Robinson Crusoe 2244 (9 page)

The base’s main entrance had also been heavily barricaded with carriages, but it too had been overrun. He was ready to be free of this place.

Outside the base, he entered a field of high grass and sunflowers that swayed lightly with the wind. Bees buzzed by, searching for blossoms to pollinate. For a time, he imagined if he closed his eyes, he might wake up in the tangled wolds back home and to the sound of Vareen calling him for supper.

Instead, he heard the running of water and after a spell, he came to the bank of a wide river whose waters flowed unhurriedly but looked clean and devoid of refuse. He knelt to cup some in his hands, but just as his lips parted, a fish passed by, sporting two tails and twitching spastically. His thirst quickly left him.

After a brief rest, Robinson pressed on. He was tired, but stopping felt like quitting. His father once told him that, “in the wild, when you quit, you die.”

Eventually, he came to a roadway larger than any he’d seen before. The husks of carriages dominated one side while the other was oddly empty. He wondered, and not for the first time that day, what had happened to the people driving them.

The roadway rose until it reached an elevation that allowed Robinson a view of the entire city. It sprawled out in all directions as far as the eye could see. Vast tracts were utterly vacant, as if a great flood had come through and wiped everything above ground away. But pockets here and there inexplicably remained.

Off in the distance, he saw a collection of enormous structures. There was no question these marked the city’s capitol. Standing center amongst them was a single, colossal obelisk rising high into the sky. How men had built such things was beyond him. How they endured centuries of neglect was another matter. He knew in an instant he had to see that monolith up close—to touch it with his own hands—to be certain it was real.

Unfortunately, the sun was rapidly descending. There was only a turn of light left at best. So when he spied a neighborhood of what looked like family dwellings, he quickly made his way to them. Most had caved in on themselves like ill-timed cakes, but one two-story residence remained intact. It was perched on a high cliff, its sunny side the battlefield of a languorous war between ivy and trumpet creeper, the outcome of which wouldn’t be determined for eons to come. Despite its weathered, pale exterior, there was something warm about the place that reminded Robinson of home. He moved in for a closer look.

The front of the house was dominated by a robust tree with spindly branches that jetted in all directions. The largest bore two rusty link chains that swayed in the breeze, emitting a painful, rasping ode to the seat and rider who had long ago deserted it.

After rooting the front door from its diseased moorings, Robinson entered the house, only to feel like he’d been transported to some other place and time. For every rustic piece of furniture that harkened of home, there was an article of technology with no discernable purpose. Most were crafted of black, moldable material with cords that fed directly into the walls. Bulkier furniture bore scars of termites and rot, though some were well preserved. He wiped the dust from a glass case and found a bevy of crystal figurines inside—lithe female dancers caught in resplendent repose. When a ray of sunlight caught them just right, they exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors.

A bookshelf full of titles had also escaped decay, but the dense pages held not words but abstract photos of what Robinson took to be art. The images were mystifying.

Discolored family photos hung crooked on walls decked with patterned paper that dangled in wilting spirals and gathered chipped and broken on the floor below. Robinson’s fingers traced over fine china and countertops, light fixtures and curtains. In the parlor, he found the carcass of a piano, which he had read about but had never seen. Coils of wire struck by black and white dowels were used to summon its melody, but what few times he depressed them, he was rewarded with a harsh, discordant sound or no sound at all.

As the light waned, that familiar kernel of fear began creeping its way back to the forefront of Robinson’s mind. He peeled back the curtain to look out at the street. Nothing moved. Not even the chains on the tree or the grass in the yard. Time felt suddenly leaden as if everything were withdrawing from the coming night. He assured himself that nothing was out there—that he was utterly alone—but his assertions rang as hollow as the fleeting wind. He felt like something was coming.

Building a fire was too big a risk, so he picked a warm corner to sit down in and rest. After changing the bandages of his ailing feet, he unpacked his rations. But before he ate, he realized he’d forgotten to check the second floor.

He was halfway up the stairs when the wood beneath him gave. The steps crumbled away with a deafening roar. The only thing that saved him from going with them was the newel post in the baluster. He used it to pull himself up. Water damage had been the cause, though this realization offered little relief. His narrow escape only illustrated the obvious: there were no healers here. One fractured bone or untreated wound could end his life for good.

The first bedroom on the second floor lay open to the stars. Mold and rot covered everything in sight. As he approached the second bedroom, he heard a deep, pulsing drone inside. He couldn’t identify the sound. He should have turned away, but curiosity prompted him to reach for the door. He was shocked by what he found inside. In one corner of the room was the largest beehive imaginable. The room seemed covered in honeycombs and the smell of honey was so strong it brought tears to his eyes. Sensing the invader, several bees turned in his direction. He quickly slammed the door, hoping they had no other way through.

The last rays of sunlight were fading when Robinson approached the final door. Faded yellow tape had been strung across it with a strange symbol beneath.

He didn’t know what it meant, but it looked ominous. Still, he was too tired to turn away and there wasn’t enough light left to seek another place to hide.

So he opened the door and felt his breath catch.

Two beds had been hastily pushed together against the far wall. Lying atop them were the remains of the family he’d seen in the photographs downstairs. Two hundred years might have robbed them of skin and flesh, but the three smaller sets of skeletons intertwined with the two larger ones left little doubt. They were knotted together under deteriorated fabric, spider webs, and dust. A bedside table was strewn with small, cracked, amber containers and cloudy glasses. Had the family taken their final refuge here together in the face of death? Or had they hastened death themselves?

Robinson spent that night in the hallway, but he never touched his provisions. His appetite had abandoned him. He lay there long after the sky had turned dark, thinking not of how far he’d come, but how little he’d accomplished. He tried to convince himself there was nothing to fear. Then he heard the first cry.

It was loud and raw and seemed to carry over the entire city. It was quickly matched by another, and then another, until the night was full of thousands of such voices. Robinson was instantly paralyzed with fear. He had heard that sound before in the East Room of the Crown, but it was nowhere near as robust or infinite as this.

Renders. The renders were here.

The next morning the sky was drab and gray, but to Robinson, it was a glorious sight. The previous night had been a harrowing experience spent balled up on the floor of the upstairs hallway as he listened to the monsters skulk around outside. Every gust of wayward wind was a fiend looking to crack the cloak of his sanctuary and feed on his flesh. Every hallowed cry was a knife to the chest of a boy born of worldly blindness.

The creatures had left under the presage of dawn, but signs of their presence were everywhere. Torn fabric caught on a tree limb. The blood of some animal that had been tilled from the soil. A malformed handprint staining the side of a fence. And above it all, a pervasive stench that befouled the air Robinson breathed.

Robinson set off in the direction of the capitol, eager to test the ancient shoes he’d salvaged from a closet. His compass was fixed on the monolith he’d seen the night before. As the morning passed, the buildings grew larger and larger. Several times he heard the telltale signs of life: the chirping of birds and the bustle of animals. Once, he passed the broken window of a darkened store and spied two small rodents inside, battling over the carcass of a third. Both were afflicted with pustules and moved skittishly. Robinson hurried past.

The oddest sight came when he heard the trickle of water and found a stream flowing through the center of a building and out its doors before plunging into a sinkhole in the street. He was reminded that even the most formidable of human endeavors were transitory. In the end, nature would always have her way.

Crossing through a small park, Robinson’s breath instantly caught in his chest. Before him was a massive building, held aloft by innumerable stone columns that stood like mighty sentinels, invulnerable to time. Atop the building was a dome of such ornate design that it put the Crown and Seven Spires to shame. As he drew closer, he saw the dome sported a bronze statue of a woman atop it. She was dressed in full-length robes and wore a helmeted headdress with a crest of feathers. In one hand she held a sword and in the other, a wreath. She stood atop a globe that read, “E Pluribus Unum,” which Robinson knew to be Latin, because the Second Law forbade learning it (which was why his mother had worked diligently to ensure he learned it). “E Pluribus Unum” meant, “out of many, one.” This woman must have been a mighty warrior to receive such an honor.

He climbed the immense steps that fed the building and passed through an entrance devoid of doors. Dirt, grime, and refuse had been tracked inside the first twenty meters or so, but beyond that, the building was surprisingly unscathed.

Beneath the dome was a great rotunda with windows that fed in copious amounts of light, casting everything in a golden, glowing hue. Aged yet masterful canvases adorned each wall in golden frames and intricate friezes were cut into the stone walls. Straining to look up, Robinson saw a cracked and faded—but incredibly beautiful—fresco of men and women riding a whirlpool of clouds. He grew dizzy just looking at it.

After he’d seen enough of the building, he went back outside to sit on the steps and wash down a share of rations with the last of his water. It was mid-turn and the day had become humid. He wanted to explore further, but he needed better shelter and a source of food. Already, he’d grown weary of boiling water by the pint. He needed to devise a way to purify multiple liters at once to save time.

After a short span, Robinson finally reached the monolith, which towered as high as the clouds above. Near the top were two holes on each side, though they didn’t appear to be windows. Still, he wondered what the view might be like that high up and lamented, not for the last time, that the flyer had run out of fuel too soon.

To his left was the river, across which he saw yet another large rotunda, this one half-collapsed into the water in ruins. Down river there were a pair of bridges that had both been shorn in two. In this case, the damage appeared manmade.

On the opposite side of the obelisk was a long, rectangular pool filled with brackish water. In the far distance was another great columned building, within whose protection sat the towering sculpture of a seated man. Like the woman above the dome, he had been afforded a most remarkable view and Robinson made a mental note to visit that place and learn his story when he had the time.

First, he wanted a closer look at the monolith itself and began walking its circumference. To his surprise, the structure did indeed have a door, but it was locked and would not budge.

Up until that time, Robinson’s exploration had done much to raise his spirits and keep his mind off the renders and being stranded here alone. But when he turned the corner and found his second surprise, all the fear and worry of the past twenty-four turns came crashing back again.