The Grand Ballast (30 page)

Bode nodded.

“
I was ten. I came home
from school one day and she’d hanged herself with a sheet in the
laundry room.” Valen stopped walking. Bode glanced over his
shoulder at him. “She wasn’t dead. I’d gotten there just a few
minutes too late—stopped on the way home from school because my
friend found a basketball in someone’s yard, and he’d made me watch
him take a three-point shot on the drive. She died before I hung up
with the emergency line.” Valen limped on. “You tell me how that’s
fighting. Tell me how that’s never giving up.”

“
Valen—”

“
I ran off at recess one
day. A No Returns recruiter found me crying in a park near the
school. Said she could make me feel better. Peaceful.”

“
Oh no.” Bode felt an ache,
a longing to make this story better for Valen.

“
The concept was simple
enough. Anything could be good; anything could be bad. So it was
foolish to even think in those terms.” He yanked his shirt down to
reveal his scarred shoulder. “From where my towel had some chemical
on it, one night. And my tooth…” He opened his mouth wide to show
Bode a misshapen chunk of a molar. “A pebble in some fucking
dessert I loved.”

“
Why would you
stay
there?”

“
Because I thought it could
work.” Valen gazed at Bode, anger visible below the surface. “We
switched rooms and clothes, so nothing ever felt like ours. They
made us betray one another and care for one another too. No
friends; no enemies.” He shrugged. “Live that way for long enough,
you stop thinking in terms of ‘love’ or ‘hate’ or ‘want.’ You
accept that anything could be a source of pain or pleasure. That
you are more powerful when you owe no debts and take what you need
from other people without…”

“
Without what?”

“
Needing
them
.”

“
Sounds like a real fucking
picnic.”

“
I learned as best I could.
I almost stopped wanting
things.
But I couldn’t let go of her.”

“
Of course not,” Bode said
sharply. “Why would you ever?”

“
I know she’s gone.”
Valen’s voice was tinged with bitterness. “I knew then, and I know
now. I’m just embarrassed that I almost believed a group of people
who told me nothing matters, not even love—when I knew that wasn’t
true.”

“
You say something enough
times, and a weaker mind starts to believe it.
Tell someone over and over that he’s committed an
unforgivable crime. That he owes you a debt…”

“
It’s good that you didn’t
believe them.”

Valen shook his head,
looking disgusted. “One day the Hydra Arena crew came through. They
wanted to know if No Returns had any members who’d be willing to
die in as part of a show—the assumption being that we were so
detached from any and everything, we wouldn’t mind sacrificing
ourselves. I volunteered. I thought if I couldn’t spend my life
fighting with her, I’d give up with her. I’d
be
with her. I signed the
contract.”

“
Just like
that?”

Valen glanced at him. “Death isn’t the worst
thing that can happen to someone, you know.”

Bode stared for a minute. “Life isn’t
either.”

Valen didn’t answer.

***

For three days they walked across the
plains, following the curve of Highway 20. They kept well away from
the road itself. Occasionally they saw skeletal frames where
someone had gotten a notion to build something—a mall, maybe, or a
restaurant or gas station—and had been unable to sustain the
interest required to complete the project.

It was hot during the day. They were always
sticky and tired, and they never had enough water.

Bode’s loneliness was like
some lunatic creature, either bounding beside him or clinging to
his back. It was almost company in and of itself, that predictable
emptiness, that persistent desire for something as simple as
conversation. Valen had grown intensely silent. When he spoke, it
was to give information.
“We’ll camp here
tonight.
” Or
“Walk
closer to these trees.”

They raided gardens after dark, but the
gardens this far west mostly consisted of hot peppers and sweet
potatoes. When they could no longer survive on vegetables, they
stole more substantial food in a tiny town called Storm’s Center.
They argued over whether to split up for the heist. Valen thought
Bode ought to stay away from the town, since he was more easily
recognizable. Bode thought they ought to stick together no matter
what.

Eventually, Bode agreed to wait in a line of
trees while Valen plundered a backyard grill that had been left
momentarily unattended while the young couple in charge of it
chased their runaway dog. Bode worried the dog would make straight
for his hiding place, but the dog was only interested in a treed
squirrel and after a moment, bounded happily toward its shouting
owners. Valen met up with Bode moments later.

“
Here.” He thrust a napkin
containing two slightly pink burgers at Bode.

“
They’re not
done.”

“
You’re gonna complain?”
Valen bit into a burger. He’d only taken one for himself, Bode
realized.

Bode tore one of his patties in half and
handed it to Valen.

Valen took it without a word. Snapped the
food down like it had personally offended him.

Even when he was still,
Valen seemed angry. He gave the illusion of storming through a
room, swiping things from desks, shouting at the wreck he’d made.
But it wasn’t an anger that intimidated Bode. He pitied Valen, who
didn’t hide his fear nearly as well as he thought he did.
You were scared. When you were about to die, you
were scared. And you’re scared now.

“
I saw a paper on their
patio table,” Valen said finally, jerking his head in the direction
of the house they’d stolen from. “Kilroy’s offering a reward for
you.”

It didn’t surprise Bode, but his gut
clenched all the same. “So he’s alive.”

“
He’s alive,” Valen
confirmed.

“
What about you? Is he
looking for you?”

“
You were the only one
mentioned in the headline. You’re…” Valen sighed. “You’re also
wanted by the police. For arson.”

Bode went back to eating. He could feel the
pulse jerking in his neck. But now wasn’t the time for panic.

“
We gotta be careful,”
Valen said.

No fucking shit.

The nights were growing colder, and at the
next property they came to, Bode didn’t argue when Valen slipped
into a barn and came out with a jacket, a heavy-duty rain slicker,
two pairs of work boots, and a pair of scissors. The scissors were
rusted and had strands of a horse’s mane caught in them. That
evening, Valen cut his own hair, leaving only half an inch or so of
dark fuzz on his scalp. Bode stared at the bleached, green tinted
locks on the ground.

“
There,” Valen said. “Now
if we need something in a town, I can be the one who goes. The
pictures the media has of me are all with that fuck-ugly blond
hair.”

“
You really think that’s
all you need to do to keep people from recognizing you?” Bode
wasn’t quite ready to confront the knowledge that Valen was trying
to protect him.

“
I have a jacket now too.
With a hood. It’s better than nothing.”

Bode glanced at the dark blue windbreaker on
the ground beside them. Then he looked at the Boy of the Water who
wasn’t a boy, who was a man—but maybe all men were boys who were
secretly afraid.

“
I’ll take first watch
tonight,” Bode said.

THE PARADE OF GOOD
THINGS

The next day, something broke with the end
of the heat. The clouds pulled apart and the rain tumbled out, and
Bode woke to water creeping across the sandy ground where he slept,
pelting him through the raincoat. He looked up and saw Valen under
a single, gawky tree, looking out for danger the way he did, even
when he was supposed to be sleeping. Even when Bode was the one
sitting guard.

For someone who had been trained to value
nothing, Valen guarded his newfound freedom with an obsessive
fervency.

Bode looked out at the wide plains, at the
endless gray sky. Even the danger was better than emptiness. His
gaze shifted back to Valen. He had no idea what they were to each
other. Didn’t know what it was to feel when he looked at him. He
touched his lips, which were mostly healed now. His hand bore only
a couple of small, bruise-ringed punctures.

They made their way across a long, flat
field of tall grass. They’d only gone a short ways when they saw
figures coming across the plain. A long line of them—spots of color
against the gray sky. Valen froze. “Hide,” he said tersely.

Bode heard the dull bang of drums and a weak
horn, almost drowned out by thunder. A unison cry. “It’s the
parade,” Bode said.

“
What?”

Bode turned to Valen. “The Parade of Good
Things. Do you know it? It’s an X-show. But you can’t buy tickets
to it or anything. It just travels all across the country on foot.
And if you’re lucky, you see it.”

“
An X-show? Then we need to
get the
fuck
out
of here.”

No
, Bode almost said. It had been so long since he’d seen the
Parade. He and the other members of the Grand Ballast had stopped
to watch it once, years ago. It had seemed wonderful, in a way. An
X-show where no one got hurt, where everyone was joyful.

He followed Valen through the tall grass to
a cluster of rocks—their only hope for cover. He didn’t really
think the parade posed danger. It went on in all weathers,
regardless of the presence an audience, and regardless of whether
that audience jeered or screeched or threw things or jerked off.
Its performers were hardly going to stop to determine the
identities of two lone travelers.

The parade drew closer. Bode saw naked
breasts and flapping cocks. Silver sequins and red scarves. The men
and women danced. Hooted and threw their arms up. Their bodies were
all different shapes, jiggling and arching, their wet costumes
clinging. The parade wasn’t spectacular; it looked lewd and sad.
But it was company, at least for a moment.

“
Get down,” Valen
whispered, tugging at his sleeve.

But Bode refused to let the parade
completely out of sight. The drums echoed inside of him. The horn
wheezed.

When the performers were gone, when he could
only see their backs, Bode felt emptier than ever. “They go all
across the country,” he told Valen. “And they don’t ask for
anything.”

“
It’s not really a parade
of good things.” There was a note of genuine disappointment in
Valen’s voice.

“
What do you mean?” Bode
asked.

“
What’s good about it? A
bunch of naked people and drums.”

Bode tilted his head. “What would a parade
of good things be for you?”

Valen splayed his hand on the grass as a
hush of wind swept the field and went on toward the stormy horizon.
“A group of people…going somewhere.”

Bode half smiled. “Well, yes. That’s a
parade through and through, right?”

“
But I mean, they’d have a
goal. They’d be marching somewhere to do something that
matters.”

Bode studied him quietly. “You want to do
something that matters?”

Valen stared at the slope in the land where
the parade had vanished. “I think that’s what I wanted once.” He
seemed to be pleading, but maybe not with Bode. Maybe with old
ghosts. “You think she’s ashamed of me? My mother? I didn’t fight.
I went to the No Returns when she died. I was such a coward.”

Bode’s chest contracted in sympathy. “Nah.”
He snapped a twig. “If she had any sense at all, then you were her
parade.”

Valen said, tiredly, “I don’t have a fucking
clue who I am.”

“
I think you
do.”

“
You’re kind. And I’m
nothing like that.”

“
I’m not kind. I told you,
I killed someone.”

“
I don’t believe that.”
Valen hesitated, then reached forward. Bode tensed. Valen withdrew
his hand.

“
You can touch me,” Bode
said shakily. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

Valen looked unsure. “How?”

Around them, the rain fell slowly, almost
swaying side to side, like leaves. The grass was slick beneath his
shoes. “Touch me however you want.”

The most tentative brush of
skin on skin. They both had violence beneath the surface, and it
was all the more terrifying for its hiddenness.

Bode tried to keep himself
steady as Valen’s fingers trailed down his shoulder, but then he
leaned sideways involuntarily. Valen paused, studying him. Bode’s
breath came fast and shallow.

He used to love to be
touched; used to love his body. If that was a mistake, if that was
asking for cruelty, then he would ask again and again. He rested
his head on Valen’s shoulder, flinching as Valen brought his hand
up and splayed it on his back. Valen stroked up and down between
Bode’s shoulders.

Okay. Okay.

Bode swallowed.

Valen pulled him
close
r. He took Bode’s arms and squeezed
until Bode winced, until the pain felt like closing a book—final
and spell-breaking. He backed Bode against the rock. The wet stone
scraped Bode through his shirt and jacket. He let out a nervous
snap of laughter.