Robinson Crusoe 2244 (25 page)

The other thorn he couldn’t pull out was his mother, but he wouldn’t go there yet.

“The smoker is good,” Friday said. “The meat is unspoiled.”

“That’s great news. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she answered before offering a familiar refrain, “Forever ready.”

Robinson smiled, but he could tell she was weary.

“There is no question you are Aserra. Braver and stronger than any Cimoshi.” She nodded appreciatively. “But you need more rest.”

She tried to wave him off, but he gently took her hand. “My mother was a healer. A
curador
. She knew such things were important not to dismiss. You are tired. You have a fever, and your cough is getting worse.”

“There is no time to rest. The full moon—”

“Is not for several days. I promise, by then we’ll be long gone. And you know the dangers of travelling ill-prepared better than anyone.”

She reluctantly nodded, but there was something else bothering her.

“What is it?”

“I feel these past days … someone watches us.”

He asked her who, but she shook her head. Finally, she gave in. “I will rest tonight. First, I
yu lie
to do.”

“
Yu lie
?” he asked, the edge of his mouth curling up.

“
Fish-ing
,” she enunciated. “Is a terrible word to the mouth.”

“
You lie
isn’t so cheery in our language either. Okay, you fish. I’m going to go up top and scout around.”

Robinson crossed to the steel ladder and started for the roof. Halfway up, Friday called his name. She hadn’t moved.

“To the Aserra, a warrior’s word is his
quan
. You will come, as you promised?”

Her voice was soft, unsure. The first time he’d ever heard it so.

“Yes,” he said, but as he headed up the ladder, he knew he wasn’t sure.

From the roof, Robinson did a cursory scan of the perimeter and basin. Outside of a few birds and squirrels, there was nothing to see. He took the eyeglass and looked farther upriver where the Bone Flayers would come from, but the water was as still as glass with only a few isolated chunks of ice too stubborn to melt.

In the park, the trees that had only begun to foster buds would bloom into cherry blossoms and turn the killing fields beautiful once again. Bushes would grow fuller and leaves would dance in the wind. He was reminded, once again, how happy he’d been there with Friday. She had become his north star but also the seed that had given him roots. How could he ever have compared what he’d felt for Tessa with what he felt for her?

But those thoughts brought him back to his mother, and for once, he had to face the truth that he didn’t know if she was dead or alive. He wanted so badly to believe she was alive, but the city was fraught with perils. The lab where she’d worked had shown no signs of infiltration, but she couldn’t have lived there long. Even if her escape had been plotted, the flyer’s provisions couldn’t have lasted her more than a year. How had she survived afterward? How had she kept the will to live? The mother he knew was hale in body and mind, but she was no hunter. But then he hadn’t been either, until coming to the continent. The older he got, the more he understood that people changed through necessity, not by choice.

Yet if his mother had set down here intact, where was her flyer? If she had survived the renders, the Bone Flayers, the struggle for sustenance, and the elements, where had she gone? He wanted to believe she was alive, waiting for help to come, but he knew in his heart it wasn’t true. For her, this had been a one-way journey and he needed to find out why.

To the Aserra, hope was a coward’s word because it meant that you had not taken fate in your hands. Of all the commodities to possess here, hope was last to be rewarded and the first to lead to ruin. But it remained, buried deep inside him, waiting for the narrowest shaft of light to grow. Hope was eternal. It was what made them human.

Behind the memorial, Friday chased Resi with a stick. He had latched on to a fish she’d caught and was now leading her in circles, jumping and barking with delight. Friday groused and cursed but eventually gave up and went back to the water. When Resi trotted over and set the fish beside her, Friday patted him on the head and said, “Good dog.” Robinson didn’t want to lose this. And up until the minute he saw that chalkboard, he had been ready to follow Friday wherever she wanted to go, whether it was south after the Aserra or to the gates of the Bone Flayers themselves. But now, with the evidence that his mother had been in the city as recently as last year, all that had changed. He still wanted to go with Friday, but could he live with the cost of knowing he would never discover what had happened to his mother? It was the hardest choice he’d ever had to make.

Ultimately, he decided he needed answers—answers he couldn’t get anywhere else. To find out what had happened to his mother, he would have to follow his nose, and it pointed toward the military base. He knew he couldn’t risk Friday’s health by dragging her across the countryside at night. And there was no way she would let him leave on his own. So he came up with a plan, even though he knew there would be a stiff price.

As dusk arrived, the sky turned a golden pink, with small, white puffs of clouds that spirited across the sky and headed out to sea. The river spun loudly as they settled down to supper. Resi snored lightly beneath the table, weary from the day’s exertions.

The fish Friday had caught turned out to be succulent, flavored with just the right spices to sate their hunger and put her in an amorous mood. As much as Robinson wanted to reciprocate, part of him felt badly about deceiving her, so he told her it was best if she recovered another day before they resumed their lovemaking.

After supper, Robinson read until Friday was asleep in his arms. He waited until her breathing slowed before he grabbed his gear and crept for the door. Resi whined.

“I’ll be back soon,” Robinson whispered and scratched his ear. “Watch her for me, will you, pal?” To his surprise, Resi licked his fingers.

Outside, Robinson slicked his clothes with oil and set off to the east, past the monolith, until he linked with Independence Avenue. As expected, there were many renders out, but by that time, he’d learned a great deal about how to navigate around them.

It wasn’t until he’d reached the capitol building that he heard a new danger. It began as one lone yowl, slow and keening. And then it was joined by a chorus of others that melded together until the divergent tones became an orchestra of impending death.

Robinson took out his eyeglass and looked out over the city, finding a group of shadows devouring something several blocks to the north. The moonlight illuminated the attackers long enough for him to see they ran on four legs, not two, and were very fast.

He slid the eyeglass shut and slipped it back into his pack. He needed to get as far away as possible. He was pretty sure he’d be safe if he could make it to the Pennsylvania Avenue Bridge. But when he turned, all the air was sucked right out of him.

There, twenty paces away, was a massive mutated dog staring at him with black render eyes. Robinson didn’t move. He didn’t blink.

And then the creature started to bay.

The render dog was used to hunting in a pack. Robinson knew this because the second he ran toward it, it flinched. It took two steps back before it bared its teeth, but by then, both tomahawks were buried in its skull. It managed one surprised yelp before its blood and brains stained the grass.

Robinson pulled out his tomahawks, knowing his victory would be short lived if he didn’t get moving quickly. The keening of the dog’s mates carried across the park. There was no way to misinterpret them. The pack was now hunting him.

He fled southwest across the capitol grounds, only looking back when he reached Pennsylvania Avenue. From there, he saw the pack flooding around the capitol building, each mutated dog running with a grotesque gait all its own. The throaty yaps were terrifying, but one rang deeper than all the others. The Alpha. Larger and thicker, it directed its horde with big, booming roars.

Robinson knew he’d never make the bridge, so he broke south toward the water, passing under the elevated freeway he had first traveled across nearly a year before. The sound of heavy padding grew behind him and he turned to see the first render dog closing in. To his surprise, it had no eyes, but its long, mutated tongue whipped out every few meters to taste the air for his trail.

Robinson slid his tomahawks back into their straps and pulled out his sling, along with a rock he’d ground to razor sharp points. He spun it until the dog was a few paces behind him and then let it fly. The projectile hit it where its eyes should have been, resulting in a spray of bone and blood. The dog pitched forward, but before it could yelp, its face struck the asphalt and its neck snapped with a loud crack.

Robinson pushed harder toward the water as the bays closed in. He blew through a gate marked “NAVY YARD” and the shape of a boat emerged. It was an older military vessel, a little larger than the savages’ ship. It was canted slightly to one side, hanging half out of the water and half perched atop an old wooden pier that had partially collapsed long ago.

Knowing his odds of survival would be greatly improved if he could reach the ship, Robinson ran as hard as he could for its single, strangled ramp. He was a dozen feet away when he felt the attack come from his right. He dove to the ground just as the render dog passed overhead, its fetid breath warming his ear with a loud snap.

When he spun to his feet, the dog to the east was at his flank and a third dog surrounded him. Seeing Robinson had both tomahawks in hand, the dogs postponed their attack. They wanted to keep him there until their pack mates arrived.

Robinson twisted and feinted while the dogs dipped and lunged, snapped and retreated, always keeping the human on his defenses while working to tire him out.

Once again, Robinson fell back on the Aserra’s teachings: never expend needed energy unnecessarily; always keep calm and focused; when the opportunity comes, attack first and be decisive; and always, always go for the kill.

When he heard more dogs approaching, he knew he was out of time, so he feinted toward the dog to the east and then spun, catching the one nearest the ship as it lunged. The tomahawk barely left his hand when it sunk into fur and the beast fell dead.

The third render dog latched onto his sleeve, but it had miscalculated the distance to the channel. Robinson spun fast and hard, and propelled it off the ledge and down the steep, rocky incline that led to the water below. The sound of bones snapping eclipsed its cries until it landed in a heap near the water’s edge.

With the narrowest of windows, Robinson rushed across the twisted gangplank just seconds before the pack arrived. They snarled and barked but stopped short of crossing. Then the Alpha emerged. The pack cowered under its powerful gaze until, at last, it turned its attention to the human.

Of all the grotesque mutations Robinson had seen to date, none had repulsed him like the Alpha. Its form was rife with muscles pocked by bloody abscesses that ran from its front, thin legs to its squat, powerful rear ones. To his surprise, he saw teats lining its chest and belly, marking it not as male, but female. But it was the qualities of her face that really made his stomach churn. They were not canine, but human. What perversion of nature could create a fusion of man and beast? Mythology was full of them, but here was fable made flesh. And as her eyes bore down on Robinson with intellect and hate, he wondered, was man’s folly staring across the void at him, or was he staring at his future?

Robinson set down his tomahawks and took up his sling, sliding one of his last three stones into the pouch just as the Alpha snarled and the pack charged. The first dog was halfway across the gangplank when the stone came loose and hit it in the mouth. The render dog bucked sideways, shrieking in pain as shattered teeth flew. It smashed against the railing, which broke away, and then plummeted to the rocks below.

A fearsome bellow erupted from the Alpha’s throat. Quickly, Robinson grabbed his second-to-last projectile and slipped it into the cradle. The Alpha stalked just beyond the gangplank but was intelligent enough to stay back while the sling whirled. To Robinson’s surprise, the Alpha directed the remaining pair to either end of the boat. The stern was five meters from shore, but the cant of the ship had left the aft section slightly submerged. If the render dog was capable of swimming, it could easily get behind him.

The second dog had the more difficult task, but it seemed less hesitant. It treaded its way to the upheaved dock where it looked to leap onto the bow of the ship. If both creatures were successful, Robinson would be caught between anvil and hammer with the Alpha ready to make it a three-pronged attack. He would have no chance of survival.

Thinking fast, he edged higher up the deck so he could keep all three targets in sight but still maintain the revolutions of the sling that kept the Alpha at bay. Then his foot struck against something that shook with a groan. He looked up and saw it was a tall, rusty radio tower that extended three or four times his height. On the same plane was a bowed cable at least one hand thick that ran along the waterline and was presently suspended over the Alpha.