After the Winter (The Silent Earth, Book 1) (11 page)

I was a mess.

Is that how you do it? Do I need to wet it? What if this soil kills it? Should I take soil from closer to where it’s growing?

I had a good understanding of plants and how to grow them, but in this state couldn’t decide. I just pushed on anyway. I had to get it out from under this bench. I had to possess it. I’d been waiting for this thing for decades, and now my need to have it in my keeping was utterly intoxicating.

With the hands of a surgeon - or so I hoped - I carefully began to extract the dirt from around the sides of the plant, leaving plenty of margin for error. There was a reasonably high moisture content in the soil here. It clung to my fingers and coated them in a coarse, clumpy grit. So close to the river, this property undoubtedly had a great bearing on its ability to grow in this location.

How far down do the roots grow?
  I wasn’t a botanist and didn’t know everything about every plant I saw, but I knew the basics.  Even so, I felt so inadequately prepared.  Surely someone tasked with re-vegetating the planet should have known more, but there just wasn’t the time to find someone who could
do
everything, or who
knew
everything. There wasn’t an exhaustive audition process for the role of the saviour of the world. We didn’t examine the resumes of thousands of applicants, choose the most likely and then conduct interviews and psych evaluations. We just chose two people who were at hand. There was just Arsha and me. She knew some of this stuff better than me, but I would have to figure it out, sooner rather than later.

My hands were under it, cupping the weed and the mound of dirt on which it sat like some kind of magical artifact. In some ways, that’s exactly what it was.

I literally held the future in my hands.

How are you alive?
I wanted to know. 
Where did you come from? 
But I knew the answer already. The hardiest seeds could survive in the soil for years, decades if necessary, lying dormant and awaiting more salubrious conditions. They’d been doing it in deserts around the world for millions of years. They’d likely seen worse in their day than man’s Winter. Much worse, and still survived. And here was proof.

I wondered what else might be growing in the nooks and crannies of the city, and out there, beyond. Could anything of nutritional value be out there? Who knew?

In the end, it didn’t matter.  We had the plant embryos safely in storage.  That the planet was sustaining organic life again was the only thing that
did
matter.  The climate was recovering.  Plants could now grow.  Animals would be able to eat.
People
would be able to eat.

I could think of only one thing:
It’s over! I can go home and return to my body.

This was a sign, I was sure of it. It was the impetus I’d needed to flip the compass and head back west. There would be no more travelling in circles leading the Marauders on a merry chase across the wasteland. I would be making a beeline for home, and if I couldn’t go around them, I’d go through them. They wouldn’t stop me.

I had to do this if I wanted that which was most important to me: returning to my human body. My destiny.

With infinite care and gentleness I extracted the weed from its place under the park bench. I held it in the sunlight for just a moment, a small weed in a handful of dirt, and I basked in the perfection of it. The corners of my lips turned upward. It was such a foreign movement that I felt like I was pushing boulders up my cheeks, as if the skin there had set over the years from lack of movement. But I did it. I smiled, a small and weak thing, but it was real.

I lowered the weed into the tin. Gently, I raised it and held it aloft in front of me like some sort of divine chalice. A holy gift, to be revered and praised and admired.

With that little smile still on my face, I started back toward Max’s.

12

Max greeted the news evenly and without excitement. Really, I’d expected nothing less. He’d withdrawn more and more since our visit to Ol' Trembler, and this incredible news only seemed to intensify his odd mood.

I fussed about, trying to find a place for the weed.  The kitchen bench.  The bookcase. 
No, it has to have sun.
  I placed it on the windowsill, keeping a nervous watch over it in that somewhat perilous position.  After a few moments my nerve gave out and I took it back, in the end preferring to clutch it to my chest like a baby in swaddling.  I sat there and watched it intently as the afternoon wore on, as if something amazing might happen at any second.  My eyes lingered on every ugly little spine, every curve and jagged edge.  I was obsessed with drinking in every tiny detail of it.  It was not unreasonable, really.  I hadn’t seen anything quite like it in decades.

After a time I relented and just placed it in the corner of the courtyard, where hopefully it would be out of the way if Max came writhing past.

My mind moved on to the next consideration. It was time to leave Perish.

“Tomorrow morning. That’s really the time to go,” I mused as I paced about.

I went through my satchel to double check items, even though I knew every single knick-knack in there. I checked the compass to make sure it was working. Flicked the lighter on. Checked the bristles on the toothbrush. Shook the can of whiskey next to my ear to judge the volume. All of this was totally unnecessary, but I felt compelled to do it anyway. My mind was racing like a runaway freight train, and I seemed powerless to stop it. All I could do was try to hold on until it slowed down of its own accord.

I fussed around like that until evening fell and then realised, with a degree of horror
that I'd completely forgotten about the military base.  I'd forgotten about the parts for Max, about the plan to get him out of here.  Perhaps that was why he'd fallen into such a foul mood.

“Max, I'm going out to the base first thing in the morning,” I said, scratching my plans of leaving Perish so soon. “Okay?”

He just grunted at me, seemingly uninterested.

Left to my own thoughts, I also began to wonder about the cryotanks out at the base. If plant life was returning to the world, could there be survivors out there who had been thawed out? Could they be cultivating crops right now, building a community? The idea caused a great sense of excitement within me, and the night crept past at a snail's pace as I waited for light to come.

When it finally did, I set off early, enthusiastic about what else I might discover.

I stood on the bridge and contemplated where to go from here.

I found it just as Max had described. Long and narrow, it curved away to the north across a broad expanse of water. The far side led into a road that snaked its way up into the foothills. A low mountain range appeared blue and hazy in the distance.

It was all just as he’d said, apart from the gaping hole that opened up before me, halting my progress. Stuck half way across the length of the bridge, I was undecided about what to do next.

The gap wasn’t huge.  I had a very good
chance of making it with a well-timed leap. It all came down to how badly I wanted to get to the other side, and whether I was willing to take the risk.

I thought again of my debt to Max, and I knew I had to do this. The fact that he’d agreed to tell me about the base must have meant that at least some part of him wanted my help, that he hadn’t given up all hope of ever getting out of Perish. Otherwise he would have let me walk off, down the street and right out of the city.

I was reaching him. I was getting somewhere.

Looking back along the bridge, I decided that if I turned around here, I’d have a few hours walk back to the city, and from there I’d need to
make my way west and try to find an alternative route.  It was a long way back, and would probably add another day to my stay in Perish.

Or, I could make this one small stride and be on my way.

It was a coolish day. Autumn, I thought. Yes, it was definitely getting colder. I could feel the touch of winter in the breeze that swept along the river. It shifted the dust at my feet this way and that, made it swirl across the fractured concrete. I edged toward the gap, and dust sprinkled over it and shimmered in a little cloud that fell toward the sluggish brown water and the concrete far below.

It would be a stupid way to die.

Caught in the crook of the concrete bridge supports far below was the wreck of a car. It was wedged in so hard that the front end had crumpled like an accordion all the way to the cabin.

“Get on with it,” I muttered to myself. “Just get on with it.”

I walked over to the narrowest part of the gap. It was barely two metres in length at that point, not a difficult assignment. I lifted the satchel from my back and took out the compass. It was the only thing inside that looked breakable. I held the compass in my hand and swung the satchel around in an arc. It flew through the air and landed on the other side, the gear inside jangling noisily.

No turning back now.

I backed up a little way, set myself. I judged the gap and looked for the spot where I’d land my foot for the take-off. I ran.

My foot slid in the grit as I took off. Not much, but enough to leave me well short of where I’d intended to land. I hit the other side of the gap, half over it and half under it, the compass flying out of my hand and clattering across the concrete. I scraped and scrabbled for purchase, my hands floundering and finding nothing. I lunged to the right and grabbed a twisted section of steel reinforcing that jutted out from the broken bridge. It was enough. I shifted both of my hands across to it and swung my feet up and over the edge.

I lay there, my knee throbbing where it had connected with cement, rueing the moment of stupidity. I wouldn’t be coming back this way, that was for sure.

Despite my worst fears, the compass was intact. The cast metal case was scratched up, but it had done its job. I flipped it closed and gathered up the satchel.

I still had a few hours until nightfall. Hopefully I could reach the base in time.

The highway curved east up into the foothills as Max had foretold.  In places it had been overtaken by the wasteland.  I had to backtrack a few times when I lost the road under dirt that had blown across and disguised its presence.  Finding the ‘third turn right’ was a decidedly difficult task.  Impossible, actually.  In between the cratering of missile strikes, the shifting sands and the work of water erosion, I couldn’t find any sure sign of connecting roadways.  A few times I
thought
I was following a side road, only to find myself at a dead end.  Tracing back along my footprints I’d begin the process again, steadily heading north and wondering if there was any chance in hell I’d find this place.

It was late afternoon by the time I came across it. Max wasn’t wrong - they’d really carpeted this place with missile strikes. Sections of a battered chain-link fence leaned heavily to one side around the perimeter. There were no buildings to speak of, just the fractured and charred remains of walls and twisted bulks of metal, the original purpose of which I couldn’t determine, such was the damage they had sustained. I wound my way through it, noting with some dismay that the chances of finding anything worthwhile here were slim. Everything was shredded.

I found my way to the eastern side of the complex, but it was hard to figure out where the buildings began and ended. Ultimately I chose a spot and just started searching. There was no other way to go about it.

As light began to fade I pulled a small black flashlight from the satchel. It had been one of my more useful finds in Perish, along with a little solar-powered charger and accompanying rechargeable batteries. Both the solar cells and the batteries had deteriorated, but when left out in the sun for the day, I found they could power the flashlight for the best part of an hour. I’d left these charging on Max’s windowsill for the past couple of days, and they were holding about as much juice as they were capable. I considered using the flashlight to extend my search into the night, but then thought better of it. Instead, I went and found a place to sit in the rubble and lay on my back, staring up as the stars filled the evening sky.