Reconception: The Fall (11 page)

As the sun went down, Garret gathered his jacket
closer about himself. It was eerie to be traveling down this empty
road in the dark. Strange sounds emitted by who-knows-what echoed
in the night. He held the gun given him by Red Deer in his hand,
afraid to let go of it.

The darkness was nearly absolute. The moon had not
yet risen, and the stars were hidden by a layer of clouds. The
camels seemed not to mind the lack of visual acuity. Perhaps they
moved forward according to smell, Garret thought. They certainly
didn't seem to have any trouble avoiding pitfalls in the dark. In
fact, Cashmere had just sidestepped a gaping hole so large that
even Garret could make it out.

The night seemed to breathe malevolence, and Garret
fervently wished that he had gone back with Red Deer. What was the
point of going on alone if he was going to die before he got the
producers to Southeast?

The death of Nightstalker and the five who had
attacked them had aroused in him fears that he had never known
existed. In his sheltered life, death was an abstract, an idea, not
a reality. But even though it had happened days ago, he could still
feel Nightstalker's blood, sticky on his hands, and that knife at
his throat still threatened.

The night exposed his fears as thoroughly as it
concealed the world, and it was only his determination and the
knowledge that he had no choice that kept him moving forward into
the unknown.

A glimmer of light on the horizon pulled him up
short. It was still quite far away, but Garret was convinced that
it must be a campfire. The question was should he continue to
travel along the road and risk getting closer to that fire, or
should he leave the road and try to evade it?

He got off the camel and climbed up a knoll. From
this higher vantage point he could see that there seemed to be one
large fire rather than many small ones. After watching it for a
while he realized that it must be man-made. It didn't seem to
change in intensity, and it stayed in one place. Someone must be
feeding it.

Deciding that it was best to skirt the blaze, Garret
climbed back on his camel and pulled his small caravan into the
brush. He intended to keep his distance.

Keeping the orange glow off to his right, he moved
slowly through the waste. It was much more difficult for the camels
than the road, but at least the clouds had cleared away and
starlight made vision possible. It shouldn't be long until
moonrise.

The body came out of nowhere, hitting Garret across
the back and knocking him to the ground. For a moment he couldn't
breathe, but he still held his gun in his hand, and he lifted it
now, looking for a target.

He couldn’t see anything, but an eerie cackling
pulled the muzzle of the gun toward it like a magnet. "Who's there?
What do you want?"

"Wanou sucka," a voice said.

The gun centered on the gritty voice and held there.
"I have a gun," Garret said, "Come out where I can see you."

The specter that edged out of the brush was small and
smelly, and Garret stepped back without thinking. The stink was
nauseating, the odor of decomposition and decay, of fear and dying.
"What do you want?" Garret repeated.

"Wan ou," the creature replied. "You!"

He thought it was English, corrupted somewhat, but
English nevertheless. "Why do you want me?" Garret asked, testing
his theory.

"Comny."

"Comny? Comeny? Company?"

"Ye. Comny."

"You want company? What for?"

"Pulgrms need been pares."

Garret didn't have to think about it long. This was
obviously some kind of pilgrim and he needed a partner for
something. "Why do you need to be in pairs?"

"Rou stuper somin? Need pare tseek gods."

"Well, friend, whatever you may need me for, I am not
going anywhere with someone who smells like you. No offence."

"D'nury. Ony distinks. Cuminoff." With that, the
pilgrim started to remove his outer garments, throwing them and the
smell as far from them as he could. Underneath the stinking rags he
was dressed in somewhat cleaner rags with a somewhat milder
odor.

Garret didn't know what to make of the man. Why
would anyone deliberately wear anything so noisome? Why did he need
a partner, and what gods was he planning to see, or was that seek?
"Where are you going?" he asked, and was not a bit surprised when
the pilgrim pointed toward the bonfire blazing in the distance.

Garret shook his head. "Sorry, but I'm not going that
way."

"Ymuscom. Rou triena getaway? Vrywon goes."

The scientist in Garret, buried for most of the
night under the weight of his fear, suddenly awoke wondering what
was going on, and who these people were. Forgetting that old wive's
tale about curiosity killing the cat, Garret smiled and clapped the
pilgrim on the back. "Okay, I'll come," he said. "It's on my way,
anyway. But first you have to tell me why you were wearing those
stinking rags?"

The pilgrim smiled, revealing dirty teeth.
"Searchas," he answered. "Thase look'n fer lonas."

CHAPTER 10

East USA Habitat: 2128

The new van was even better than the first had been.
After all, Morgan thought, the Habitat had had some practice. He
was all ready to go and Jersey Lipton, difficult as he had been
about it, was sitting beside him. In a moment, the inner lock would
open and they would be off to set Morgan's plan in motion.

"This is really brave of you, Morgan." Paul Tipman
gripped his shoulder and squeezed. "And you too, Jersey. I hope you
guys know what you're doing?"

Morgan smiled. "Of course we do. We'll find them, get
the producers to Southeast, and bring our two scientists back."

"Well, I still think we should just wait, and not
risk two more lives, but well, I guess you know what you're
doing."

Morgan smiled. He knew what he was doing; the funny
thing was that no one else had a clue. The lock opened, and amid
waving and cheering, Morgan drove the van through and waited while
it closed once again.

The inner area was dimly lit, and he carefully moved
the vehicle forward toward the outer lock. Stopping, he got out and
grabbed the wheel, turning it. Slowly, the huge metal door began to
slide open.

Neither Morgan nor Jersey had ever been outside
before, nor had they ever had any desire to go outside. Outside was
a bad place, a place of mistakes and misfortune. A place of
disorder, where unplanned events took place, and unthinking nature
lent menace to every stone and bush.

As the door slid open and the van moved forward, for
one brief instant, Morgan felt a shiver of fear. What if he'd been
wrong? What if he couldn't get where he was going? What if the
roads were no good, and the natives restless, and the 150 miles
impassable? What if he didn't make it? Shaking the feeling off, he
smiled at Jersey, whose eyes were nearly popping out of his head.
"Now we're getting somewhere," he said.

The dusty remains of what had once been a road came
to a fork, and Morgan took the map from Jersey. Turning the van
toward the left, he moved slowly across the rubble-strewn path.
"Wait a minute," Jersey argued. "We're going the wrong way."

Morgan just smiled and continued to drive.

"I'm telling you, Morgan," Jersey continued, "this
fork does not take us south or east. It goes directly north."

Morgan snorted. "Yes, I know that, Lipton."

Jersey looked confused. He was confused. In fact,
he'd been confused since the day that Morgan had tried to take away
his laboratory. He hadn't been able to regain his equilibrium for
more than a few moments at a time after that. Morgan was always
throwing him off balance, just as he was doing now. "I don't
understand," he said.

"I have plans, Lipton. I have plans. And you're going
to help me carry them out."

"But aren't we going to rescue Evie Chandler and
Garret Walker? Aren't we going to make sure the producers get to
Southeast?"

Morgan shook his head in wonder. The man was so
incredibly naïve! Well, Lipton would just have to wait and see,
wouldn't he? Morgan meant to put a great deal of distance between
the Habitat and the van before he outlined his plans to the
physicist, or explained how Lipton was going to help him make them
come true.

Foothills: 2128

As he and the pilgrim, whose name was Paren,
approached the bonfire, having left the camels secured behind the
broken concrete walls of an old building, Garret began to rethink
his decision. Perhaps he should have declined the offer to see
these rites up close. Who knew what would transpire? He was just
about to turn around and head the other way when his companion
gripped his arm and pulled him into a passage between two shacks.
Pressing himself against the wall, the pilgrim motioned for Garret
to be quiet as several men walked past, their voices echoing
through the night.

When they were gone, the man relaxed. "Serchn," he
explained.

"Serchn? Searching for what?"

"Fer fud! Fenyone look'n week, y'ninny."

Though Garret had been called many names by jealous
or overzealous scientists, "ninny" was not among them. He was so
surprised at the designation that he was momentarily speechless,
and hardly had time to consider the implications of searchers
looking for loners “fer food,” before he found himself following
Paren into the large, noisy crowd.

The people around him pushed and shoved each other
in an attempt to get closer to the action centering around the
bonfire, and Garret and his companion were no exception. While
shouldering smaller individuals aside, Garret noticed that besides
the general stink of dirt and disease, the people had another
interesting trait—they were all in pairs. He was about to ask Paren
more about this when the two of them reached the fringes of the
fire. The priest or whatever he was, stood with his back to the
conflagration. A point of stillness at the center of the commotion,
he was a dark shape outlined in the orange glow of the fire.

Paren whooped and chortled, chuckled and sniggered.
He seemed to Garret to be inordinately happy to have arrived. Doubt
once again stirred. Was he making a mistake? Perhaps he should just
get away as quickly as possible.

Looking off to the right, he could see no retreat
there. A wall of ramshackle constructions anchored to the remains
of an old gas station blocked the passage, and a detachment of
"serchas" kept anyone from heading that way. To the left, the
situation was similar. In fact, the only way out was the way he'd
come in, and that was blocked by many living, breathing bodies.

A chant began somewhere at the back of the crowd.
"Godenguya fite n forya; hoolbewinin? nowun noes. Wen uhgods r
cumtuh gera, den day pik duhwun w'choze. Godenguya fite n forya;
hoolbewinin? nowun noes. Wen uhgods r cumtuh gera, den day pik
duhwun w'choze." Garret wasn't sure exactly what it or anything
else that was happening meant, but he suddenly had a bad feeling
all the way to the soles of his feet that this was not a good place
for him to be. Without bidding goodbye to his erstwhile friend he
began to slip backwards through the crowd by simply allowing those
behind to push themselves in front of him.

He was doing very well, when Paren once again took
hold of his hand and yanked him forward. "Noyadone!" he grinned,
"Yerstaen!" Struggling to get free from the man was difficult and
attracted the attention of several squalid characters to whom
Garret preferred to remain invisible. Sighing, he stayed where he
was and waited.

The chanting went on and on and was soon joined by a
drumbeat. The malodorous crowd pressed in against him. The priest
stood before the fire and swayed from side to side like a metronome
keeping the beat of the multitude.

Garret felt nauseous from the heat of the fire and
the press of unwashed bodies. He needed to take a deep breath, but
didn't dare. Suddenly, the priest held up his hands and the chant
ended in mid-syllable. It was silent; no one moved; no clothing
rustled. The very air seemed to have come to a stop. The only sound
was that of the fire consuming its fuel.

"Inrname weer gathrd heer task fuh mersee. Inrname
weer gathrd heer task fuh fueden aichto-oh. Inrname weer gathrd
heer t'give praze tuh yu and to beg fuh mersee."

"Um en," the crowd responded with one voice. "Um
en."

Into the glare of the fire came a man and a woman,
both naked. They were of magnificent proportions and seemed to be
without the blemishes so common to the people here. The man
imperiously held up his hand and the woman knelt before him.

The crowd groaned. The man pulled her head up to look
at his face and then pushed her down until she lay prostrate in the
dirt.

"What is it?" Garret asked Paren. "What are they
doing?" Paren was enraptured, however, and didn't seem to hear
him.

In the fire's glow the man lay down atop the woman
and spread her legs apart with his knee. Mounting her from behind,
he began to thrust deeply, his hips moving rhythmically. The woman
writhed in the dirt beneath him, and Garret didn't know if she felt
pleasure or pain. He could feel his own loins responding despite
himself.

Every member of the crowd was riveted by the display,
their breathing ragged and quick. The man stretched the woman's
arms out and away from her body, and plunged more deeply into her.
The rhythm increased. The crowd took up their chant again, this
time punctuating it with claps that were timed to the man's
thrusts.

Suddenly, the woman cried out, then twisted beneath
the man, turning her body to face him. The man withdrew and watched
as she turned. The crowd held its breath as she assumed this new
position and then held out her arms to him.

The fire cast an orange glow on their bodies, and
Garret was close enough to see each droplet of perspiration. Each
muscle on the woman's body was defined in sweat, and she was
beautiful, or had become so in the midst of this pageant. As her
body arched beneath the man, she seemed to be etched in fire.