by Posey, Jay
And while Wren was trapped in his own personal hell, Haiku kept walking, and walking, and walking, and somehow Wren’s body kept at it too. Mechanically, as if picking a foot up and putting it down again was all he had ever done and all he would ever do.
That night they found an abandoned high-rise and Haiku had him walk up to the sixth floor. The Weir came out as the sun slipped below the horizon, their lonely and mournful cries echoing through the otherwise empty streets and alleyways. Haiku forced Wren to eat some of his rations and once even had to wake him up to finish chewing the bite in his mouth. After that, Wren curled up in one corner with his pack as a pillow and his coat over his head. He slept deeply and unmoving until Haiku woke him at first light.
When he rose that morning, everything hurt. Feet, knees, hips, shoulders, eyes. Every part of him ached with a dull and hollow pain, and Wren felt like he was coated in a clammy film. It was the same feeling he always got right before he threw up, except it didn’t go away. He had slept, but his body was far from rested.
It was no easy task getting down the six flights of stairs, with each one threatening to buckle Wren’s legs and send him tumbling. He gripped the rusted railing as they descended, knowing full well that if he did fall, he would never be able to stop himself. When they reached the ground floor, his heart dropped to see Haiku resume his long stride again, even, measured, sure-footed, just as if this was the very first day of their journey. Wren hated him then. Not with passion, but with clinical detachment, as if the man was a thing that simply should not be. Always ahead, always threatening to get even farther away.
At some point early on in that fourth day, Wren took to watching the ground just a foot or so in front of him. He’d find a crack or a spot or some swirl in the concrete dust and he’d tell himself to walk that far. And when he reached it, he’d find another. And another. It wasn’t quite a game, because there was never any fun or joy in reaching the goal. But it kept him moving and it gave him something to focus his mind on. Letting his mind wander, that had been his mistake from the day before. Today, he would control his attention, fix it on something, anything, to keep it from running wild.
The change was so gradual that Wren didn’t notice it at first. Not for a long while, in fact. But as he continued his cheerless “game”, it occurred to him that for landmarks he was finding fewer and fewer defects in the pavement, and more and more patterns in the dust. And when his mind awoke to that, he then noticed that his footing was less stable and each step took more effort. Not just from the fatigue.
Wren looked up and found that the landscape had transformed around him. Gone were the recognizable ruins of manmade structures, the ones where most of the original shape and structure could be determined. Here and there were rounded lumps that might once have been buildings. The ground beneath his feet was thick with some combination of concrete dust and ash. Reflexively, Wren stopped and looked around. It was the same in every direction. And it finally struck him, like a surprise punch to the gut.
They’d crossed into the Strand.
And from the looks of it, they’d done so miles ago. A panic surged up in Wren’s chest, the associations from his first encounter with the Strand too strong to ignore. This was the place that had given him his first taste of true, soulbreaking loss. This was where Mama had died.
Haiku had told him they’d be going east. Towards the Strand. He hadn’t said anything about actually going into it. Wren turned back to find Haiku, to call out to him, to ask him what was happening and why they were here. But Haiku, of course, hadn’t stopped when Wren had and he’d pulled far enough away that Wren wasn’t sure the man would be able to hear him even if he yelled. And he wasn’t even sure he could yell. Wren started moving again, trying to catch up. The loose powder of the Strand shifted like a fine sand beneath each footstep, making travel more difficult even without the previous three days’ worth of exhaustion. It was a mighty struggle, but Wren finally managed to get within what he guessed was earshot.
“Haiku!” he called. The man didn’t slow or turn. “Haiku!” he called again.
Haiku looked back over his shoulder but continued his march.
“What are we doing? Where are you taking me?”
“I can’t hear you, Wren,” Haiku answered. “You’ll have to come closer.”
“Can’t you just wait?” Wren asked, but Haiku had already turned away. Wren pushed on, gaining ground with bitter slowness. He finally drew up behind Haiku. “What are we doing here?”
“Walking,” Haiku said.
“But why? Why the Strand?”
“So we reach our destination.”
Wren had run out of patience long ago. The words came out harsh.
“Tell me where we’re going! I demand it!”
Haiku looked at him sidelong. “Be careful, little one. You were never governor to me.”
“Haiku, please,” Wren said, exasperated. “I’m too tired.”
“Then perhaps you should save your energy for something other than questions,” Haiku said, and then he lengthened his stride for a few steps, pulling three feet ahead. Under normal circumstances, that distance would have meant nothing. To Wren, then, at that moment, it was a gulf too wide to cross.
Some time later, Haiku allowed a merciful break. Wren laid down on the concrete silt and fell into a nearly immediate sleep. When Haiku woke him, he was certain that he’d only blinked. But Haiku assured him they had to keep moving. They were in the Strand after all. There would be no wayhouses, no place to hide tonight.
As he’d struggled to his feet and tried to don his pack, Wren lost his balance and went down hard on his hands and knees. For a moment his vision darkened at the edges. It was then he knew his body had reached its absolute physical limit. He’d given all his body had to give, really and truly. Haiku had told him he’d pass out before he died. And here he was, staring over the edge, down into darkness. He’d come as far as his body would allow. Haiku couldn’t ask anything more.
“We must go, Wren,” Haiku said. “Now.”
“I can’t, Haiku,” Wren said. “My legs. I can’t.”
Haiku stood over him for a moment. And then he said, “Then you’ll have to crawl.” He said it without emotion, neither anger nor reproach nor sadness. Simply stated.
And to Wren’s utter disbelief, Haiku turned away and started off again. At that ruthless, relentless pace.
Wren stayed there on his hands and knees watching him go. Surely he’d stop. He’d turn back and see that Wren wasn’t giving up of his own accord. Surely he’d come back. But Haiku kept getting smaller and smaller and showed no sign of slowing. Wren lowered his head then, rested his forehead on the rough ground, felt the grit grind into his skin. He closed his eyes just for a moment.
And Three was there, crouching next to him.
“Hey, kiddo,” Three said.
Wren kept his head on the ground, his eyes squeezed shut. Even in the fog, he knew Three wasn’t really there. But Wren needed him to be there, and as long as he kept his eyes closed, he thought maybe Three wouldn’t slip away. In his mind’s eye, Three was crouched down beside him, sitting back on his heels and resting his forearms on his knees the way he had.
“Bad place for a nap,” said Three.
Wren shook his head.
“I can’t, Three. I can’t keep up.”
Three nodded and looked up after Haiku.
“Well,” he said. “It’ll be a long while yet before he gets out of sight. Don’t worry about keeping up.” He looked back down at Wren. “How about you just get out of the dirt?”
Wren, in his delirium, opened his eyes to look at Three and in that instant the man was gone. Of course he was gone. He had never been there. But even knowing that, his words hung in Wren’s mind. Wren took a deep breath. Just get out of the dirt. Stand up. Even that seemed like too much to ask. But he could at least try. Wren pushed himself back to his knees and then, with all the effort he could muster, he planted one foot and used his
hands to lever himself up. It took everything he had. But a few moments later he was standing.
Haiku was by that time a good thirty yards distant. Wren couldn’t keep up. He knew that. But a moment ago, he’d known he couldn’t even get to his feet, and yet here he was, standing. Maybe he could take one step.
And he did. And if he had taken that one, could he take just one more?
Yes.
Those first few steps did everything they could to remind him that he had reached the limits of his physical body; they screamed his limitations, his doubts, his failures. But something kindled in his spirit. Through the pain of his body and the anguish of his mind, Wren found his feet taking one more step, and one more, and then another, and another. And the barrier fell.
The torment didn’t disappear, not by any means. But it became less important somehow; distant, less meaningful. His body was moving, he was making progress. Wren felt as if he’d been lifted up to some higher place, freed from the confines of his physical world. Maybe not removed, exactly. There was probably a word for it, but Wren couldn’t find it at the moment. He was exhausted beyond belief and exhilarated at the same time. He stretched his stride, each step building confidence now instead of robbing it. And to his astonishment, he found himself not just keeping pace with Haiku, but actually gaining ground.
It took him nearly half an hour to catch up. When he did so, Haiku glanced back at him over his shoulder and just smiled. No greeting, no encouragement. But there was something like an I-told-you-so in that look.
From that point on, Wren’s entire perspective shifted. The fog burned away and he started noticing more of his surroundings than he ever had, even when they’d first started out. Everything took on a clarity and sharpness that he’d never seen before. Each blown-out foundation and collapsed structure revealed their unique nature as he passed them. The ash and concrete dust under his feet was no longer a single blanket, it was a sea of individual grains beyond counting. All the world seemed to have fallen into a rhythm that matched his own; his breathing, his footsteps, his heartbeat, connected with the world at large.
The Strand lost its dreadful oppressiveness and Wren’s eyes opened to the expanse as it truly was rather than as he had first perceived it to be. There was no threat here. The location wasn’t evil in its own right. It was a melancholy place, certainly. A monument to the worst that had befallen the old world. But that world was one Wren had never known; he was aware of the weight of history that lay over the Strand, yet it didn’t stir any memories of what had been before. And with the fear removed by his inexplicable euphoria, he discovered the peace that the Strand offered as well. Though the air had a powdery scent from the dust he’d kicked up, there was an underlying freshness to it that had previously escaped his notice. The sun was bright, the sky clear. Wren was likely only one of two people for miles around and that thought brought with it a sense of unexpected freedom.
Then again, maybe in his current state he was just imagining it all. Maybe this bizarre sense of well-being that had come upon him was what happened to people right before they died. If so, dying didn’t seem quite as bad as he’d imagined. There probably wasn’t a better place to do it. At least it was quiet here.
Wren settled into a matched pace with Haiku just a few feet ahead of him. He had a vague notion to say something to the man, but on second thought it seemed unnecessary. Mere words could only detract from the action that had already spoken for itself. And he didn’t really care where they were headed anymore.
Over the next hour or so – Wren couldn’t be sure because he’d lost all sense of time – the terrain began to change again. The buildings stood a little higher, the ruins clustered a little more tightly. One structure in particular stood out prominently ahead; it was still distant but to Wren’s surprise it almost looked like it was intact. It was wider than it was tall and rounded where Wren had expected corners. Some kind of squat plug of a tower, just a couple of stories high. Whatever it was, the building struck such a contrast with its surroundings that Wren knew immediately that it was their destination. It wasn’t that far off, and they still had plenty of daylight left, but Haiku maintained the same pace.
They continued on and Wren lost and regained sight of the tower several times as they wound their way through the tumbledown structures that dotted the landscape. Most of the Strand was soft and rolling, covered in that fine, shifting dust and ash that blew and whirled and made walking wearisome. But here the land took on a jagged brokenness; rusting girders jutting at odd angles, like broken finger bones clawing up from their giant’s grave below. And once the image fixed in his mind, Wren couldn’t escape the feeling that he was walking through a city’s skeleton.
It took a lot longer to reach the tower than he’d anticipated, and as they drew nearer, it became clear why. In the absence of familiar landmarks, Wren had judged the building to be three or four stories high at the most. Now he realized he’d horribly misjudged the size. The tower was immense. It was the width that had deceived him; most of the tall buildings he’d seen in his life had been proportioned much differently. This one was half again as wide as it was tall, and now, closer to it, Wren guessed it must have been nearly twelve stories high. There was a thickness to it, too, a massive solidity, like someone had started sculpting it from a single block of steel and lost interest before they’d even gotten halfway done.
The whole thing was a dull, steel grey, somehow duller than the concrete-sand that swirled all around it. There were no windows that Wren could see, though it seemed to have many protrusions and vents all around. As he was studying these things, the world opened up before him into a wide plain. Haiku halted and Wren came to a stop beside him. At first, Wren thought Haiku was scouting out the area ahead. They’d reached a border of some kind, and the next two or three hundred yards were mostly flat and ominously empty. Whether the buildings that once stood there had all been completely destroyed or had never been built in the first place, it was impossible to tell. But there was nothing except open land between them and their destination. Wren scanned the plain, wide and grey. Little eddies of dust swirled up and chased themselves into oblivion. After a moment, something else drew Wren’s eye. About a third of the way down from the top of the building, there was a narrow platform or walkway with a thin line of a guardrail.
And there was someone standing at the rail.
It was small and difficult to make out against the mercury-grey backdrop, but once Wren had spotted it, there was no mistaking it for anything else. The figure was just standing there, hands on the rail.
Haiku raised a hand high above his head to signal the figure, or maybe in greeting. The figure made no apparent movement in response.
“Is that the person you’re taking me to meet?” Wren asked.
“It is,” Haiku said. The figure still hadn’t moved.
“Maybe he doesn’t see us,” Wren said.
“He does,” Haiku said as he lowered his hand. “He just doesn’t care.” He readjusted his pack and resumed walking.
Crossing that final stretch seemed to take three times as long as it should have. Wren’s euphoria burned off and anxiety grew as they made their way through the dead space. Some of it came from the natural fear of uncertainty; the journey had so commanded Wren’s thoughts that he’d hardly thought about what would happen when they actually reached the end. But walking across that wide open space brought on the uncanny feeling of being watched, not just from the structure but from all around. Wren couldn’t stop himself from frequently glancing up at the walkway. And always, the lone figure was there, unmoved.
And then, when they were fifty yards or so away, he looked up and the figure was nowhere to be seen.
From that distance, Wren could see the structure wasn’t like any kind of building he’d seen before. The whole thing seemed to be made entirely of metal. It was smooth with no sign of seams or cracks, which gave the impression that it really had been formed from a single, massive block of steel
.
When they finally reached the structure, Haiku led Wren around the base to a single, heavy door. It was the same flat grey color as the rest of the building and heavily riveted. To Wren’s surprise, it was also opened inward an inch or two.
Haiku stopped just outside with his hand on the door and looked at Wren.
“If everything goes well, Wren, this is the true beginning of your journey,” he said. “All that has come before, all that you’ve been through to get here will seem small in comparison.”
“Do you mean small like, a small price to pay?” Wren asked. “Or small like it was nothing compared to how hard it’s about to get?”
Haiku gave him a tired smile. “Both,” he said. And then added, “If everything goes well.”
He turned back to the door and paused for a long moment, his head dipped. Like he was gathering his thoughts. Or maybe steeling himself.
Finally, Haiku pushed the door inward and motioned Wren inside. It was dark and Wren hesitated at the threshold, testing the air. It was pleasantly warm and though there was an underlying industrial smell, it wasn’t stale or moldy or damp. Not at all like he’d expected. The scent was clean and healthy. Maintained. Lived in. This was someone’s home.
Haiku closed the door behind them; Wren heard the squeaking crackle of the rubberized seal squeezing into place, followed by a weighty thunk of heavy bolts sliding home. Whatever else might happen, there was obviously no reason to worry about the Weir getting in. Or anything else, for that matter. The governor’s compound had had its high walls and strong gates, but even that hadn’t felt as secure as this place. It was like being inside a wall.