Other times he found his footsteps leading him relentlessly back to the other house, the one containing the storage tank. He would remove the boards from the fence and go through, step down into the noisy basement, and then stare through the lid at the cylinder covered in red writing. He would stay there staring, sometimes with his finger touching the switch. But in the end he would always climb back up the stairs and leave without doing anything. Sometimes when he came out, he’d find Rykte in the backyard, as if he’d been following him. He’d look expectantly at Horkai until Horkai shook his head, and then he’d smile just a little and step back through the fence and disappear.
26
LATER, HE REALIZED IT might have gone on like that for years. He might have slowly grown older exploring the neighborhood, reading, looking for signs that life was beginning again, wandering, and every once in a while—less and less as time went on—crossing the irrigation ditch and the fence to stare into the storage tank. But after four or five months, something happened that made everything change.
He had wandered maybe four, maybe five streets away, tracing the way the moss in the stream changed as you continued down it, thicker and greener here, almost entirely gone there, but slowly starting to thicken and spread.
He was on his knees, his face a few inches from the water when he heard something. At first, he assumed it was Rykte, probably out exploring as well, but then he heard a voice.
“… somewhere around here,” he heard the voice saying.
For a moment he assumed it was Rykte speaking to himself, even though speaking to himself wasn’t a habit Rykte seemed to have. But there was something wrong with the voice, something strange about it.
And then he heard another voice. It said, “Give me the map.”
He got back up to his feet, carefully peered over the remains of the cinder block wall. There, just on the other side, on the roadway, stood two figures in dark hazard suits, rifles slung over their shoulders. They were holding a map between them, both of them bent over it.
“No, no,” said the second, pointing. “You see, we turned here. We should have turned here. We have to go that way,” he said, and gestured in the direction of Rykte’s house.
“Are you sure?”
“Am I sure?” said the second, turning his faceplate toward his companion. “No. But I’m sure this is the wrong place. If you have a better idea, let’s hear it.”
The first, grumbling, folded up the map, and they started away.
* * *
HE FLED QUICKLY BACK along the stream, back toward the house, pushed through the boards and entered through the back door. “Rykte?” he said. “Rykte?”
“What is it?” said Rykte from the front room.
“They’re coming,” said Horkai. “They’re almost here.”
“I know,” said Rykte, and indeed, when he crossed into the front room, he found that Rykte was already armed, a pistol holstered under one arm and a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. He was standing at the window, which he’d slid open a crack. “Grab what you’d like,” he said without looking around, and gestured toward the weapons table.
* * *
HE CLUTCHED A RIFLE NERVOUSLY, standing just a little behind Rykte. They saw the two men in hazard suits well before the pair realized which house it was they were looking for, when they were still standing in the street, gesturing again at their map. And then one of the pair pointed straight at their door.
The pair began coming toward the house, casually unhooking their rifles from their shoulders. Before they were halfway across the dirt yard, Rykte shouted, “That’s far enough!”
The two men froze, the sun glinting off their faceplates, making their expressions invisible. Horkai wondered if he and Rykte were invisible as well.
“Sling your rifles back on your shoulders,” said Rykte. “Or throw them on the ground. Either is okay with me.”
The two faceplates turned toward each other and then each put his rifle back on his shoulders. They raised their hands.
“No need to get hostile,” said one of them.
“We come as friends,” said the other.
“That’d be a first,” said Rykte under his breath. “Who sent you?” he called out.
“Who sent us?” said one.
“That’s what we were just planning to tell you,” said the other.
And then they were silent for so long that Horkai wondered if they expected some kind of response. Rykte, in any case, didn’t give them one.
“We know how serious a person you are,” said one of them, putting his gloved hand across his heart to show his sincerity. “We know how you love your privacy, and believe me the last thing we’d ever want is to disturb that privacy in any way whatsoever. And yet…”
“And yet,” the other continued, “here we are. If we are here, it must be important. If we would risk coming here after all these years only to have you point your gun at our heads, it must be very important indeed.”
“You haven’t told me who sent you,” Rykte said again.
“All in good time,” said the figure on the left. “All in good time.”
“We have to tell it our own way,” said the one on the right.
“Tell it, then,” said Rykte.
“It’d help us,” said Left, “if we knew who we were talking to. Do you mind giving us your name?”
“No names,” said Rykte. “Never any names.”
“No call to be hostile,” said Right. “We’ve known you so long and yet we don’t know what to call you.”
“I like it better that way.”
“All right, all right,” said Left, waving his hands. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we, Mr.…”
“Who sent you?” asked Rykte again.
“Who sent us?” said Left. “We’re the same ones as before. There’s only one group you ever see, unless there are others we don’t know about.”
“If I remember correctly,” he said, “last time I told you to go away and never come back.”
“Something like that, something like that,” admitted Right. “And we really did intend to respect your request—have, in fact, respected it for a number of years. How long has it been, Oleg?” he said, turning to the other. “Five years? Six?”
Oh hell, thought Horkai. But in one way he was relieved, glad to know it wasn’t Qatik and Qanik back somehow from the dead.
“More like five, Olaf,” said Oleg, then turned to Rykte. “You see,” he said. “Nothing wrong with calling someone by his name. Olaf and I do it all the time.”
“Five it is, then,” said Olaf. “Which you have to admit, is a long time, almost as long as forever. And as I said before, we wouldn’t have bothered to come now unless we desperately needed you.”
“We need your help,” said Oleg.
“What kind of help do you need?” asked Rykte. “Food?”
“Well…,” said Olaf. “Food is good. Nobody can be indifferent to food. But what we’re talking about here is a more serious issue of survival.”
“There’s a mountain,” said Oleg. “Made all of granite. Inside the mountain lives a group of beings like you.”
“Like me,” said Rykte. “What am I like, according to you?”
“You know,” said Olaf. “Hairless. More or less impervious. That sort of thing.”
“Nice people, I’m sure,” said Oleg. “Just like I’m sure you yourself are at heart. Never met them myself. Only heard about them.”
“You’re getting off track,” said Rykte.
“Anyway,” said Olaf. “These people stole something, something that we desperately need back.”
“We need you to help us get it back,” said Oleg.
“We don’t travel well. It’s too hot out here for us,” said Olaf. “We need someone like you.”
“Why are you asking me?”
“We don’t have anyone else to ask,” said Oleg. “Without you, our people will die. Will you help us?”
“Please?” said Olaf
.
“No,” said Rykte.
“No?”
“Can you really be saying no? We’re not asking much of you. Can’t you at least think about it?”
Rykte sighed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll think about it. Come back in five years, and I’ll give you my answer.”
Oleg turned to Olaf. “He’s not taking us seriously,” he said in a stage whisper.
“No, he’s not,” said Olaf.
They turned back to Rykte. “I’m going to ask you again,” said Oleg. “And this time I’ll say please. Did I forget to say please before?”
“You did,” said Olaf, “but I said it for you.”
“Please,” said Oleg. “We need you. It won’t take more than a day or two of your time. Please, help us.”
Rykte didn’t answer; he stayed at the window, brandishing his shotgun.
They waited in silence. Finally, Oleg said, “I’m beginning to get angry.”
“Perfectly understandable,” said Olaf. “Who wouldn’t in our shoes?”
“I’m beginning to wonder what’s stopping me from killing you,” said Oleg. “You won’t help us, you just sit out here on your own, ignoring everybody around you. That’s not very neighborly. What good are you? Why shouldn’t I kill you?”
“Try it and find out.”
“He’s right,” said Olaf. “You might get one of us, but you probably wouldn’t get both of us. There’s two of us, and only one of you.”
“Actually,” said Horkai, “there’s two of him.”
“Two of him?” said Oleg. “Who said that?”
“I did,” said Horkai.
“Do you have a name?” asked Olaf.
“His name is none of your business,” said Rykte.
“I recognize his voice,” said Oleg. “Is Horkai in there with you?”
“Horkai?” said Olaf. “What are you doing in there? What happened to the mission? Why didn’t you come back?”
“It’s us,” said Oleg. “Oleg and Olaf. You remember us, don’t you? We’re your friends.”
“How could he forget us?” asked Olaf.
“Well put, Olaf,” said Oleg. “Horkai,” he said. “If it is in fact you, what happened? Couldn’t you get in? Were you unable to find the cylinder?”
“You should have at least returned to debrief,” said Olaf.
“Did you panic? Go rogue?” asked Oleg.
“Know what happened?” said Olaf. “Weeks after you left, they came. Four of them, or maybe five, hairless bastards just like you but wearing tunics, scarily serene. One of them had a head that looked like it had been crumpled up, eye still growing back, jaw slowly mending, the skin strange and milky in the way that happens with your kind. Wasn’t pretty. I’m guessing you did that to him.”
“You know who they wanted?” asked Oleg.
“Rhetorical question,” said Olaf. “Obviously, they wanted you.”
“But they didn’t find you,” said Oleg.
“No, they didn’t,” said Olaf. “But that didn’t stop them from turning the place upside down. All in the name of goodness and brotherhood, of course, though they weren’t above a little casual torture.”
“As you’d know if you could see the burns through our suits,” said Oleg. “Do we blame you, Horkai? Yes, yes, we do.”
“And yet,” said Olaf. “And yet, we forgive you. You must have gotten it. You must have taken it from them—why else would they have come looking for you?” He extended a hand. “You should give it to us,” he said.
“And return with us to debrief,” said Oleg.
“Like a good little boy,” said Olaf.
“You boys are getting worked up,” said Rykte calmly. “I think it’s time for both of you to move along.”
“Move along?” said Olaf. “Christ, we were just starting to get somewhere.”
“And Horkai wants to come with us, don’t you, Horkai?” said Oleg.
“I don’t think so,” said Horkai.
“Ah,” said Olaf. “So it is you.”
“What if it is?” said Horkai.
“Ignore them,” said Rykte.
“How’s your illness?” asked Oleg.
“Still being sure to take steps to prevent it from moving up your spine?” asked Olaf.
“There is no illness,” said Horkai.
“No illness?” said Oleg. “No, there’s an illness, it just hasn’t manifested itself fully yet. What, you stopped taking preventive measures? You think just because you can survive out here, you’re immune to everything?”
“You poor deluded soul,” said Olaf. “I feel sorry for you.”
“There is no—,” Horkai had started to say when Rykte’s shotgun went off. Horkai jumped. Puffs of dust rose off what was left of a telephone pole over the heads of the pair in hazard suits. Both of them flinched, began patting the fronts of their suits for holes.
Rykte racked the shotgun, the dead shell spitting out onto the floor. “As for me, you’ll have to pretty near sever my head to kill me,” said Rykte in a steady voice. “For you, all it takes is one hole in your suit. If you hurry for shelter, you might not die, but you’d be more than a little sick for a very long time. Just keep that in mind.”
“Why should—?” Olaf started to say, and Rykte fired again, this time throwing up a geyser of dust from the ground near their feet.
“First shot too high, second shot too low,” he said. “Did you read ‘The Three Little Pigs’ when you were young, back before the end of the world? Where do you suppose the next shot is likely to go?” He racked the shotgun. “I think it’s time for you boys to leave.”
They just stared for a moment and then slowly turned, left the yard. At the cracked sidewalk, they stopped and spoke to each other, turning back briefly to look at the house. And then, slowly, they went away.
* * *
ONCE THEY WERE GONE, Rykte reloaded the shotgun, put it back on the table beside the door. He sat down in a rocking chair, the pistol out of the holster and balanced across his knees.
“That wasn’t so bad,” he said. “Last time they came, it was worse.”
“What happened?” asked Horkai.
“There were a few more of them,” he said. “And a few less of us. Had to kill a few of them and deliver the heads back to their friends.”
“And then they just left you alone?”
He smiled wryly. “If you deliver enough heads, they tend to do that. At least for a while.”
Horkai sat down on the couch. They stayed there like that for some time, not talking. Then, finally, Horkai spoke.
“They’ll be back, you know,” said Horkai.
“Of course they’ll be back,” said Rykte. “We haven’t killed any of them yet.”
“Should we be preparing for them?” Horkai gestured to the pile of guns on the table.
“We’re prepared,” he said.
“But—”
“They’re going to come and we know they’re coming. They’re planning to try to kill us. We’ve got weapons, they’ve got weapons. That’s all we can do,” he said. He gave Horkai an appraising look. “Unless you want to attack them instead of waiting for them to attack us.”
They sat in silence. “This is my fault,” Horkai finally said.
“I don’t see it that way,” said Rykte.
“I told them I’d do something for them. If I go give them what they want, they’ll leave us alone.”
“Do you really think so?”
Horkai hesitated, then nodded.
“Then you have a better opinion of them than I do,” said Rykte. “These are the people who took away the use of your legs. These are the people who lied to you to get you to do something for them in the first place. Do you really think if you give it to them, they’ll suddenly change? There is always one more thing. There always will be. You’re foolish to go to them.”
“If I don’t go, they’ll just keep coming back. Over and over and over.”
“Don’t be foolish. They�
�ll do that anyway.”
“Maybe,” said Horkai. “But not nearly so soon.”
Rykte sighed. “You’re wrong about all this. It’s a stupid idea. But it’s your choice.” He tucked his pistol back under his arm. “Maybe I’ll come with you,” he said.
“No, you have no part in this,” said Horkai. “I was the one who agreed, I’m the one who should go.”
Rykte hesitated, then nodded. “If you’re sure,” he said.
“I’m sure,” said Horkai, although inside he wasn’t.
27
LATER, MUCH LATER, just before the end, he had a few minutes to turn all these decisions over in his head, to try to reach an understanding of where and how many times he had gone wrong, to try to figure it out before it was too late, to try to keep a sense of his faults, his errors firmly in his mind at the critical moment so that this time he wouldn’t forget them.
But the problem was that, in retrospect, almost every decision he had made seemed like a mistake.
Which one did he regret most? Was it when he first decided to accept the so-called mission, even though he knew something was wrong, that they weren’t telling him everything, possibly weren’t even telling him the truth? Was it when, inside a mountain made of granite, he had decided to try to kill a man who had been nothing but friendly to him? Or was it when—even though he knew there was no reason for it and every reason against it, even though he knew it was counter not only to his best judgment but to any judgment of any kind, even though he had been warned—he decided to go back and give them what they wanted?
* * *
THE FIRST BIT WAS EASY. Rykte switched off the storage unit, shut down the gas generators one by one. A pair of tongs and a small Styrofoam cooler, and the cylinder was out and ready to travel. Horkai took a pistol and a knife, and then Rykte insisted he take a rifle as well.
“You sure you don’t want to reconsider?” asked Rykte as they stood there in front of the house. But Horkai shook his head. Rykte nodded once. “Head for the mountains,” he said. “You’ll probably see the stadium first, make for that. After that, you should be able to find your way.”
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