Horizon (03) (27 page)

Nadir grimaced but didn’t respond. They waited for the phone to power up, and he clicked a few buttons. “Here.”

He turned the screen face toward them, and Cass looked close: a crystal clear photo of emerald-green treetops, the winding break of the river, and there—a straight gray line.

“A bridge,” Smoke said. “Four lanes. Put in by some multinational group that wanted to build a resort.”

“So, assuming the bridge is intact—”

“That’s a big assumption,” Cass said. “Don’t you think?”

Nadir shrugged. “Those photos were taken last March. Not even a year ago. Since then there’s been no air traffic, hardly anyone on the roads. Sure, it’s possible to get there on foot, but I’d say most people spent most of last year trying to go toward civilization and not away from it.”

“The Cascades are hundreds of miles long,” Smoke said. “And there’s higher elevations. Why did they pick this one?”

“Because it’s relatively easy to get to, especially coming from the southeast. They spaced the settlements out east to west, and this was supposed to be the westernmost camp. But if they’d gone up to Washington or Oregon, that’d take weeks longer. And they wanted the settlements to be forbidding enough that Beaters couldn’t survive, but not so hostile that everyone else couldn’t either. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be in Minneapolis right now, know what I mean? At least in the settlements, a day on foot gets you down mountain, above freezing almost all year round. Put in a few satellite farms and you got four growing seasons, too. Couldn’t really ask for much better.”

Cass considered Nadir’s argument, trying to find the holes in it. She had to admit that, other than the uncertain welcome they were likely to receive, it was better than anything they’d come up with. “So you really think this will work for all of us? What about the slow ones—the weak ones?”

“Everyone goes,” Smoke said adamantly. “Everyone.”

Nadir nodded. “I understand. We have the advantage of the vehicles. That should make up for any…problems we could experience. I mean, anyone who’s slower, the kids, the older folks. If you don’t mind me asking…are you concerned about loyalty? Why do you wish to involve this other man?”

Smoke addressed Nadir but his eyes were on Cass. “I am not well-known here. I’ve been sick. People might question my strength.”

“Dor’s only been here as long as I have,” Cass protested. “Two months.”

And no one liked him, she wanted to add. But things had changed so much. Of the council leadership, only Shannon and Harris remained; Dana was dead and Neal was among the missing.

Dor had been a hero today. In times of great upheaval, people were judged by their last trial, their last triumph. Without Dor they’d all be dead; she had a feeling that Smoke was right, that people would be expecting him to play a role in what came next.

“Is there anyone else?” Nadir asked. “Anyone who will challenge you?”

Smoke and Cass looked at each other. “No,” she said slowly. “Dana would have, but he’s dead.”

Nadir nodded. “And what role do you see for me?”

“What do you mean?” Smoke asked.

“Am I to…assist you in some way?”

“You’re the one with the maps, my friend,” Smoke said. “You’ve put a lot on the table. You’ll forgive me for assuming that you want something in return.”

Nadir raised his hands. “A new life,” he said. “A chance at something. To matter. To…know people.”

“What did you do Before?” Cass asked.

Nadir shrugged. “I worked at a Best Buy. Went to community college. I was engaged…but I was thinking of breaking it off. I wasn’t anything, really. Just an average guy.”

“And now?” Smoke asked. “What do you want from life?”

“I’m twenty-six years old,” Nadir said. “I’ve lost everyone I knew before a year ago. I’d like to live to see twenty-seven, and have a couple of friends when I get there.”

Smoke nodded. He looked at Cass, slipped his hand around hers. “That’s not the worst goal I ever heard.”

Chapter 39

PEOPLE ADAPTED TO the new order with surprising complacency. Or maybe it wasn’t all that surprising—and on second thought it wasn’t complacency, but more like stunned acceptance. No one was unaffected by the terrible losses suffered at the mall. People were silent much of the day, prone to crying jags, more likely than ever to wander off in search of solitude when they did stop for rest.

Cindy, who had treated Rosita like a second mother, had taken to wearing the scarf she took from the dead woman’s body outside the mall after she died from her head injury. It was still stained with blood, but Cindy didn’t seem to care.

Sharon, whose partner, Elsa, had been among those crushed to death when people swarmed the door of the mall, stopped speaking to anyone. When people approached, she turned away; she seemed to blame them all. She walked several paces behind the crowd and slept outside at night and Cass worried that one morning they would find her gone, having slipped away in the night to be alone with her grief.

No one seemed to miss Craig Switzer much. Or Mayhew, for that matter, after a somewhat condensed version of his plan had been communicated at a meeting Smoke led with Nadir and Bart, Dor doing his customary silent-and-glowering thing a few paces away. A vote was taken, and, not surprisingly, it was a unanimous decision to continue northward toward Salt Point.

People were given a quick glimpse at the images on Nadir’s phone before he shut it down to conserve the battery. Jay said it reminded him of skiing in Whistler, up in Canada. Kyra, who had begun talking about the baby from time to time, said she thought it would be nice to have a log-cabin school for the kids.

The days took on a rhythm, early mornings around fires made from whatever lumber they could scavenge, the last of the canned and preserved food doled out parsimoniously along with whatever form of kaysev was on offer that day. A new kitchen crew had formed from a few volunteers, including—surprisingly—Kalyan, who was a sort of apprentice to Fat Mike. Fat Mike wasn’t the least bit fat anymore, but the name stuck, and he and Kalyan spent the evenings experimenting with kaysev and whatever other ingredients could be scrounged. Several times there was rabbit and even squirrel that Nadir or Dor or Bart shot. Cass found wild shallots and ginger, serviceberries, squawroot and nutsedge tubers. In her pack was the seed collection she had brought with her from New Eden, and she daydreamed about the garden she would grow if they reached Salt Point safely.

When,
she corrected herself every time.
When
they reached Salt Point. But optimism was in short supply, despite everyone’s efforts to practice it.

One reason Kalyan was spending more time with Fat Mike, Cass figured, was that Colton was spending most of his time with Sammi. Only Shane, among the young men, seemed to have failed to find a new diversion. Sometimes Cass saw him with his slingshot, shooting stones at billboards, wrecked cars, rabbits—though he never managed to hit those—always with the same vacant expression. If he missed his friends’ company he didn’t let on.

Twice they encountered Beaters: once, they pulled off the road at an orchard, the dead trees eerie with their clinging brown leaves and withered fruit. A pair of long sheds seemed like a reasonable shelter for the night, especially after Dor and some of the others went in to clear them and found nothing more vexing than a corpse lying next to an open refrigerator surrounded by empty beer cans. But as the group was settling in, a pack of four Beaters came sprinting from the tiny farmhouse that had been nearly hidden by the trees. Since the travelers had taken to posting sentries the moment they arrived at a new shelter, two of them were killed before they could enter through the open metal doors, and the others after they tripped, screaming with frustration, over their comrades. They were all old Beaters except for one, who had been a young man in his twenties recently enough that he still had all his hair and tattoos, elaborate colorful skulls and roses on both arms. He was the last to die, exhaling for a final time with what Cass imagined was a flicker of regret in his bright eyes.

The other Beater encounter was more disturbing still. Late on a warm day, when they were looking for somewhere to shelter, they passed by a tiny town, really nothing more than half a dozen small bungalows and a brick general store. All were abandoned, windows cracked and debris spilling from doorways. A stench rose from several cars parked in the middle of the intersection, and the group gave it a wide berth, walking through the field on the other side of the road.

They passed this site by because it would be too risky to try to check the buildings. Anytime there were more than two or three buildings clustered together, they generally stayed clear. The paucity of Beater sightings on the journey confirmed what they’d heard from the handful of settlers and freewalkers they’d encountered: the Beaters were generally concentrated in the larger towns and cities still, though with their quarry more and more elusive, as survivors dwindled and reinforced their shelters, it wasn’t unheard of to find a nest in a tiny town or ranch, especially near the roads.

Still, nothing stirred in the dusty streets as the group rolled silently by, the horses’ hooves clopping hollowly alongside the cars and trailers and wagons. They’d gone perhaps twenty-five yards past the edge of the town, far enough for a collective sigh of relief, when a frightened yell pierced the air and a figure came sprinting toward them.

As he gained ground, Cass saw that it was Shane, his long hair flopping on his forehead, his baggy pants sagging below his stomach. A second later a pair of Beaters came loping after him. One of them had something wrong with its leg, which dragged along behind it, and Shane quickly outpaced it. But the other one had managed to get a hold of Shane’s flapping jacket before it tripped and let go as it staggered, trying not to fall. A bullet from Smoke’s gun dropped it instantly, but Shane kept running, gibbering with terror, until he was in the midst of the group.

Cass didn’t like the boy, but he was still a child, as much as any sixteen-year-old can still be called a child. She wasn’t the only one to feel that way, it was clear, because several of the women surrounded him, checking for injuries, exclaiming over him, as Smoke walked to the injured Beater and shot it in the neck.

“Let’s keep going, let’s just keep going,” Shane repeated, his voice thin and terrified.

“What the hell happened, son?” Dor demanded. Shane was not a big kid, and he had to look up to meet Dor’s eyes. “What were you doing back there?”

“I was, I was, I just saw, I thought I saw, uh, cans, like food cans.”

“Where, through a window? On a porch?”

Bart and Nadir had their weapons out and had flanked Smoke on either side. Neither of the downed Beaters stirred, and there were no further sounds from the camp.

But there was smoke and, as everyone turned to stare, a small popping sound.

Shane turned away, muttering, as Dor exclaimed softly under his breath.

“Stay here, everyone,” he ordered as he joined the other armed men.

It didn’t take them long to find the fire. The shabbiest of the bungalows was in flames all along the back, where the paint had long ago flaked off the siding and a porch railing made excellent tinder.

They were back in moments.

“I smelled kerosene or something,” Dor said, cuffing Shane on the shoulder. The boy kept his head down, his face burning.

“I said something to you, boy.”

“It was there. It was sitting out. And it wasn’t kerosene, it was deck stain.”

Dor cursed and spun Shane around in the street. Cass was torn—like the others who kept walking, she trusted Dor to handle it. But her father, who had been walking next to her, had backtracked to join the pair, and Cass followed.

“So you found deck stain sitting on the street? I don’t—”

“Didn’t say it was in the street. In the garage.”

Two of the houses had detached garages behind them. Both were missing doors and windows.

“Boy,” Red said softly. “You like watching shit burn?”

Shane flicked a glance at him but didn’t answer.

“Check his pack,” Red said, as he hooked a large hand under Shane’s chin and forced him to look at him.

A quick search turned up a Ziploc bag full of small boxes of matches, a motley collection of knives and a cheap imitation throwing star.

“That’s a lot of matches, son,” Red said softly. “Anything else you might want to be getting off your conscience?”

Shane shook his head as Red squeezed his jaw, finally wrestling free and stumbling off at a jog.

“I think you just found your firebug,” Red said.

Chapter 40

EVERYONE WAS TALKING about Shane, and Sammi wanted to talk to him, ask him if it was true, if he’d really done the things they were saying. They’d taken everything sharp or flammable or conceivably dangerous away from him, and spread the word among the entire group. Bart suggested leaving him behind at the next shelter they passed, but he was quickly voted down. Watching the boy trudge along behind the group, face flaming and an expression of utter dejection on his face, seemed like punishment enough.

Besides, they had another problem to worry about. Jasmine had gone into labor that morning, and it wasn’t going well. She’d been riding in the panel van with Sun-hi all day, and when they came to a long, low-slung cinder-block building set at an angle on a giant gravel lot, broken neon signs spelling out TRIPLE-X GIRLS LIQUOR COORS LIVE NUDE, it was decided that she and Sun-hi would stay in the van while everyone else made camp inside.

Twenty yards behind the building was a surprisingly pretty creek. The water was shallow and murky, but grasses grew along its banks, and butterflies and water bugs flitted among them, the first anyone had seen Aftertime.

A fire was built along the bank and dinner served there as the sun set. People waded into the water, the first chance for a bath or laundry in many days. There was laughter as people emerged shivering and stripped behind blankets, hanging their clothes from the branches of a sycamore tree.

Sammi was helping to dry the little boys after a dip in the creek, toweling Dane off and smoothing his damp hair, which had grown long enough to hang into his eyes.

“Sammi, oh my God, Sammi.” Kyra came running up, holding her side, wincing.

“Kyra, what are you doing, you’re not supposed—”

“It’s Jasmine. Sun-hi sent me. It’s bad. The baby won’t come and—”

Sammi exchanged a look with Sage, who was trying to get a struggling Dirk back into his clothes.

“Go ahead, we’ll watch them,” Sage said, her face pale.

“Who does she want?” Sammi asked. “Does she want you to get Zihna?”

Kyra nodded, gulping air.

“Yeah, I just, I can’t catch my breath—”

“I’ll go.”

She ran over to a clump of people sitting on the ground on the stream bank. Zihna was sitting and talking with Cass, slightly apart from the others. Sammi skidded to a stop with her arms wrapped awkwardly around herself.

“Jasmine’s baby won’t come,” she said, out of breath. “Kyra says it’s bad. Sun-hi needs you.”

“Take me there.” Zihna transformed instantly from earth mother to all business, though she held Sammi’s hand as they ran, and Sammi squeezed back. They raced back up the incline to the ugly building, around through the parking lot to the front. One of the side doors of the panel van was open and next to it, on the ground in the shade of the car, was a pallet made of blankets unpacked from someone’s luggage. Jasmine lay on it, naked from the waist down, her legs impossibly pale and still, with blood-soaked towels covering her belly and between her legs.

Sun-hi was holding a baby.

It was the ugliest thing Sammi had ever seen. There had to be something wrong with it—it was purple and wrinkled and dented and covered with slime, a disgusting kinked cord hanging from its belly, its mouth wide with fury and its eyes squinched shut, and it was wailing, the most terrifying hiccupping cries Sammi had ever heard. It didn’t sound like a regular baby, even—it just sucked air and wailed over and over again.

“Dear God,” Zihna said, so it must be bad. When Zihna put a strong hand on Sammi’s shoulder, she stayed put. “Wait here a minute,” she said, and jogged the rest of the way.

She and Sun-hi conferred quietly and Zihna examined the freak baby. They looked down at Jasmine, who was apparently dead, and back at Sammi, who was suddenly cold. Freezing, even, shivering as the wind blew trash up off the asphalt and skittered it along under cars.

“Sammi.” Zihna’s voice was gentler, but still urgent. “This is important. You need to get your dad and Cass. Hurry, okay?”

“Cass? Are you sure?”

“Sammi, it’s obvious she’s an outlier, I’ve known it since I met her. She has all the characteristics.”

“But some people think—”

“They’re just scared. By morning they’ll realize she’s not a threat. But for now, we need her here.”

So Sammi made the trip back, jogging more slowly this time. Her dad and Cass—well, that was just great. Figured that they’d have to work together on whatever came along. In there, in the mall, it had been the two of them that finally got the door unstuck. It was like no matter what happened in their lives, they were thrown together. It had to be the two of them. What did they know about babies? Other than they’d both had one—but then again a lot of the people in New Eden had had kids, once.

Besides, Smoke was here, Smoke was doing fine, he’d made his miraculous recovery, shouldn’t Cass be with him now? He was a hero again after the mall, so why wasn’t she back with him? Why couldn’t she just leave her dad alone?

For a minute Sammi considered disobeying Sun-hi and Zihna and bringing back Smoke instead of her dad. She was pretty sure he could do whatever her dad could. Only, Smoke looked like he was going to pass out, and besides…

Jasmine

Sammi squeezed her eyes shut hard for a moment, nearly tripping on a clod of dirt. She’d seen about a million dead people, some of them way more disgusting than Jasmine, people who were eaten or rotted or burned. Compared to that, Jasmine just looked like she was sleeping, and it wasn’t like Sammi was a little girl or anything, she didn’t need her dad to tell her it was going to be all right, because she’d figured out a long time ago it wouldn’t, so it wasn’t that, but only yesterday she’d seen Jasmine in the morning with her hands on her huge belly, stretching with her eyes closed and this little smile on her face and Sammi had wondered what there was to be so happy about. Jasmine wanted that baby so bad, she’d told Kyra that after she turned forty she figured she’d never get to be a mom, and she had about thirty names picked out, for boys and girls, and she said she’d just know, she’d take one look at her baby and she’d know what its name was meant to be.

So maybe it was a good thing she’d died, maybe it was a good thing she hadn’t seen the disgusting thing she’d given birth to. Sammi reached the others and practically collided with her dad, and to her surprise she was crying so hard she could barely get the words out.