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∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke felt cloudy and strange when he awoke. He reached out with his hand in the dark to feel for Eliza, but she was not there. She was only a wish. ∧∧ What has always been is hardest to find. ∧∧ He was still on the bench in his cell. Last night a medic had come. He had roughly bandaged Zeke’s feet and mercifully droppered a dram of laudanum onto his tongue. The medic set Republic-issue boots on the bench beside his feet and locked the cell door. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The laudanum had made Zeke sleepy. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Bartle kept rapping softly on the glass and motioning at him to sit up. Bartle didn’t want the attention of the guards, but he wanted Zeke to stay awake. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ On the periphery of sleep he thought of the small circle of sky ringed by the barrier and how he wanted to be free. Free of the jail cell, free of the city-state, free of civilization. He wanted to be under a blanket of cool dark air. He wanted to be away from the world. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke drifted off, in the end. He dreamed he was on the plains of Texas, searching for the letter. Riding across the night, dozing in the saddle. He’d wake in darkened caverns, holding the letter. He’d forget that he had it and begin the search again. He slept under a billowy sky. Animals rustled in the brush around him. Desert dusk stretched to the horizons. He rode hard through a storm, calling out for the letter. He floated down a sparkling spring, the letter still in his hand. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ It was dark when he woke. His eyes were slow to adjust. There was noise in the distance, dim rumbles. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He looked out the cell’s small window. More darkness. The phosphor lamps were all out. A wide moon hung low and curiously bright. He thought he might be in another dream. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Bartle was gone. The door to the cell was open. Zeke realized: The power had gone out. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He slid into the corridor, moving silently along the wall. He was afraid he’d see Bic or Daxon, but no one was there. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Outside, it was clear something was wrong. The full moon cast everything in a white light. Zeke felt like he was seeing the city-state for the first time, or its ghostly double. The rumble grew louder. It came from the north, by his unit. He thought of Eliza. He didn’t know if she was inside the walls or out. He should’ve done everything possible to protect her. If the Auspices were wise, they would’ve opened their tunnels to flee. Maybe Eliza went with them. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He walked along the plankways as quickly as his tender feet would allow. The city-state crouched. Dust and steam mixed in the air. He coughed, wishing for his hand-kerchief. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Storm clouds of smoke poured out of the steam distributor in the industrial quadrant. Blowing papers whipped past Zeke. On his left he saw the exploded wall of the Vault of Records. Carbon’d copies spilled from the rubble in a great white wave. The wind picked up file folders and threads and sent them spinning into the sky, the thin carbon papers fluttering like a flock of panicked moths. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Murmurings grew louder as he neared the entrance to the fount. There were folks out, running around haphazardly with their empty tins. The doors to the fount were sealed. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He moved on quickly, passing the tram terminal. Shielding his eyes from dust, he couldn’t see the tether’s dark line rising through the sky. Folks crowded the entrance, shouting and panicked. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He slipped down a side street on the eastern border of the square. Normally bustling, it was eerily empty. The saloon doors squeaked absently, broken glasses littered the ground. ∧∧ ∧∧ He stepped carefully, glancing up past the barrier in amazement as clouds streamed past the weather pylons into the city-state. Rather than shredding the storm, they seemed to be leaning into the gray wall, fanning it forward. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ A steamcarrier pulled up, its flashers spinning wildly. Lawmen hung on the sides, their steamsabres drawn. Zeke ducked into an alley. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He headed for the pairing quadrant. The watchposts were dark. It was strange to think no one was listening. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The whole city-state was a dead zone now. He didn’t know where he was without the phosphor lamps. Panels were ripped off the sides of units. Steam fissed out of valves in startling spurts. The occasional cry made him whip his head around, but he couldn’t see anyone. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ When he found his unit the door hung wide open on a broken hinge. He quietly stepped inside. It was still a mess, untouched since he had been there last. He whispered Eliza’s name through the darkened rooms, stepping on clothes scattered across the wooden floors. She was nowhere to be found. He risked calling her name a little louder. A clatter arose outside. He scrambled up onto his roof. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Up top, Zeke looked down on a cluster of citizens attacking the watchpost near his unit. After hacking at the trunk with sabres, they gathered on one side and pushed with the angry strength of a mob. The watchpost fell in slow motion, its heavy top landing with a thundering crack. A cloud of dust burst upward along with the jeers of the crowd. ∧∧ ∧∧ The group turned his way. As they streamed past, a woman spotted him up on the roof and cried to the others. He began to wave, but then realized he was wearing a Republic uniform. Men with sabres ran toward his front door. Zeke looked off the back of his roof and, deciding it was no farther than his zip-line landing, he jumped. ∧∧ He hit the ground hard, pain shooting up through every nerve in his feet. Ignoring it, he scrambled into a run, heading north on the plankways. He could hear shouting behind him. He didn’t look back. When he reached the barrier, he found a set of toeholds and climbed, relying on the strength of his arms, blinding himself to the pain. ∧∧ On top of the barrier ledge, he lay flat on his back, breathing hard. The din of the mob slowly died down. He had not been seen. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He rolled onto his side and looked back out over the city-state. Beyond the silver roofs were flashes of light. Through the smoke he caught glimpses of terror. Folks swarmed the streets, colliding in circles. Their distant cries mixed with the sound of steam generators being cranked up, the Law trying to restore order. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The pop of exploding steammines began, punctuated with a cracking boom that Zeke couldn’t identify. The deafening noise echoed off the walls. He sat up and turned away from it, covering his ears. He looked in the other direction, outside of the city-state. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Moonlight lit the desert floor of the rot. He could see a long way into the distance. There was nothing out there. The chaos was on the southern wall. The steammoat had no power. He could slide down the barrier and escape into the wilderness now, if he wanted to. He would be outside the walls. Zeke closed his eyes and thought of Eliza again, a wedding, a cabin in the storm country. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Some distant and foreign chant rose up, but he could not make out the words. The sounds of battle. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He looked to the sky, an expanse of the blackest darkness, patterned now with something shimmering. Stars that moved. Whirling points of light, falling, flashing forward. They came into focus and Zeke took a sharp breath. White bats, in the millions, flooding over the city-state, spiraling down from an empty sky. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke looked below, out into the wide expanse of open desert. A tattered sketch of a figure materialized through churning clouds of dust. The man limped toward the barrier. A flash of light brought his features forward. His face was a reflection of Zeke’s, the mustache familiar. His eyes held a weary hope that could belong to only one person. It was Zadock. Shaking, in his outstretched hand, a letter. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ �
�∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧
Dearest Elswyth,
All has gone wrong since I last wrote you. I have no paper left, so I write to you on the reverse of your father’s letter. I have opened the envelope.
His message matters no longer. Trying to deliver this letter, I saw someone who looks just like me. I espied him standing on the wall of the lost city, which was smoldering behind him. I held up this letter and he beckoned me forward. But let me tell you first how I came to that place, as the tale is as astounding as the city itself.
Yesterday, as I sat and wished for escape, the camp erupted into confusion. I rushed out of my tent, hobbling in my nightclothes.
Major McMarrow rode into the camp at the head of a tribe of Indians, all mounted. Chaos was on his heels. I had thought him lost! It had been so long since he abandoned our caravan along the Santa Fe Trail. It was a shock to see him in Texas.
Even more shocking were the cries that arose from the Texian militia, who were caught flat-footed by his preemptive strike. The alarm was sounded around the camp: Irion’s here! Irion attacking!
Irion is McMarrow. McMarrow has been Irion all along. They are the same man. I have been seeking the one who was my escort!
Though it was bewildering, I was much relieved, as I knew McMarrow would rescue me, being something like my friend.
I shouted out to him, but before I was heard the man with the bared teeth clasped a hand over my mouth, wrestling me to the ground. Aided by another, they bound my hands and dragged me back toward my tent.
I was tied and slung over the back of an animal for the better part of the night. I might add broken ribs to my broken ankle.
The worst, in all the confusion, was the despair I felt. This letter was sewn inside my shirt, still. As I was taken away I realized that if I had been with Irion all along, then I no longer knew to whom I should deliver this letter. He knew of my mission and was my escort. I can’t but wonder now if he knows the true purpose of my journey to Texas, as I clearly do not. I always held the unspoken fear that your father had sent me away to be rid of me, to seek only my doom. But why then would he send me with such a guard as McMarrow?
As they dragged me through the hill country, the Texians spoke in whispers, afraid of being trailed by Irion’s Indian army.
They were rutting about for a place to make camp when I made a grave error. I had seen a few white bats overhead, and from their direction discerned that we had circled back, not far from the cave, which must be to the north. I wondered, since having seen the one white bat, if they were indeed a whole species. Here was proof. They were daytime bats, made to blend into the bright sky. I had missed seeing them in my long slumbers during the day. My book would not be complete without this wonder. I could not stop staring up, watching them in wild hope. The man with the bared teeth noticed what I was doing. He barked the order, “To the cave!” To my dismay, the militia changed course to follow the flight pattern of the bats. I wished I had kept my eyes shut. My curiosity betrayed me. What follows is my fault.
As dawn broke, a great flood of bats appeared in the sky above us. The men panicked. One soldier said Abril was a witch who called the cursed creatures to visit revenge upon them. They blamed the man with the bared teeth for murdering her. He was promptly stabbed by his own commander, that awful grimace fixed on his face.
As you know from my study of the bats, they mean no harm to man and are no servants of witchcraft. They are the most beauteous creatures. None more so than the white bats, such as were above us.
Shouting, I urged my captors to leave them be. The Texians would not heed my cries. The militia turned on the bats. They drove their steeds over the hills, following the dotted river of white in the sky, until at last we came to their roost, my old familiar home.
The men wanted to get inside quickly, but were afraid. They threw stones into the cave, trying to knock the innocent bats from the roof, and grotesquely succeeded in killing a few. In short order that horrific process was deemed ineffectual, so one desperate soldier shot into the cave, directly at the roof. This sent a great many of the bats reeling back into the night, unsure of whether to leave the cover of home or take the escape route of the sky. Some flew to safety.
All the militia then unslung their rifled muskets and followed suit, shooting into the cave. The noise was sudden and many of the steeds startled, including the one I was slung over.
He threw me, and I hit the ground hard. Yet it was fortunate as I was able to crawl away and conceal myself under some brush, despite my bound hands and aching body. I watched in terror as the men loaded their rifled muskets with grapeshot. They emptied round after round into the cave, as though they had finally discovered their true enemy. Flapping bats spun from the sky, grasping uselessly at the charged air. They dropped like white stones to the earth, smooth and perfect even in death. I choked back my cries, not wanting to be discovered in my hiding place. After the soldiers were satisfied that the movement of life had ceased in the cave, they lit a fire to drown what was left of the bats’ nest in smoke.
One man shouted that the signals of smoke and fire would bring Irion and his Indians. They all saddled back up. The soldier who had been carrying me shouted to the others that I was gone, but they did not heed him, or perhaps did not care, panicked as they were. They kicked into their mounts, driving them back out into the night. I was left alone in the wilderness. I managed to untie my hands, and walked for hours, trying to conceal my trail as best I could.
I am sorry to relate such sorrowful details to you, but if I do not, none might ever know what has transpired. I want you to know what befell me. The fates’ actions on this night should not go unrecorded. The destruction of the bats is also that of my soul.
At the cave, I loved to watch them take to the air at night. Each creature aloft was like a small wish of mine, given wings. I have nothing to show for my love of them, save a few drawings that do not begin to describe what they are like. Not the way they bravely venture from their nests each night, seeking nourishment for their pups. Not the way their spirits vibrate the very air. Not the way they return home to huddle together in little families, clustered against the dark.
It was a massacre. A great gray trail of death had formed, leading from the mouth of the cave. A river Styx pooled from the dark blood of the bats, crested with white tufts of fur. I thought to save a specimen, but their paper-thin wings shot through with holes brought me such despair that I could not imagine keeping a relic. The memory is already painful. I cannot return to the cave now. There are to be no specimens. There are to be no discoveries. Even my drawings are lost.
That brings me to the city, where I am now. Through the treetops I could see the flash of a firefight and hear the sounds of battle. I thought the boom of a cannon might signal the presence of McMarrow — or should I say Irion? Since he alone could give the reason for my journey to Texas, I walked toward the sounds of battle.
The noises were shrouded in a cloud of smoke and dust, but as I crept forward a giant wall emerged, and atop it, the man I have described to you. If he is my cousin, a walker on the Nightway, or my future self, I cannot say. But he was as real as any man I’ve laid eyes on.
I have gone into the strange city, to try to find the man. It is abandoned, with old papers everywhere, and small geysers erupting from the walls. I found something that looks like a prison, but made of glass rather than bars. I decided a jail cell is the last place anyone would find me, so I’ve hidden myself here to write this letter.
Seeing you is the only cause I have to continue. If I cannot find the man or McMarrow, I will turn toward Chicago with all the haste my ruined body will allow. I have no Raison d’Etre, nor even a canteen. There is little chance I will lay eyes on you again, or hold your hand as we stroll down the lakefr
ont.
I shall not stop again to write. If this has reached you, please wait for me. It means I may have found civilization, and, fates willing, some provisions and a steed, and I am coming to you even as you read this.
If the stars have not aligned thusly, I hope that someone will find this and see it to you. If my future is to die in this strange land alone, this is the only way I might be with you again, just for a moment.
I will rest now, in this cell. I am weary from running and escaping and fighting. My feet ache. Perhaps I will lie down here for a spell. My last wish is that you are the next to open this letter.
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Bats of the Republic Page 32