By the Feet of Men

by Grant Price

  Ghazi sat close to the fire with Cassady, Hearst and Wyler. The report had left them restless. Katarina had taken the first watch, sat in a hidden spot close to the trucks with Tagawa’s bolt-action rifle, which he’d given her before returning to the Silkworm to tend to Victor.

  ‘If it is the Zuisudra,’ said Ghazi, ‘we need to avoid them.’

  Wyler lit a stick of bud, took a long drag and passed it. ‘Before I left the south, all talk in the town was about those fanatics. They talk about cleansing the Earth of ‘the disease’. They renounce all forms of technology and trust only in whichever God it is they’ve hijacked to support their cause.’

  ‘What disease?’ asked Ghazi.

  ‘Us, brother. We’re the plague. We destroyed the Garden. You know what they do to the ones who don’t repent and join their group? Castration. They slice them up and leave them to bleed out. It’ll be a graveyard down there right now.’

  ‘They think what they’re doing is right,’ said Ghazi. ‘In a way, I understand them. We went as far as we could with technology, and now they want to head in the opposite direction. Man-made systems and automation corrupted us, enslaved us and destroyed the world.’

  ‘We picked up one of theirs a while back,’ said Cassady.

  Wyler raised his eyebrows. ‘And?’

  ‘We were running a cargo of generators to a settlement somewhere in the Bowl,’ said Ghazi. ‘It was the middle of the day in the middle of nowhere, and we rounded a corner to find a man hobbling down the road on foot. So we gave him a ride.’

  Cassady cut in. ‘You insisted on it.’

  ‘He was desperate and exhausted. It wouldn’t have been right to leave him. When he’d recovered enough to speak, he told us he’d been with the Zuisudra, but had managed to get away while on watch and had been walking for three days straight. Fear gave him the strength to keep going. He said the group is controlled by a caste of priests who keep everyone in line through a combination of amputations, cannibalism, rape, torture and executions.’

  ‘Usual tricks,’ grunted Hearst.

  ‘Before they attack a settlement, the men mate with the ground and the women with plants and trees to absorb nature’s vitality. They have shamans who speak to their God to find out what steps to take next. Our man was terrified the God would help the Zuisudra find him.’

  Cassady leaned in to take the stick of bud from Hearst’s outstretched hand. ‘We messed up though. When we made it to the settlement we were headed for, we told the council who he was. They executed him before we could intervene. Too superstitious.’

  ‘Put to death for escaping hell,’ muttered Ghazi. He leaned back and eyed the sagging canopy. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, maybe the killing and the misery would never end. He only had to look to the convoy to know it was true. If the eight of them couldn’t work together without spilling blood, what chance did the rest of the world have?

  ‘We should stay closer together from now on,’ said Cassady. ‘I don’t want us getting picked off one by one. I’ve taken a look at the map, and I estimate the highway to be around half a day’s drive from here.’

  Hearst growled in response.

  Cassady sighed. ‘We have to take the highway. We’re losing too much time on these roads. It won’t be affected by the floods and it’ll get us to the other side of the Bowl. Plus we’ll be less likely to run into any transients.’

  ‘No promise,’ said Hearst.

  ‘I want you to take the lead tomorrow. Tela will be behind you. Then the Silkworm. Ghazi and I will be rearguard.’

  ‘If they stay,’ said Hearst.

  Wyler chuckled, revealing his straight white teeth. ‘I don’t think you need to lose sleep over it. That boy ain’t got any more negativity stored up. Humility and peace is what’ll repair his wounds, not a disappearing act in the middle of the night.’

  Hearst squinted at his mouth and pointed without shame at his teeth. ‘How do you have these?’

  ‘Call it luck. Had a granddad who was a dentist before the Change. Taught my father about proper hygiene, and my father passed the facts on to me.’

  ‘None missing.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Hearst edged forward until she was millimetres from his mouth. Ghazi winced, but Wyler’s face showed no discomfort. Finally, she sat back again, her eyes still on the ex-farmer. Wyler frowned for a moment before turning to Cassady.

  ‘I’ll let Brandt know the plan.’ The old Runner had returned to the camp a half-hour after he’d left it, but had shut himself away in Telamonian.

  ‘The two of you seem to be getting on well enough.’

  ‘We’ve talked. You know how it is, sitting in a pantech. You spill anything and everything. He’s been through a hell of a lot in his life, most of it bad. But he keeps going anyway.’

  ‘We all do.’

  Ghazi stretched out a hand beyond the canopy. The rain was in its death throes. It would stop before morning. He stood and arched his back. Katarina was probably freezing out there.

  ‘I’ll go and relieve Kaja,’ he said.

  He was gathering what he needed when the cab door to the Silkworm creaked open. A mass of luminescent hair appeared and a thin form dropped gingerly to the ground. Victor walked with stiff strides over to the group. By the fire, he crouched down and warmed his hands. His cheek had ballooned and his bottom lip was a wedge of spoiled flesh.

  ‘You okay?’ asked Cassady. Victor nodded. He rose, ducked under the canopy and disappeared into the darkness. Katarina appeared a few minutes later. She stretched out by the fire and closed her eyes.

  ‘Did he say anything?’ asked Cassady.

  ‘Only that he was there to relieve me and there would be no trouble. I checked his injuries. They’ll heal quickly enough.’

  ‘You think it’s a good idea to let him sit out there with a rifle?’

  ‘It belongs to him.’

  ‘Maybe I should go and speak to him.’

  ‘Leave him, Edward. He’ll be okay. The watch will do him good. Give him time to think.’

  ‘Exactly right,’ said Wyler. ‘I’ll relieve him in a couple of hours.’

  ‘And Brandt?’ asked Cassady.

  ‘Jürgen knows what he did wasn’t okay,’ said Katarina. ‘I’m sure he’ll apologise to the boy in the morning. I think this will be the end of it.’

  Hearst shrugged off her blanket and draped it over Katarina. She retrieved a few utensils from her truck and brewed a pan of acorn coffee, which she shared out between the Runners. The heavy aroma of burnt sugar settled on the camp.

  When the wind picked up they turned in. As he bedded down next to the crates of medication, Ghazi’s ears remained pricked for the sound of a crew preparing for departure. He hoped they wouldn’t wake to find a flattened patch of grass where the Silkworm had been.

  7

  The four-lane highway was a grey brushstroke against the plastic-infected scrubland. The storm had blown further north, taking the last of the rain with it and leaving puddles that stretched like mirrors across the ground. Husks of ancient vehicles sat with their shoulders against the side barriers. Remains of former barricades and road blocks pointed to a time when the road had been a rat run for fugitives, exiles and survivors heading north or south. Now the cracked and crumbling surface was devoid of life save for the four trucks that raced along in the weak afternoon sunlight.

  The Silkworm was the size of a matchbox in Warspite’s windshield, dipping in and out of view as the two vehicles dodged various obstacles. Cassady guided the Old Lady around a laceration without jabbing the brake before bringing her back onto the centre line. For the first time in days, the needle on the speedometer quivered a few points below red. He sucked on the tube snaking out from the bota bag to rinse the dust from his mouth. Although they’d lost half the morning waiting for the batteries to charge, they were finally making good time.

  Victor hadn’t spoken to any of the Runners in the morning, instead waiting inside the Silkworm u
ntil it was time to depart. As Katarina had predicted, Brandt had been keen to make peace, but Tagawa had advised against it and told him to wait until Victor was ready. Despite his dislike for the boy, Cassady hoped he was okay. His pride had been stung more than anything else, and that was the kind of wound which could take an eternity to heal.

  But something else was bothering him more than Victor. Before the convoy had headed out, he’d gone to Katarina for advice on how to deal with the tense situation. She kept her thoughts clearer than most others, uncoloured as they were by anger or superstition or petty rivalry.

  ‘You may not like what I’m about to say.’ She’d been braiding her long hair and coiling it on top of her head in readiness for the day’s run.

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘Then you must let me speak and not interrupt. You have changed, Edward, and not for the better. I noticed it at the stockade, I have seen it on the road, and I observed it last night when you sat and did nothing while two men under your charge fought between themselves. The boy was looking for someone to blame. He was nearly dragged over a cliff and he was shaken by it. When a man comes to you with desperation in his eyes, you don’t blink or look away, no matter how much you may want to. Brandt should know better, but he’s dealing with Renfield’s death. He’s hurting too. You don’t have the luxury of that excuse. Everybody is looking at you to lead us. If you can’t keep somebody like Victor in check without things spiralling into violence, how do you expect to make it through the Alps? We don’t know what’s there. You have to be ready for it, Edward. You have to be ready for everything this run throws at you. Now I’m going to ask you: what is wrong? What’s happening inside there?’ She’d pressed her cool fingertips to his forehead.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong.’ The words had been insubstantial, meaningless, and had been snatched away on the breeze.

  ‘You can tell me.’

  He’d stared with lips pressed together and sweat dribbling from his temples as he debated whether to tell her. Finally he’d blurted it out.

  ‘I’ve lost my nerve.’

  The confession had triggered a wave of nausea. The only thing that had stopped him from turning away and retreating to Warspite was the way she’d regarded him. There was no pity, no disgust, no resignation. Every line, every pore on her face had radiated understanding. And she’d wrapped her arms around him and held him tight against her. Her comforting scent had filled his nostrils and he’d breathed deep to chase away the shadows. Afterwards, she’d taken his hand and asked him the difficult questions.

  ‘How long have you felt this way?’

  ‘Weeks. Months, maybe.’

  ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘I question everything I do and I don’t know why I’m here. Back at the stockade I thought it made sense. Now I see we haven’t got a hope in hell. I want to run and not look back.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Ghazi about this?’

  ‘A little. But he’s the only one.’

  ‘I won’t say anything to the others. Can you continue?’

  ‘I don’t know. I keep jumping at shadows.’

  ‘Listen to me now. I don’t have any magic words that can shake you out of this, but I saw how Hearst had to hold you back yesterday when those boys were being dragged over the edge. Those are not the actions of a man who has lost his nerve. When the time comes, you’ll know how to act. I believe it.’

  ‘Easy to say. You’re not the one living inside my head.’

  ‘The mind is a repository of convictions and fears and you are the sole gatekeeper. Remember that, Edward.’

  Replaying the conversation in his head now made him grip the wheel until his skin protested. He thought ahead to what the borderlands, and the Alps beyond that, might hold. Fear chewed at his stomach, his neck, the hairs on his arms. He ran his palms over his head to dry them.

  ‘What’s bothering you?’ asked Ghazi

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘Just forget it.’

  ‘Do you think Victor will settle down now?’

  ‘If he’s smart.’

  ‘Intelligence is in short supply in this world.’

  ‘You have everybody worked out.’

  ‘Something has you wound up and it’s not me. If you want to tell me anything, I’m right here. You aren’t alone.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong. All of us are.’

  His hand slipped from the wheel to his belt and caressed the top of the pouch where he kept his root. No. Not yet. It was too early. He had to maintain control.

  The whir of the engine kept time for the orchestra of vibrations and rattles that played from one end of the pantech to the other. They were deep in the Bowl now, and the land was dead. Forest fires, plastic saturation, topsoil erosion and the effects of photochemical smog had left only parched and poisoned ground. No animals ran or flew or slithered across the open landscape. They’d migrated to the green belts further north long ago. Despite the desolation, there were still some signs of human life beyond the highway. They passed a compact hub of brick buildings and corrugated iron lean-tos that lay just a couple hundred metres from the road. A flag on a roof bore an image of a star. Standing in one of the entrances, watching the convoy speed by, was a dark-skinned man with a rifle cradled against his chest. Two children burst from behind a giant clump of ditch weed, raced over to the building and hid behind the man’s legs. Cassady kept his eye on them as Warspite rumbled by. Alone and surviving. That was all.

  In late afternoon the remains of Frankfurt, one of the great cities, appeared on the horizon, a mouthful of broken teeth that smacked its lips in anticipation as the convoy dangled closer. Cassady’s mind became cold, his grip on the wheel a little tighter. Revolts, war and fatal efforts to control overpopulation had turned the cities into bone houses; flooding, fires, radiation and erosion had turned them into graveyards. Most Runners made sure to go around places like Frankfurt, even if it added an extra day or two onto their run. Anything was better than contending with streets so clogged with vegetation, rubble, wreckage, rusting carcasses and surface water that it took hours to find a way through. Only the bravest and most foolish drivers went in. When he’d been younger and more reckless, he’d been no different. He’d raided garages and supply depots and department stores. He’d seen buildings collapse without notice, sturdy one minute and a mushroom cloud of dust the next. And he’d laid eyes on the kind of people that now called the decaying metropolises home.

  Buildings spilled out to the left and right, devouring the landscape and scratching the streaky blue sky. Ghazi pulled the maps out from the box under his seat.

  ‘We’re not going through it,’ said Cassady. ‘I don’t know why you’re checking.’

  ‘I just want to make sure. Some of these maps tell more lies than truth.’

  ‘It’s a highway. The route’s fixed.’

  Ghazi traced the sinewy line with his finger. ‘We rub shoulders with the western edge.’

  ‘No other choice. We’ve lost too much time as it is. Put the map away, would you? I need you to spot.’

  He kept his foot down on the pedal and swallowed to clear the tightness in his throat. Ghazi’s concern was a valid one. Once the road curved closer to the city, anyone with a high-powered rifle could take pot shots at the rigs. They would be in range for at least a few minutes. It was part of the gamble.

  When they came close enough to make out the details, their mouths fell open. It was a mortuary. Every building had faded to the colour of dried blood, as though smeared when fresh and never rubbed off. The thick outer skin of the dead giants had sloughed away to expose the metal bones and gristle underneath. Rain and wind and sandstorms had tenderised their faces until they were unrecognisable, and in some places their skulls had caved in altogether. Other buildings had been disembowelled, their guts spilling into the surrounding streets. This was the extinction they were always running from. An ancient flying machine sat on the roof of one of the tal
ler structures, its beak protruding from the concrete lip. Closer to street level, oleaginous growth covered the walls and gummed entrances shut, and creeping vines hung from glassless windows. The heat haze threw everything in and out of focus. A city this size would take centuries to be reclaimed by nature. But the process had started.

  The number of stripped and destroyed vehicles on the highway increased, some fresher than the rest. Cassady spotted a pantech whose crew he’d once run a convoy with. They’d gone missing a while ago. He eased off on the accelerator and swerved left and right around pools of water, wary of any holes they might be concealing. Even as he willed the convoy to push on until they were well clear of the sinister necropolis, the Silkworm’s brake light flickered on and the pillbox slowed and stopped.

  ‘What the hell are they playing at?’ he growled through clenched teeth. He judged the distance between the trucks and the forest of high rises ahead. They were still out of range, but only just. Victor emerged from the cab and crouched down, his eyes scanning the asphalt.

  ‘He’s found a note,’ muttered Ghazi.

  The boy jogged the hundred metres to where Warspite sat idling. Cassady wound down the window as he climbed the steps.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Message from Hearst on the blacktop. Road is booby-trapped. Starts a few hundred metres further up.’ He pointed behind him with his thumb. ‘Explosive tripwires, apparently. The kind meant to cut our legs off and bring the natives running.’ Victor swiped at his hair. The swelling under his eye had receded a little, but the casual arrogance hadn’t yet returned.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yeah. Kaja’s guiding us through. I guess she’s gonna disable them and we follow.’

  Ghazi unclipped his harness. ‘She doesn’t have to. I can do it.’