Night Road

by A. M. Jenkins

  It’s our ability to feel that keeps us human.

  “I saw this Goth guy there with a thing on his finger,” Gordo was saying. “Like a tool thing, you know, pointy. It looked a lot easier than these rings. I don’t guess there’s any way we could use something like that?”

  Cole immediately thought of Royal. “What did he look like?”

  “You know, Goth. Just…Goth. Black all over. And the pointy thing.”

  “Finger guard,” Cole corrected. They weren’t terribly unusual, among certain types of omnis. “No, we can’t use them. They draw attention.”

  “Yeah, I figured.” Gordo sighed.

  “The guy—what color was his hair? Was it black too?”

  “I dunno. I was mostly just noticing the pointy thing. Why?”

  “Did you talk to him?” Cole asked. “What was he doing?”

  “I don’t know. He was just in the crowd, that’s all.”

  It was highly unlikely that Gordo had seen Royal. They were almost four hundred miles from Phildelphia. Why would the stray have followed them so far when he’d run away from them back in Philly?

  Still, to be safe, Cole would mention it to Sandor, so they could keep an eye out. Just in case.

  They fed at the college library. Cole was pleased to see Gordo prowling the stacks like any other student desperately trying to finish a paper on a Sunday night.

  He wasn’t so pleased when they were back at the hotel and Gordo took Sandor at his word, asking to see Cole’s photos.

  Cole couldn’t think of any reason to refuse—it wasn’t as if the photos were private, or secret, or would reveal anything he wanted to keep hidden. Okay, so he had an uncomfortable inkling that he wasn’t quite rational in his feelings about them. More reason to bring them out into the light of day, so to speak.

  So he brought the file case over to Gordo’s room, and, opening it, took out all the various stacks and spread them on the bed. Gordo looked them over for a moment before picking up one of the batches from the fifties.

  He started flipping through.

  After a moment, Cole picked up a stack he’d taken among the families who lived in the oil fields of Oklahoma. As he looked at each picture, he felt nothing. He thought maybe that was because Gordo was in the room, but it was also possible, he decided with a bit of discomfort, that he’d let too much time go by since the last time he’d looked. He’d briefly perused that one stack at the hotel in—where was it?—but before that he couldn’t recall the last time he’d even opened the case.

  Gordo went through the pictures, careful not to touch the surfaces. “It’s like the edges are cut off on all of them,” he said after a while. “I mean, they’re not centered. Like this one, see?”

  Cole glanced at the one he held out; it showed a little girl, swinging. Cole could remember taking it; her dress was gray in the picture, but in life it had been cherry red, with a white collar. She was caught in mid-flight at the height of her swing, at the exact point between rising and falling. Her hair was lofted chaotically into her face, but even the hair couldn’t hide the smile of pure joy.

  “See her feet?” Gordon said. “And her head, and the top of the swing set, and the house? It’s like…”

  “What?”

  “I dunno. Like she goes on beyond the edge of the picture. All of these are like that. Like there’s all kinds of stuff going on beyond the edges.”

  Cole bent closer to see the photo. He did not touch it.

  “That’s right,” he said. “It’s her life.”

  “Her life?”

  “It goes on beyond the edges of the picture. This is just one moment, one feeling.”

  “She looks really happy.”

  “Happy. Yes.”

  “But you said you’re not taking these anymore.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t enjoy it now.”

  Gordo gave him a long look, but said nothing. He went back to the photos.

  Cole put down his stack and sat in the armchair. He watched Gordo finish the stack in his hand, then pick up another. The kid went through them pretty quickly, only occasionally stopping to look more closely, when one caught his eye.

  He held up a photo to show Cole. “Who killed him?”

  It was the little boy in the white sailor suit. “No one,” Cole said. “He died of disease. Why would you think someone killed him?”

  “I dunno. I just thought maybe…I dunno.” He put the picture back into the stack and started leafing through again. “Hey. Cole. Did you ever kill anyone?”

  It was an unexpected question. Bluntly put, but honestly asked. Cole knew he meant killing in the feed. It was something Gordo would be interested in. And it was something that Cole ought to explain, in order to show Gordo how he had to learn to relate to the rest of the world.

  So he answered. “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “A girl.”

  “What happened?”

  All right. This was part of his responsibility. He was here to let Gordo know all aspects of a heme’s position. He, Cole, had a concrete example to share. If he had to rake over a couple of raw nerves to do it, that was a small price to pay to prevent Gordo from making the same mistake. And Gordo would remember the lesson better if it had real people attached to it.

  Cole had never spoken baldly of what he’d done, never told it out loud as one entire experience. He could do it though. Enough time had passed that he ought to be able to speak of it without emotion. The same way he had told Gordo about his first feed.

  It took him a moment to compose himself though. He did not look forward to seeing that horrified, fascinated, omni-ish look on Gordo’s face. Not about this.

  Gordo was still looking through the pictures in his hand—photos of strangers. How much easier it was to talk about strangers!

  “Okay,” Cole said, committing himself. “Gordo. Do you remember when I told you what happens to us in sun?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The reason I know what it’s like is that I…made an error once. Oh, put those damn pictures down and sit.” Gordo perched on the edge of the bed. He held the stack of photos for another moment, then laid it carefully on the bed and turned his attention to Cole.

  “When I was like you,” Cole began. “Actually, a bit older…but anyway. I was…fearful. Alone. I don’t know—probably you haven’t felt this yet, but you get to a point where you see that every living thing is passing you by.”

  “Like spring,” Gordo reminded him. “Like you said in the kitchen that time.”

  “Yes. It can start with a feeling of disconnection. Do you understand what I mean?”

  “A little bit. Ever since this thing happened to me, it’s like I can’t keep my feet on the ground, like I can’t be sure what’s real anymore. Out here with you guys, it feels like things are more solid. But back at the Building I could just not think and not face anything. It was like I was floating.”

  “Yes, that’s part of it. But later, you may get a feeling of being passed by and left alone….” He wasn’t explaining this well enough. He had to do better, make the kid aware of what might come. Had to make him understand.

  “All right. Now. Don’t talk, just listen. I saw it like this: All of life on Earth was like a river. Everyone on Earth was floating down this river, and I had to stand alone on the bank, watching them all go by. I got to a point where I realized that every single person around me would always be out of my grasp, always disappearing around the bend to a fate that I could never see. Does that make any sense to you?”

  Gordo nodded. Cole drew a deep breath and continued.

  “I still thought I could get attached to omnis. I thought I halfway still was one, I suppose.” He felt a sudden, irrational desire to babble that he had never meant any harm—but he ignored it and pressed grimly on. “And there was this girl, a young lady, who did not know what I was. But I was stupid. I thought that—that—” What was wrong with him? He did not u
sually have trouble verbalizing whatever was in his head. “I thought that I could feel my way through a situation and everything would turn out all right. I think I had faith in God, or the universe, or something—faith that if you have good intentions, things will eventually work out for the best.

  “Anyway, what happened was that I—stupidly—thought I could create a companion for myself. I let myself think that she was my…soul mate, I suppose, although there wasn’t really a word for it back then. And I, being stupid—I can’t stress that enough, Gordo—let myself get attached. I let myself think that it was meant to be.”

  He had felt his face getting hot for some time, and it dawned on him: That must mean it was turning red. “I’m uncomfortable telling you all this,” he admitted. He had to be honest. It was his own actions, after all, that had resulted in shame and embarrassment. “But I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t allow you to learn from my mistakes.

  “So one romantic summer night I did it. I killed her, with love, with what I thought were good intentions.”

  “On purpose?” Gordo didn’t seem to be shocked. He sounded as if he were just making sure.

  “Yes,” Cole said. “And it never occurred to me that I hadn’t even asked her. I’d never told her what I was. I never stopped to think that half of her affection for me was the usual omni-heme attraction and that the other half was the mysterious life’s tragedy I kept hinting at. Anyway. There’s a lot more to it, but suffice it to say that she hated me. And she was completely justified in doing so. It was quite a jolt for me to be jerked around to her point of view. To see that my good intentions were really selfish and small-minded.

  “But we were stuck together for a while. I had to live side by side with the one person I wanted and couldn’t have, and she was trapped with the one person she despised most in the entire universe. It was torture. She left me for other hemes as soon as she was able, and I ended up traveling with Sandor and Frederick for a while. I saw her occasionally, because she’d check in with Johnny—he was in the process of creating the Colony—but she was very cold to me. Wouldn’t speak to or look at me if she could avoid it at all.

  “And then Johnny bought the Building. It was always his dream, to provide a safe place for all of us. You don’t know Johnny very well, but I can tell you that if it wasn’t for him, most of us American hemes would be underground, in the dark.

  “Anyway, Bess—Elizabeth—she came when we had only been moved in for a few years. She was different that time. Still avoiding me, but not so spiteful. She seemed sad, and tired. I didn’t try to talk to her about it. I was afraid to force the issue. But I should have tried. Because early one afternoon she threw herself off the roof.

  “You can imagine, if you fall five or six stories, what it does to you. I don’t know how long she lay there in the sun. No one could help her. She was dead, the omnis thought—and no wonder; she was pretty well smashed up. And by the time Johnny got her back, her bones had knit themselves back together—but they hadn’t been set, you see, so they were a bit…misshapen. Her internal organs had healed. Her skin had begun to renew itself. The only thing that hadn’t healed in any way was her mind. And that wasn’t from the fall but from the sun.”

  And that was it, he thought. He’d done rather well—gotten out the pertinent facts, not glossed over his own errors.

  “How did Johnny get her back?” Gordo asked.

  “Bribed. Lied. Stole.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe he ran out real quick and carried her in.”

  “God, no. Nobody could do that. I’m the only one who was stupid enough to try.”

  He hadn’t intended to mention that part. It had been horrible—his outer layers of skin falling in white lacy shreds, the flesh underneath red raw meat. Every nerve exposed. He’d had to turn back after only a few seconds of direct sunlight.

  It took him a moment to realize that Gordo had asked him a question. “Sorry, what?” he said.

  “She didn’t die, right?”

  “Of course not.”

  “So where is she now?”

  “She’s in the Building,” Cole said. “Up on the fifth floor.” He noticed suddenly that he wasn’t looking at Gordo—that he hadn’t been able to for some time. So now he forced himself to lift his head, ready to see the kid gawking at him.

  But Gordo’s face showed nothing of the kind. No shock, no horror.

  Cole could not tell what Gordo was thinking. It was a little disconcerting, as if he’d lost his footing unexpectedly while Gordo was standing steady.

  That was a silly thought. He’d gotten the information out. Said what needed to be said—more than what needed to be said. Now they were done with the subject. Lesson taught. Over. Finished.

  He reached for a stack. “Are we through looking at these?” he asked Gordo.

  “I am. So is she up there all by herself?”

  Methodically Cole began to put each stack in its proper place in the file case. “No, she’s never left alone. The others take turns watching over her.” He frowned down at the photos in his hand—couldn’t remember which ones they were, which section of the case they belonged in. “And Johnny checks in on her every day.” The top picture was of women running a race during a town picnic. Their dresses flared back above their ankles, showing black stockings and button shoes; their hair was piled up high; their arms were caught midpump.

  “Do you go visit her?” Gordo asked.

  Cole stuffed the stack into an empty slot. “There’s no point.” He wasn’t going to try to explain what it felt like to look into the eyes of someone you loved and see an inhuman something looking out at you. Wasn’t going to describe what it’s like when the mind of the person you care about has been evicted from her body. And to know that you had caused it. “No point,” he repeated, more firmly. “She doesn’t recognize anyone. Doesn’t remember anything that happened, whether it was a hundred years or merely a hundred seconds ago. Seeing me—seeing anyone—does nothing for her; and—and—there’s just no point.”

  He picked up another stack and shoved it into the file.

  “I’m sorry,” he heard Gordo say, with such sincere sympathy that it gave Cole that odd, disoriented feeling again.

  “Sounds kind of like what I did with Jill,” Gordo added.

  “No, it’s completely different.” Last stack. Cole shut the flap and snapped the elastic around it, suddenly weary.

  But it didn’t matter how weary he was. He was here to explain things, no matter whether he was tired, or hurting—no matter what he felt; he had a responsibility to fulfill. “Thirst,” he told Gordo, keeping his voice even, “is a physical need. Our bodies need blood the way they need oxygen. You may deny the need to breathe, but your lungs will eventually force you to breathe anyway. What you did was out of your control. What I did was completely unnecessary.”

  He got up and took the file over to his suitcase. He hoped the kid would let it go now.

  “Yeah, but you loved her,” Gordo pointed out. “You didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  Cole could feel himself starting to get angry—why, he wasn’t quite sure; but he knew it wasn’t the least bit helpful, so he said nothing and tried to push it down.

  “You didn’t mean for it to work out the way it did,” Gordo went on.

  Cole put the file folder back in the pocket of the suitcase. “Let’s just drop it.”

  “So, really,” Gordo continued, “we are basically in the same boat.”

  “I said, let’s drop it.”

  “Okay, but the point is, I know how you feel, dude.”

  Enough. Cole zipped his suitcase with one quick gesture. Then he turned to Gordo. “You know nothing,” he said, low and deadly even. “A few weeks ago you were…eating cooked animal flesh and downing six-packs. You know less than nothing.”

  He hadn’t raised his voice at all. Hadn’t made one move toward Gordo. Yet Gordo sat stunned. He looked as if Cole had struck him.

  For just a moment—then his mou
th tightened. “Is that why you act like you’re better than me all the time?”

  “I don’t do that.”

  “Yes, you do. You talk to me like I’m an idiot. ‘Tighten the cap on your shampoo,’” Gordo mimicked. “Get rid of the red shirt.’”

  “That’s not—”

  “You are not to have sexual contact. You are not to have a date. You are not to do anything at all because you’re a fucking idiot, Gordo.’”

  “Just because—”

  “Leave me alone.” Gordo picked up the remote and switched on the TV.

  Okay.

  It was fine with Cole if they didn’t talk. Cole didn’t need anybody explaining his own past to him. So he’d hurt the kid’s feelings. So what? He wasn’t here to make friends. Besides, teenage guys said worse to each other every day.

  Cole wanted to go back to his own room. Really leave the kid alone. But he knew he couldn’t. It was his responsibility—his burden—to stick with Gordo, no matter what.

  They sat together in stiff silence for the rest of the night.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BY the next evening Cole regretted snapping at the kid. Eating cooked animal flesh and downing six-packs—for God’s sake, he had quoted Frederick at the boy!

  And Gordo had obviously taken it to heart. As they left the hotel, Cole could see that he was still out of sorts. He didn’t wait to hand his suitcase to Cole, who stood in front of the open trunk, but tossed the bag in himself before walking around to get in.

  Cole gave Sandor a questioning glance.

  Sandor just shrugged.

  When they were on the road again, Cole studied Gordo in the mirror. The kid was in his usual place in the backseat. But he slouched into the corner as if he’d collapsed there, and dark circles under his eyes gave his face a weary look.

  Cole remembered now what Gordo had told him: Ever since this thing happened to me, it’s like I can’t keep my feet on the ground. Out here with you guys, it feels like things are more solid.

  “Gordo,” he said, “I’m sorry I snapped at you last night.”