The Boy at the End of the World (4 page)

CHAPTER   7

They walked for days. Fisher's neck hurt from constantly watching the sky for parrots. He kept a relentless pace despite his blistering feet and the gnawing stomach he couldn't fill. He just wanted away from the parrots, away from the wreckage of his Ark, away from a place and a past that had nothing to offer him.

If only getting away didn't involve trudging through so much rain. At first there was just a wispy curtain of drizzle, but toward the end of the long, soggy afternoon, the weather began to punish. Rain drilled down hard enough to sting Fisher's face. The drops made thousands of tiny craters in the mud and plinked against Click's body like pebbles. Only Protein seemed unperturbed. If anything, the mammoth moved with more purpose, leading the way down animal trails that were rapidly becoming rivers.

“Why is there mud?” Fisher called to Click over the din of the rain.

Click took a moment to process the question. “Because … it is raining.”

“I know that. I can tell from all the water falling on us. What I mean is,
why
is there mud? What's it for, other than to slow us down and make us miserable?”

“Worms and fungi and many insects find mud a hospitable environment,” said Click. “Mud stores water for absorption by plants. Large herbivores use mud to—”

“That's not what I'm asking. I'm asking …” Fisher trailed off. What
was
he asking? “Why is nature like this? Why is it so hard to find food? Why do things hunt us? Why is it so hard to survive? Who made it this way? Why did they make it this way?”

“Humanity struggled with such issues for nearly its entire existence. Your brain evolved to ask questions. By seeking to understand your world, you attempt to control it, and trying to control your environment is a survival strategy. You see trees and wonder how you can use them to build shelter. You see a rock, and you seek to make a tool out of it. You see mud, and you ask how and what and why.”

Fisher trudged along. “You still haven't told me why the world was made this way.”

“It is a question that cannot be answered. But it is good to keep asking.”

Fisher growled profanity at him.

Lightning cracked across the sky. Thunder smashed like a fist. Then came the sound of giant bones snapping and something like the moaning of an ancient, dying creature. Ahead on the path, a massive tree fell. Roots tore from the ground and flung up flaps of earth. Birds exploded into the sodden sky. Hundreds of small creatures raced for safety. With an explosion of leaves and bark and dust, the tree struck the ground.

If Fisher had been just a few more yards further up the path, he'd have been squashed flat.

Why had he bothered asking Click all those questions about mud and nature? He knew what nature's purpose was. It was there to kill him, just as it had killed a squirrel Fisher found beneath a branch. He picked the squirrel up and stowed it for later in Click's dorsal compartment.

“We need to find shelter!” he shouted to the robot over the downpour. In addition to the danger of falling trees, there were also lightning strikes to fear. And from the way the water on the ground was pooling above his ankles, there was also drowning.

Protein used his trunk and tusks to drag some big, broken branches out of the way and began making his way around the fallen tree. He moved with such purpose. Fisher remembered what Click had said about elephants, and possibly mammoths, knowing their environments, and so far Protein seemed to be proving the robot right.

Plodding through the mud, the mammoth made good speed and didn't look back. He was just a big gray shape in the curtain of rain, and Fisher struggled to keep up as the mammoth climbed a path and squeezed between two huge boulders. Just past the boulders was the opening of a cave. Fisher and Click followed him inside. The mammoth's eyes gleamed in the dark.

The air was damp and cold, and the ground squelched beneath Fisher's feet, but at least the space was protected from the rain.

Protein moved further back into the cave, where there was not enough light to see. Meanwhile, Click slumped against the wall and whirred softly.

“I have set power-saving mode to start in five minutes. If you require me to be operational after that, nudge me.”

Fisher wished he had a power-saving mode himself, because he doubted he could sleep in here. Only dim light filtered in through the mouth of the cave, and who knew what lurked in the dark?

Fisher drank a little bit of pooled rainwater and decided to explore his environment.

Grooves scarred the cave walls, as if something sharp had scraped away rock. And from further back came a distinct grinding noise. Judging by the fresh mounds of dung on the floor, Fisher had a good guess what was responsible for the grooves and grinding.

He found Protein gouging the wall with his tusks. Gray-white chunks of mineral broke from the wall, and the mammoth lifted chips into its mouth.

Fisher picked up a small flake and touched it to his tongue. Salty.

“This is consistent with elephant behavior,” Click said, his creaky joints announcing his approach. “Salt is a necessary part of all mammal's diets, and elephants have been known to return to locations rich in the mineral. It's possible that Protein's ancestors have been coming to this cave for generations.”

Fisher knew salt could be used to dry and preserve fish. That way, one could carry food for long distances and not worry about it spoiling. Rotten meat would threaten Fisher's survival. Maybe he could skin the squirrel he'd found beneath the fallen tree and preserve its meat with salt.

“Pop open your hatch for me,” Fisher said, gathering up handfuls of the rock salt and stuffing them around the dead squirrel.

Protein grunted, curled his trunk around a huge chunk of rock salt, and tenderly placed it inside Click's hatch.

“Don't overload me,” Click said, wobbling. “Tipping over backward will interfere with my ability to walk.”

“Just a couple more chunks,” Fisher assured the robot as he reached down.

His hand came to a stop, hovering over the ground.

He'd uncovered something else.

He had never seen such a thing before, but he knew instantly what it was.

A human skull.

CHAPTER   8

Fisher picked up the skull. He tried to imagine what it would look like blanketed with muscle and flesh and skin, with a nose and eyes gazing back at him.

More human remains lay nearby. A few more skulls. A scattering of ribs and vertebrae, a pelvis.

It took Fisher a while before he found his voice. “Did they come from the Ark?”

“No,” said Click. “These remains are very old. They must belong to Stragglers, those few living humans who were left outside once the Ark was sealed.”

“What? Why didn't you tell me about this before?”

Clicked whirred. “Is this useful information to you? I do not see how it helps you survive.”

Fisher turned back to the skull's gaping eye sockets. Of course, there must have been people still alive on the outside when the Ark was shut tight. That only made sense, but Fisher hadn't really thought about it. Until now. He could imagine himself as one of them—one of these Stragglers. He imagined shivering before a dying fire, starving, being picked off by stronger animals.

What would he do if he knew that, somewhere, there was a protected shelter with technology that might give him a better chance of survival?

“Did Stragglers ever try to get into the Ark?”

“Yes, but they didn't succeed. The builders provided defense systems to prevent just such a thing. There were electrified barriers and automated guns. Any potential intruders were dealt with.”

“You mean killed.”

“Yes,” said Click. “If let inside, they would have scavenged the Ark technology. They would have eaten the preserved specimens. The Ark was designed to protect itself from such threats.”

Maybe Fisher was imagining it, but the machine seemed smug.

Fisher set the skull back exactly where he'd found it.

Nearby, scratches marked the cave wall. They were shallower than the mammoth-tusk scrapes, and made up of short vertical and horizontal lines. Unlike the questionable markings on the smoke-coated ceiling of the ruins, these were unmistakable.

“This is writing,” Fisher said. “The Stragglers.”

Click didn't deny it. “I am somewhat surprised the Stragglers could write.”

Fisher leaned in closer. The carved letters were faint and hard to read. But making them out seemed important. To read the thoughts of long-dead people seemed as crucial a part of being human as building a fire.

“Few of us left,” Fisher read. “We are sick, and we fade. There is light in the Ark, and warmth, and food, but we cannot get in. The guns killed many. Even now, gadgets chase us and kill more.”

“Gadgets?” Fisher turned to Click. “The guns could chase people?”

“No, the defense systems were fixed into the Ark's entrance. They could not pursue intruders. The Straggler must have been confused. Perhaps illness damaged his or her brain.”

Fisher scowled and continued reading. “Our hopes lie now with the legends of the other place. Tomorrow, we leave our dead behind and make our way due west to the Great Arch. From there, we take the Whale Road south, past the City of Ghosts, to the Southern Ark.”

Fisher remembered the partial message from the ruins: “Wha … D.” Fill in the missing letters, and it spelled “Whale Road.”

He turned to Click. “
Southern
Ark?”

Click whirred and clicked for a while. “I know of no other Arks,” he said. “But it is possible that others were built.”

“Click, do you know what this means? There could be people there. Living humans. I might not be the last one after all.”

Click released a small hydraulic gurgle. “Even assuming a Southern Ark exists, even assuming you could find it, it may well have suffered the same fate as your own Ark. And the odds of you reaching it alive are remote. A journey of such a distance would expose you to predators, or injury, or starvation, or hypothermia, or heat stroke. You would face dangers from these so-called ‘gadgets.' You would be putting your survival at great jeopardy. You would be risking yourself without knowing what you have to gain.”

Everything Click said was true. Fisher's job was to survive, not to launch himself on dangerous missions. But what was the point in struggling to keep himself alive if he really was the last person left? Wouldn't that be just a lot of stupid running around, waiting to die with no purpose?

Another Ark offered a true promise of life. Life with other people. Continuing the human species.

He looked into Click's expressionless, cracked face.

“Will you come with me?”

“Do you know how to change my programming so that I am no longer required to assist you?”

“No,” Fisher said.

“Then I am coming with you,” Click said with a pneumatic hiss that sounded very much like a sigh.

CHAPTER   9

They started out when the sun broke and the wet earth breathed steam, and they kept walking, for hours, and days, and weeks.

First there were forests of maple and ash, and then lower lands with seas of swaying grass. The days were filled with the electric buzz of bees and the raspy whisper of the mammoth pushing through stalks of wild wheat and barley.

Fisher's blisters bled, and he limped, and the blisters healed and formed calluses. He robbed birds' nests of eggs, and insects stung his neck and formed maddening welts. He ate small bony fish and flowers when he could, and some nights he found nothing and dreamed of salmon leaping into his arms. He nibbled on his salted squirrel only as a last resort. He built roaring fires on some nights, and on other nights he could find no fuel and he shivered, curled up against Protein's sleeping bulk. There were days of rain, and days of wretched heat, and he carried on.

They followed the sun west, hopefully toward the Great Arch, but Click had no idea how far they'd have to go.

“I was never programmed with detailed geography,” he explained. “The builders never intended for me to range far from the Ark. This was a job for other units. But even with advanced geography programming, my knowledge would be out of date. Rivers change course. Seismic activity changes the shape of the land. What was once a lake could now be a salt flat. What was once a desert could now be marsh.”

Fisher occupied his mind with thoughts of food. Not just how badly he wanted food, but how to get it. Finding the crushed squirrel had been a stroke of luck, and he stopped to check every fallen log for another smashed animal. He found none, but he began to wonder if he couldn't make his own luck. Of course there was no way to bring down a tree, at least not with his spear. But what about the rocks he often found among the undergrowth? The best meal he'd had since becoming born was the crayfish, and he'd killed it with a rock.

Grunting, Protein lowered himself for a rest. Whenever this happened Fisher had no choice but to stop as well, for no amount of poking and prodding and profanity could get the mammoth moving again once it decided to stop. As Click went into power-saving mode, Fisher decided to use the time to experiment.

He gathered a twig and a flat stone about the size of his face, stood the twig up, and gently placed the stone on the twig's end. The twig toppled over and the stone tumbled with it, but Fisher wasn't discouraged. He wanted the rock to fall. Just not yet.

He gathered more twigs, and after an hour of trial and error, managed to get the rock delicately balanced on a tripod-arrangement of three thin sticks. The slightest movement would bring the rock down. Which was exactly what he hoped for. He baited the trap with a few wrinkled purple berries and snuck off to hide in the bushes.

He knew from his imprinting that patience was the most important skill in fishing, and he figured the same must be true with trapping. And yet, after only a few minutes of silent crouching, a slender, brown-furred rodent crept near his deadfall trap. Fisher held his breath. He glanced quickly at Protein and Click, hoping his companions wouldn't move or make a noise to scare away his furry little quarry.

The rodent paused. Its whiskers twitched.

Come on
, thought Fisher.
You must be as hungry as I am. Don't you want some berries? What could be more delicious than half-rotted berries?

He squeezed his fists to contain his anticipation when the rodent darted beneath the trap. And he squeezed his fists tighter in frustration when the rodent stuffed the berries in its cheeks, turned, and darted away to safety without triggering the trap.

“Ah,” said Click, waking up. “You have devised a deadfall. Traps such as these are a very effective way to obtain food.”

“But mine didn't work.”

“Perhaps traps are more complicated than they appear.”

“Was there a personality profile that knew about traps?”

“There were several,” Click said. “The Trapper profile, and the Hunter profile, the Carpenter profile—”

“But instead, I got the Fisher profile.”

Click whirred. “It was an accident. I had intended to imprint you with the Forge profile, but my fingers slipped during the attack.”

The next afternoon, as Fisher braided grass stalks together to make a net, he saw something flying overhead. He watched the black dot circle below the wispy clouds. The thought of parrots still made him fear the sky.

“Is that a bird?”

Click waved Protein's trunk away, foiling the mammoth's attempt to smell his head. “I can't tell,” he said. “It is too far up.”

The object flew in a slow, very unbirdlike way, leaving behind a thread of vapor.

“It's a machine,” said Fisher.

Click watched it a while, whirring and hissing. Then, “Yes, I believe so,” he said.

The robot's face and voice never conveyed emotion, but Fisher thought the soaring thing scared him.

They hunkered down in the tall grass and waited for the flying machine to pass out of view.

And they kept walking.

Fisher's feet crunched over morning frost and brittle grass. The night cold seeped into his bones, despite his fires. Even Click moved more stiffly than usual. Only Protein seemed unaffected. He continued to amble along, eating roots and leaving a legacy of dung.

On the twentieth day out from the cave, they came to a river. This was nothing like the streams and the brooks they'd followed so far. Standing up on the elevated banks, Fisher pushed hair off his forehead and looked down the broad course of mud-brown water, several hundred feet across. The current didn't appear very strong at first, but then Fisher watched a sizeable tree branch speed down the river. He wouldn't want to try swimming in that.

But he definitely
did
want to climb down the steep embankment and try his hand at fishing. The fish in a river this big must be huge!

Almost as if the river had heard his thoughts, the back of a great creature curved from the water. Water glinted off its greenish-black flesh, covered with moss and barnacles. It shot a spray of water and mist from a hole in its back before diving back below the surface.

Fisher's mind raced through the catalog of creatures he'd seen dead in their pods back in his Ark.

“That's a whale!” he shouted. “A river whale! Click, this river … it's the Whale Road!”

Fisher now spotted multiple blasts from blowholes. One whale rose almost straight up from the water, poised for a moment like a dark, majestic tower, then came down with a booming splash.

“Look at the size of those things,” Fisher said. “There must be tons of protein on them.”

“Interesting,” Click said. “These whales appear to have evolved the ability to survive in freshwater environments. Either that, or the salt content of the Mississippi has increased. Adapting to changing environments is how species survive while others go extinct. A great many species
did
go extinct before the Arks were built. The builders saved specimens of many, but many others were lost. Only those able to adapt, and to do so very quickly, would have survived.”

“You called the river the Mississippi. You know its name?”

“Based on my basic geography programming and the distance and direction we traveled from the Life Ark, yes. The Mississippi River was one of the North American continent's greatest waterways, an artery of trade and commerce that enabled humanity to tame this wild land and expand the reach of civilization—”

“Click, you're talking weird again.”

“Perhaps. But if I am right, then where is the Great Arch? It should be near.”

Fisher feared that if there'd once been such a thing—whatever it was—it had long ago collapsed into ruins.

“Let's walk down the banks. Maybe we'll find it further south.”

The terrain grew more difficult. They navigated a crumbly ledge not much wider than Protein, with a steep climb on one side and a sheer drop to the river below on the other. Soon, they'd be faced with two choices: pick their way dangerously down to the river, or turn back. As far as Fisher was concerned, that was no choice at all.

The walls plummeted to the river's edge. A lot of junk had washed up below: jumbled driftwood, piles of masonry, even the rusted hulks of old machinery.

Fisher glanced at his crude iron rod of a spear. He'd made it from junk. Junk was treasure. And maybe there'd be signs of the Stragglers' passing. He
definitely
needed to get down to the river. But the way was far too steep for Protein. Even Click would have a hard time getting down there, with his stiff limbs.

“I'm going down,” Fisher announced. “You and Protein can stay here.”

Click peered skeptically over the ledge.

“It looks like a very treacherous climb. I strongly advise against it.”

“But there's stuff to salvage,” Fisher said. “There could be things I can use to make better weapons. Plus, we've come all this way to find out where the Stragglers went. I might find clues down there.”

“Or you might break important bones. The risk outweighs the possible benefits.”

“Look, Click, you said I have strong survival instincts, right?”

“Yes,” the robot conceded. “It was included in your personality profile.”

“Okay. So, if I want to do something, it can't really be all that dangerous, right? Or else my survival instinct would tell me not to do it.”

“Your survival instinct also tells you to sometimes put yourself at risk if there is something to gain. Otherwise, you would never wade into a pond to catch frogs. You would never climb a tree to collect bird's eggs. Some risk is necessary.”

“Right, that's what I'm saying: if I don't climb down to the river—”

“However,” Click interrupted, “instinct can also lead you into harm's way. Moths are drawn by instinct to light. You have seen them burn themselves in the flames of your campfires. In a time when there were more humans, risking yourself might have benefited the community. But now, if your risk results in injury or death, there is no one to take your place. Humanity will be extinct.”

The climb suddenly seemed more dangerous, nothing but crumbly mud with few handholds.

“Well, thanks a lot, Click. Now I don't know what to do.”

“In that case,” said the robot, “you must follow your heart.”

“What? What does that even mean?”

“I do not know. It is something humans used to say to one another. I thought it might be helpful.”

Protein dropped dung.

Fisher took a breath. He got down on all fours and backed up to the edge of the cliff. While Click continued to protest, Fisher began creeping down.

Around halfway, he realized he'd made a grave mistake. He counted seven times when he was absolutely certain he was going to die, and he lost count of the number of times when he was only pretty sure he was going to die. By the time he reached the bottom, sweat glued his clothes to his skin, his palms were scraped and bleeding, and his muscles were on fire.

But he'd made it.

“I'm all right!” he called up to Click. “I survived!”

No response.

The river was much louder down here. All the racket of rushing water was probably swallowing his voice.

He hadn't been out of Click's earshot since the robot saved him from the rat. Why did it feel so strange to be alone now? It even felt odd to be this far from Protein.

Well, Click would know he was okay once he climbed back up—though right now he didn't even want to think about how hard that would be—so the sooner he did what he'd come down here to do, the better.

He began picking through the gravelly patch of beach and discovered treasure right away: a flat wedge of metal. He could sharpen it on a rock and lash a wooden handle to it, and he'd have a knife.

He found a stiff piece of wire split into three sharp points, just perfect for gigging frogs.

After a few more minutes of searching, he started to wish he could just stay down here. There was so much washed-up junk, from lengths of nylon rope to sheets of plastic. He could fashion good shelters and plenty of weapons and tools.

But that wouldn't get him any closer to the Stragglers or the Southern Ark.

After tossing aside a couple of rusted barrels, a bit of bright yellow buried under more junk caught his eye. He dug through a pile of plastic bottles and soggy moss to uncover an artifact of some kind. It was a sign, at least twelve feet high and twelve feet across, in the shape of the letter “M.” Or a pair of arches.

Was this it? The Great Arch?

Fisher cleared away more junk and muck and exposed a message, written in yellow plastic letters below the arches.

“Billions and billions served,” he read.

Fisher had no idea what that could mean.

He wished Click was here now.

“What have you found?”

Fisher let out a startled yip and spun.

Click and Protein stood a couple of yards away.

“How did you get down here?” Fisher asked, astonished.

“Protein found a safer path downriver. I am pleased to see you survived your harrowing and foolhardy descent.”

“It wasn't so bad,” said Fisher. It was the first lie he ever told, and it was a rather obvious one.

The mammoth snorted.

“Anyway,” said Fisher, “I think I found the Great Arch. There's writing under it too. Could be a clue to where the Stragglers went.”

Click examined Fisher's find and whirred for a moment.

“I have an entry for this item in my memory modules,” Click said. “It is a relic that would have been considered ancient, even when the Ark was built. It is a sign for a fast-food restaurant.”

Then Click had to explain what a fast-food restaurant was. In the old times food was so readily available that humans competed with one another for the privilege of serving it. Whoever sold the greatest quantity of food was considered the winner.