by North, Geoff
They walked across deep grooves in the ground that ran for miles in every direction—some meandering and twisting, others as straight as an arrow’s path. Those ones were really moving, Cobe thought. Willem swiveled around on Dust’s back, whistling. “There must have been hundreds of ‘em.”
“A dozen at the most,” Lawson said. “Once they find nice open spots like this, they’ll tear it up for hours on end, covering as much ground as they can in search of food. The less they find, the more worked up they get. Ain’t nothin’ angrier and faster than a herd of rollers with nothin’ to eat.”
Trot patted Dust’s mane. “Not faster than Dust.”
Lawson shrugged. “Wouldn’t want to put it to any kind of test.”
They crossed the roller trails, creating their own dim set of tracks at a considerably lesser pace, until the ground became rockier. The tracks ended and soon they were in hills again. Cobe breathed easier, and he could see Willem’s form behind Trot had relaxed as well. Lawson guided Dust around outcroppings of rock and through dead forest. The horse could’ve picked its way without his help, Cobe was sure, but he had already seen the silent bond between the man and animal. Dust had one eye; Lawson was only trying to help it along on its bad side. It was plain to see the two had traveled that way together for a long time.
The trees ended and they headed down again. Cobe saw the river Lawson had mentioned earlier, dirty brown and twisting, like a big, sick worm. They followed its muddy bank west for a mile when Trot yelled out, “I thought you said rollers didn’t like water! There’s three of ‘em up ahead!”
Lawson squinted to see them, his face a leather map of cracked lines. “Quit yellin’. They’re people.” Cobe noticed the lawman’s hand move instinctively over the handle of the heavy gun strapped at his side. “It ain’t unheard of for people to move about from town to town, just uncommon. Keep yer mouths shut and let me do the talking.”
Chapter 9
Willem slipped off of Dust’s back and went to walk with his brother. If things turned ugly and they had to run, the boy didn’t want to be anywhere near the big horse.
It was a man and a woman. They looked to be around the same age as Cobe’s parents. There was a girl with them. Cobe guessed she wasn’t much older than he was. The man dropped a large pack from his back into the mud. He pulled what looked like a long knife from the inside and motioned the other two to stand behind him. They stood their ground. The closer Lawson and Dust led them, the more detail Cobe could make out. The man was a big, tough-looking bastard with a black beard that puffed out and covered the upper third of his chest. And it was a big chest. He was nowhere near as tall as Lawson, but he probably outweighed the lawman by fifty or sixty pounds. His arms were twice as thick as Willem’s legs. The woman behind him was a skinny thing with thinning brown hair pulled back into a knot that looked painful.
Proximity didn’t help the girl much. If it wasn’t for the two bumps on her chest, Cobe might’ve changed his mind and said it was a boy—a very ugly one. Her hair was the same color as her mom’s—brown, dirty, and unkempt. It looked like a roller had taken a shit on the top of her head.
“That’s far enough,” the bearded man warned when they were twenty feet away. Cobe stifled a laugh; the long knife turned out to be a stick, too short in length, and too dulled on the end to even be considered a spear. “My family is just passing through to the next town. Don’t want no trouble, but if you push me, I’ll push back.”
“We ain’t lookin’ for any,” Lawson replied. “Not sure what yer expecting to find east of here. Burn’s run by crazy folks, and I can’t say if Rudd is any better.”
“I have family in Rudd,” the man said. “A sister.”
Lawson hitched a thumb back towards Cobe and Willem. “Family’s nice. Them two are brothers.”
The three strangers eyed the boys as if they were carrying something lethal. The mousy woman spoke next. “You ain’t their father? Seems awful strange for two young ones to be traveling out in the open lands without parents or such.”
“Our parents swung from a tree branch until they was dead,” Willem said.
The man’s big hands tightened around the stick. “What happened to yer arm, boy?”
Willem looked at the space on his left side where everyone else he knew had a second arm. “Nothin’ happened to it, you dumb shit. I never had more than the one.”
The man took a step forward, and Lawson stood in front of the boys, his hand resting on the handle of his gun. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Cobe punched his brother’s shoulder. “Say you’re sorry.”
“Why the fu—”
Cobe punched him again. “Do it.”
Willem sneered at his brother and apologized. “Sorry.”
“Say it like you mean it,” Lawson swung around and smacked Willem across the top of his skull.
Cobe saw red. If he had taken a few moments to realize Lawson was trying to diffuse the situation, he may have let things pass. Instead, he kicked Lawson between the legs with all his strength. The lawman crumpled to his knees and groaned.
The bearded man burst out laughing and dropped his weapon to the ground. “I didn’t think my little stick would be much good against that,” he pointed to Lawson’s gun, “but it looks like there are more terrifying things out in these parts to worry over.”
Cobe backed away as Lawson got back on his feet. The lawman grumbled in a weak voice. “So much for lettin’ me do all the talking.”
“I’m Jakob,” the man offered. “This is my wife, Anna, and our daughter, Angel.”
Angel. It was a word to describe someone nice and beautiful, or so Cobe had been taught. He had no idea if the girl hiding behind her father was nice, but he was more than sure she was no beauty. Lawson’s face was still a grayish mask of discomfort. He held his hand out and Jakob shook it. “Name’s Lawson. The one up on the horse is called Trot. These two are Cobe and Willem. Willem’s the one with the filthy mouth; Cobe’s the one with the temper.” He gave Cobe a look that said they weren’t finished—not by a long shot.
Jakob nodded and scratched at his beard. “Crazy folks in Burn? Can’t say it’s much better west of here.”
Cobe caught Angel staring at him as the two men spoke. She smiled sheepishly, revealing buckteeth as big and long as a pair of thumbs. The girl had no chin—only a stub covered with pimples. Her eyes, devoid of much color, were set too far apart—the space between them littered with more pinkish sores. She truly was the most hideous girl Cobe had ever laid his eyes upon.
She stepped out from behind her mother and held out a dirty fist. She opened it and showed Cobe a half-eaten apple. “There’s a whole forest of ‘em growing wild about a mile back. I picked all I could carry, and ate so much it made my gut sore. Go on, you can have it.”
She was still smiling. Cobe could see the remains of green peel stuck to the front of one of her monstrous teeth.
“Ain’t hungry.”
The mother frowned at him. “My Angel’s offering you the gift of food. Go on…eat it.”
“We just ate. I’m not hungry.”
Willem poked his brother in the ribs. “That’s a gawdamn lie. We ain’t ate since yesterday. My brother’s just being shy. He gets that way around pretty girls.”
Angel giggled. “Pretty. You think I’m pretty?” she asked Cobe, not Willem.
Cobe cleared his throat. “Pretty enough, I guess.” He suddenly wished Lawson’s hit had knocked his brother’s head clean off his shoulders. He took the apple. It felt hot and sweaty from being cupped in the girl’s dirty hand.
“Go on,” she chided, “take a bite.”
Cobe took a small nibble from the other side—the side that hadn’t already been ravaged from those big teeth. Angel’s mother beamed. She tugged at her husband’s arm, interrupting the talk he was having with Lawson. “Jakob, the skinny boy took a bite from Angel’s apple. Isn’t that just wonderful?”
The apple tasted sour—the text
ure pulpy, like rotted wood. Cobe slipped the rest into the pocket of his pants. “I’ll save the rest for later. Like I said, I ain’t all that hungry.”
Jakob was now smiling along with his wife. “There’s an old story where we’re from that says when a man shares fruit with a woman, they become one. Our Angel has been looking for a man for a long time. It’s a good sign.”
Cobe could still feel the single bite working its way down his throat, like something alive not willing to go all the way. He had just turned sixteen and didn’t feel anywhere near being a true man. And if being a man meant becoming one with the likes of Angel, he figured he could wait a few more years yet.
Trot fidgeted on Dust’s back. “I’ve been looking for a wife longer than Angel’s been alive. Can I have one of your apples?”
Anna stared up at him, her hopeful mood suddenly soured, like the half-eaten fruit in Cobe’s pocket. “Reckon we’ll keep looking awhile longer. There’s bound to be someone for her in Rudd. Besides, she’s still young.”
Cobe wanted to hug the simple-minded man. Lawson spoke next. “Get down, Trot, and let the boys ride.” Trot did as he was told and the brothers took his place. Lawson nodded at Jakob. “Been good talkin’ to you. Hope you find work in Rudd.”
Jakob nodded and herded his family east. Cobe glanced over his shoulder as they continued west. Angel was walking backwards, smiling. She waved and Cobe turned away.
Lawson saw the exchange. “I should’ve left you with them. Maybe marriage would’ve taught you some respect.”
Cobe didn’t say a word. They came upon the apple trees awhile later. It was hardly the forest Angel had claimed. There were four trees in all, struggling miserably to grow in a thatch of grass already dead. The tallest was shorter than Willem and none of them had much to offer in the way of sustenance. Lawson picked the largest fruit left hanging and offered it to his horse. “I wouldn’t eat any of ‘em,” he said as Willem started to harvest the remainders. “Dust here can digest just about anything, but I suspect that girl’s innards are about to feel as ugly as her face looks in a short time.”
Cobe dug the one out of his pocket and held it out to Lawson. The lawman raised an eyebrow. “That a peace offering for kicking me in the nuts?”
“It’s for your horse.”
“Feed it to him yerself.”
Cobe pinched the bit of black stem left between his fingers and held it out at arm’s length. Dust’s big head swung in a sideways arc and snatched it up. Cobe snapped his hand back and Willem laughed. He turned on his brother. “If you had kept quiet back there, I never would’ve kicked the lawman. One of these days that gawdamn mouth of yours is gonna get us killed.”
Willem tossed his meager apple pickings in front of the horse. “Said I was sorry.”
“No permanent harm was done,” Lawson offered. “I’ve been kicked a lot harder there by Dust.”
Trot stroked the mane of black hair on Dust’s neck. “Silly place for apple trees to be growing—out here in the open.”
“Someone’s farm at one time,” Lawson said. “Or a failed attempt at one.” He pointed to the slow-moving river they had been following. “Not much is going to grow for long without rain and with only that thing to feed on.”
Dust finished the apples and they moved on. It was beginning to get dark when Cobe spotted a new range of hills to the south. Lawson started that way and Dust followed. Trot was now walking beside the lawman after surrendering his spot on the horse’s back, begrudgingly, to the boys an hour before. “You sure we should be leaving the river? We might get lost.”
“You have any idea where you are now?” Lawson asked. Trot shook his head. “The river runs all the way to the ocean. That’s at least another month’s worth of travel. We’ll get there eventually, but first we have to make a stop for supplies.”
“What’s an ocean?”
“Big body of water.”
“Bigger than the river?”
“A little bigger, yeah.” Lawson tipped his head at Trot’s pants bundled around his knees. Trot pulled them back up and tightened the rope knot Cobe had taught him to tie earlier. “There’s a town by the ocean where we’ll find passage on a boat. The boat will take us to an island where the people are more tolerant.”
Trot gave him that questioning look.
“Tolerant means more accepting. The people won’t look at Willem’s missing arm and yer slow thinking as any kind o’ detriment.”
“What’s a boat?”
Lawson shook his head slowly and kept walking. Cobe knew what a boat and an ocean were; he asked more about the island.
“It’s called Victory,” the lawman continued. “People established a community there hundreds of years ago because it was safe.”
“What makes it any safer than all the other places?” Willem asked.
“Howlers and rollers can’t travel across water. And them folks too ignorant and afraid to try don’t bother neither.”
Cobe found it hard to believe such a place existed. “How long will we stay there? Will the people let us live there forever?”
“If you got smarts, and are willing to learn more, I imagine they’d let you stay as long as you like.” He looked at Trot. “Don’t worry—what you lack for brains can be made up in other ways.”
Cobe was still puzzled. Dust was carrying enough water and dried meats to see them through another week. “Why are we going to this Big Hole place first? What kind of supplies you looking for?”
Lawson tapped the handle of his sidearm. “I need ammunition, and more weapons. The three of you will have to pay your way onto the island as well.”
“We ain’t got nothing to pay with,” Willem said.
“You’ll find plenty when we get to the Hole. The only way anyone’s allowed access to Victory is by presenting them with a book. Don’t matter what book it is. They don’t care how big, or how beaten up. So long as you give ‘em a book, you’re allowed through.”
“I only ever seen one book,” Willem said in a quiet voice. “It was our Ma’s. There was pictures inside—awful pictures of people with their skin torn off. Some pages showed ‘em with their flesh torn clean off, and only their bones left.”
Lawson nodded. “I remember. It was a doctorin’ book—the kind that fixes people when they’re sick or injured.”
“Didn’t like it none. I sometimes thought Ma and Pa might have been bad folks, learning the ways of other bad folks from a long time ago.”
Cobe poked his brother in the side. “That’s what I told you when I found you poking through their stuff. Pa would’ve beat you something awful if he’d known you was snooping. Ma wouldn’t have been pleased either.”
Lawson chuckled. “I gave it to her after she saved my life. I’d meant to take it to the island one day, but after what she did for me…I figured her natural talents could make better use of it.”
Surprisingly, Trot asked the most intelligent question next. “If you’ve already been to this island, why did you come back to Burn? If the people there are so accepting, why come back to the likes of Lode and all them other mean folks?”
“Them mean folks can be taught to think different...eventually. When they stop fearing each other, maybe they’ll start working together. That’s the way things used to be….Hopefully it can be like that again someday.”
“Like it was when there were cities?” Trot asked.
Lawson shrugged and they continued toward the hills. Cobe wanted to ask why the lawman allowed people to be hung and cut. He also wanted to know why his parents had to die. But deep down, Cobe already knew the answer: Lawson kept the order. He saw justice—however cruel and wrong—served. He worked under Lode. That confused Cobe more than anything. Why had Lawson abandoned those misguided ideals and left? Why had he helped them escape Burn, instead of taking them back to hang?
The closer they got, the more unusual the hills became. They weren’t like any other hills Cobe had seen close to Burn, or any of the others they’d trave
lled along and over in the last two days. It seemed more like one low-sloping wall running north and south forever. It wasn’t a difficult climb to the top. The ground was hard and nothing grew out of it. Trot, still sitting on Dust, saw what lay beyond first. He made a gasping sound. Willem ran ahead of his brother and whistled, as he had a habit of doing when something impressed him.
Cobe caught up and stood next to him, taking it all in. The hill was one big wall that stretched all around them in uniform circle. It wasn’t until they reached the top that Cobe was able to make out its massive size. A copper smudge sunset hung directly over the far side, threatening to sink into the black shadows of a crater wall—five miles, if not more, away. It was hard to judge the distance of such a massive thing from so far away. The remaining day cast a weak crescent of light on the side the four were standing on. The hill dropped before them, steeper on the inside, into a confusion of twisted shadows. At the bottom, Cobe saw the beginning of what looked like a giant sheet of black. If it were earlier in the day, and if the sun were able to shine through the clouds, Cobe would be able to see it more clearly for what it was: water. A still lake of liquid sitting three miles across.
Trot wrinkled his nose. “Smells like farts.”
Lawson spit onto the gray ground. “Water will do that when it sits too long in one spot.”
“Why have we come here?” Willem asked.
“This is the place where we’ll find your payment onto Victory Island.”
Cobe shook his head. “Books? Down in all that shit?”
“We’re not going into that shit…we’re going beneath it. Welcome to Big Hole.”
Chapter 10
2269
1,742 meters beneath the surface of what once was Dauphin
253 kilometers northwest of where Winnipeg, Manitoba once stood
It had been almost two full centuries since Lothair started counting the seconds of his new life— all 6,275,664,007 of them. He was still keeping track of time, along with a few other things. Lothair had written 1,612 novels. He’d taken them from rough draft through to fully-edited versions—in his mind—fit for publication. Lothair doubted there were any publishers left above to print his stories, and even if there were, he knew none of them would take him on. Lothair’s words and sentences were perfect, his grammar flawless. He had written tales of suspense, epic fantasy, romance, and science-fiction, but none of it had feeling.