visible line connects its summits to the saddles between them, a kind of crumbling marker made out of stone. Some old wall for who knows what purpose, built so high in the hills I could only imagine it served to keep out giants, or perhaps to keep some sure-footed defectors in.

  After following the wall for some time, losing it in places where it
has worn to nothing then picking it up again, the drone approaches a rocky portion of the mountain intersected by the most intact portion of wall. I feel the wheels drop as the drone lowers for its landing, but something must be terribly wrong—we’re heading straight for the mountainside beneath the wall. Jimmy turns around, and his panic mirrors my own. I instinctively pull my knees up in the tight cockpit and cross my arms, bracing for impact. The drone drops, the mountainside looms, and at the last possible moment, a hidden door opens and we pass inside the mountain and come to a stop. The door quickly closes. We’re trapped inside in the absolute black.

  Then LED lights come on, and I see that we’re inside a tunnel at the end of a narrow runway. The drone taxis forward to where the tunnel terminates at a larger, circular hangar, then spins itself around and comes to rest facing out again. The canopies lift open, and my lungs fill with cold, biting air.

  Jimmy turns and looks at me. “We made it,” he says.

  When my feet hit the floor, my sleeping legs give out from beneath me, and I fall on the polished concrete. Jimmy jumps down and reaches to help me up.

  “You alright, buddy?” he asks.

  “I think so,” I say. “But I need to find a restroom.”

  “You wanna use my water bottle?”

  “Nah, I can hold it a little longer. Let’s go investigate.”

  Other than miscellaneous drone parts and chests of tools stacked against the walls, the hangar is empty of furnishings. It has no doors and no windows, but a metal ladder leads up the far wall and into an opening in the ceiling. There isn’t any light coming from above, so we cautiously climb the ladder, with me leading. When I poke my head into another pitch black space, I take a deep breath and hoist myself up into the room.

  As soon as I stand, LED lights snap on and illuminate what is obviously someone’s home. Jimmy joins me and we inspect the cozy space. Stone floor, concrete walls, a bed in the corner behind a curtain. A simple wooden table and chairs. An icebox. An electric stove. On the far end of the room is a desk with a chair, a computer screen, and wires running up the wall. It looks like some forgotten outpost from an earlier era.