by Scott McCord
“I’m Mim,” I say again, not remembering if he heard me the first time.
“I know who you are.” He’s distracted by something ahead.
“But I don’t know who you are.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Slate,” he says, paying only faint attention to our conversation.
“Slate?”
“Yeah,” he answers, before jogging up the line of people just in time to catch a woman from stumbling to the ground. He wraps his arm around her waist and props her to his side. The pilgrims pull themselves past as the woman leans on Slate, sipping whatever breath she can. He puts his forehead against hers. “It’s all right, Emily,” he whispers. “It isn’t much farther…just to those trees. All you have to do is put one foot in front of the other. You can do that. I know you can. I’ll walk with you a while.”
I watch him with her as I move by.
We drag. We hobble. We pull, until the sun crests in the sky and begins its descent on the other side. Every waterskin is dry, and the pace is painfully slow. Pilgrims drop in ones and twos, being somehow coaxed back to their feet, mustering strength that should have been exhausted miles ago. I feel okay, but these people…they’re not going to make it unless we get across soon.
Johnathan changes course again and brings the caravan to a complete halt. Everyone crumples to their knees, with some rolling all the way to their backs. Deadly relief covers them like a blanket.
“Get up! You have to get up right now!” one of the ferrymen yells, wrestling a limp man to his feet. Johnathan’s men move with urgency, trying to scoop people up to wobbly legs, but they’d have better luck propping wet laundry. After a few minutes of effort, every pilgrim is still on the ground. Johnathan steps back, and with a wave of his hand, orders his men to stop wasting their time.
“We have plenty of daylight and not much farther to go. A few more miles and we’re home,” Johnathan announces. “But if you lie here and fall asleep, you won’t wake up again, and everything you’ve done from the culling post to this moment will be for nothing. No one is going to carry you.”
He pauses for a long look across the flat land before turning back to the pilgrims.
“But decide now if this is where it ends for you.” Johnathan sniffs. “Because for the last eight miles, a herd of Loppers has been on our flank…just a thin line at the horizon. They’ve finally noticed us and are headed this way for a better look.” People stir on the ground, working to sit up. “Oh yeah.” Johnathan tilts his head westward. “They’re right over there.”
I put my hand to my brow to take away the sun, and sure enough, there they are, an indistinct black mass creeping toward us like an afternoon shadow…far too many to kill.
“What are we going to do?” a pilgrim asks.
I want to know the same thing.
“Stand,” Johnathan says, “You need to stand.”
“Shouldn’t we hide?” another pilgrim asks.
“There is no hiding from those things out here, but we have to be on our feet when they arrive. If they think you’re a piece of carrion…well, we don’t want them mistaking us for something to eat. They’re scary as hell and smell like the devil…” Johnathan shades his eyes with his hand, scanning the field of approaching beasts. “…but they’re fairly docile Outside. The biggest danger from a herd like that is being trampled to death, but that won’t happen if you’re standing up.”
Exhausted people don’t move very fast, but the pilgrims manage to stagger up to shaky legs. I catch a woman by the arm, help her get her balance, and then reach for someone else. The ferrymen do the same, and in a couple of long minutes, we’re ready to continue.
“Now when they come,” Johnathan says, “they’ll probably just push right through. If you hold up an arm or give them an elbow, they’ll walk around you. Don’t be afraid. Loppers are ugly and they stink, but they won’t hurt you as long as you don’t let them knock you down.”
“Excuse me.” Slate raises his hand. “Shouldn’t I go turn the herd?”
Johnathan rubs his chin, regarding the young man. “There’s too many, Slate. You’d have to meet them a long way out to do any good…and…no.” Johnathan shakes his head. “This time it’s too risky. Besides, we don’t want to cheat these folks out of the thrill of a lifetime. How many people in the world can say they walked with three hundred Loppers and lived to tell about it? We have to have stories for our grandchildren.” Johnathan looks around smiling only to be met with gaping faces. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun,” he says, but nobody else seems to think so.
We’re underway for less than an hour when I find myself walking next to Slate again. “What did you mean when you asked about turning the herd?”
“Don’t worry, Jonathan knows what he’s doing.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Slate shakes his head and smirks. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you’re not a pilgrim.”
“Not by a good long shot,” I say. We take a few more steps, but he doesn’t answer. “Well?”
“Well what?” he says.
I huff. “You’ve never been accused of being a blabber-mouth, have you?”
The side of his face crooks into a smile. “Not by a good long shot,” he says.
Another half-dozen silent steps go by. “The herd?” I say.
“Yeah, sorry.” He sighs like telling me hurts his head. “All you have to do is get a loose rope around a few of them, and they’ll follow you around like pet goats. Get a leash on the right ones, and the whole herd will go wherever you lead.”
“Really?”
He nods. “They’re pretty harmless Outside—don’t do much more than get in the way.”
“They’re not like that in the Ark.”
“No they are not. They’re demons on good air…strong as hell and twice as vicious.”
“The same as everything else born Outside.”
He nods, and steps over to catch a stumbling man by the arm.
The next two hours are silent ones. The dark line on the horizon seeps toward us in a gray haze until finally drawing near enough to distinguish individual silhouettes of bipedal monsters approaching through the grass. A shudder snakes its way through the caravan as every pilgrim watches the gruesome sight. I’m sure they’re asking themselves why they were redeemed from the culling post to die like this…but no one says it out loud.
“All right,” Johnathan calls, “we stop here. Pair up. Stay propped and keep your partner on his feet. Face the Lops with eyes wide open when they come. You do not want to be bumped from behind. The more boring you are, the less the Loppers will be interested and the faster they’ll pass by, so not a peep, not a prayer, not a song, and for god sakes, don’t tell them any jokes.”
A ripple of nervous laughter weaves through the group as the bestial tide rolls ever forward. It smells of ammonia and armpit.
“Remember what I said, a solid stiff arm or a sharp elbow will be enough to keep them off. Spread out in your pairs, give them room to get around. Be firm. Don’t fall.”
I pull my knife, but before the blade clears the sheath, Slate catches my wrist. My immediate instinct is to strike him in the throat and spin away, but I don’t.
“There’s no reason for that. It won’t do a damn bit of good, and it may get somebody hurt. Just do what Jonathan says and go stand with those two women over there. They’ll need help. The herd will be here sooner than you think.”
I slide my knife back in its case and do as the young ferryman says. I go to wait with Emily and Victoria, but we don’t wait long.
The first Loppers come in ahead of the main herd, a thinly spaced dozen, passing between pairs of people forward of where I am with my partners. I’m astounded how human they seem—filthy, heavily muscled, taller than most men. They grunt like pigs, and the smell of them would shame dog crap, but the Loppers don’t break stride, having seen all they need to of our group. The beasts cut clear across the plain to intercept us, only to lose immediate interest, mo
ving along without even sniffing for a grain bag.
“Nooo!” a woman up front shrieks.
A Lopper turns back.
“Keep quiet!” a ferryman barks.
Two more Loppers turn.
The woman whimpers as her partner tries to shush her quiet.
And then it happens—the main herd sweeps around us, and the Loppers who suddenly gained interest in the sobbing woman are turned away in the tide. Victoria and Emily prop themselves together, and I step up to meet the slow wave of beasts. There’s no need to stay silent now, the thundering foot-falls drown out any noise we make.
“Stay behind me,” I shout, but no one hears.
The first in the wall of Loppers is a large male. I brace myself and throw two stiff arms high into his chest, he pushes back, snarls a nasty protest, but walks around. There’s another after him and another after that. We’re enveloped in a sea of Loppers while the rest of our group disappears among the herd. We’re alone. The weight of bodies surrounding us is suffocating, yet Victoria and Emily remain on their feet as I persuade beast after beast to step aside.
When I tire I use my elbow a while before Victoria takes my place. Emily steps up after her, and then it’s my turn again. I try not to look at their faces, but I can’t help noticing one of the Loppers looks like Jack…if he had fleas, a matted beard, and was covered in shit. I can’t wait to tell Jack I met his twin, and he wanted me to tell him grr argh.
I shove a dozen more to the side and with the exception of a few stragglers, it’s over. The herd clears and I can see our people again. My arms are heavy, and I’m relieved to let them drop. The rest of the pilgrims are wobbly but standing. Victoria steps unnecessarily in front of one of the last beasts, giving it a stiff arm to make it go around.
She sees me watching and shrugs. “One for the road. Who knows when I’ll get to do that again.” I’m too tired to think she’s crazy.
“Everybody okay?” Jonathan calls.
The pilgrims and ferrymen check themselves. They’re all dog-tired, but other than a bruise or two, everyone is fine.
“Okay, we have a few hours of good daylight left, and only a couple more miles to go for fresh air and a hot meal. Pull yourselves together and let’s move.”
We do, and the pilgrims’ spirits lift with every step. The far tree-line is growing with the shrinking distance, and home doesn’t feel so far away.
An hour passes before Jonathan raises a hand, bringing the group to an unexpected halt. I can’t believe he’s stopping now. He gives a sharp whistle and circles his finger, calling his men up front. I wait, watching their conversation, until I can’t stand it anymore and walk over to see what’s happening.
“So, what do we do?” one man asks.
“There’s no way to cross. The vein dies right here…nothing but dead air on all sides. We’ve walked down a peninsula instead of a bridge. Dammit!” Johnathan runs his hand back through his hair and motions to the trees. “There it is, right there, good fresh air not thirty minutes away.”
“Maybe we could wait it out,” Slate suggests. “These paths change all the time, maybe if we stay here a while, something will blow in.”
“And maybe it won’t,” another man says. “If these people sit too long they’ll sleep, and if they nod off in this shallow air, they’re not waking up again.”
“So we go back?” someone else asks.
“They’ll never make it to the Ark.”
“Not all the way back,” Johnathan says, “just far enough to find another way through.”
“Yeah, but the sun is going down, and we’ve never crossed in the dark before.”
Johnathan rubs his forehead between his thumb and index finger. “That shouldn’t matter. I can’t see the air anyway. Maybe doing it blind will help.” The men don’t like it, but nobody has a better idea. “All right then, that’s what we do, head back and look for different way over.” He pauses for another thought. “I need you guys to be positive, like this is no big deal and it happens all the time, do you understand?” The men nod. “I’ll speak to the pilgrims, give them some good walking-words, but then we have to move as quick as we can.” Johnathan turns, noticing me for the first time. “You picked a bad trip for a tagalong, Mim.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“What?”
“You want to know what I think?”
“No, we don’t have time, and you don’t have the experience.”
His tone is surprisingly harsh. His men drop their heads, toe at the grass, and stare at the ground. No one other than Johnathan looks at me. It pisses me off.
“You’re supposed to have the Calling,” I hiss. “You lead these people out here to do the impossible, take them through a herd of Loppers for god-sakes, and now you’re turning them back because you think you made a mistake? They’ll die, not because you brought them this way, but because you’re too much of an asshole to ask me what I think!”
Johnathan’s face flushes red. He throws an arm up, extending it out from the breathable air. “You see that, Mim? You see my hand? That’s how close death is. This path is dry…a dead end. There is no going forward, only back. Some might not make it, but it’s their only chance.” He drops his arm to his side. “Now turn around and get with the group.”
I was angry, but now I’m furious. “I don’t think so,” I snarl, and taking a deep breath I break by Johnathan, clipping him with my shoulder as I lunge past into the fearsome Outside.
22
Mim
I stumble, twisting to keep my feet after careening past Jonathan. Lurching forward, I regain my balance and ten paces later I’m bent over, sucking in the sweetest air I’ve ever tasted. Oxygen travels down every blood vessel, rousing muscles in my arms and legs from the weight of the day. My heart lightens, and my thoughts clear as cobwebs I didn’t realize were there lift away. I look to the trees. The air is strong, and the vein runs all the way to the island without a bend or a twist. Everything the pilgrims are hoping for is just a short hop through some dead air. We’ve made it. We’ve really made it. I turn back to Johnathan. He isn’t happy, and the men with him are nearly pale. I don’t care.
“The atmosphere is rich here, the path is wide, and it runs straight to the trees,” I call.
No response, only blank faces.
“What is wrong with you? There’s no time to stand around like tree stumps, the sun will be down soon, so you’re either going back or coming with me.”
Jonathan stares, needing a moment to recover from the shock. “How did you…how did you know there was air on the other side?” He’s rattled. It hurts a little to see the crack in his confidence, but I’m not feeling charitable yet.
“I could feel it. Jack taught me. What does it matter?”
“Jack didn’t teach her that,” one of the ferrymen says.
“I didn’t know that could be done, did you know that could be done?” someone asks someone else.
“Well I’m delighted to astound and bewilder you, but you can admire my super powers later. Right now, you need to bring the pilgrims up. It’s only what…ten, twelve paces across, but you’ll have to escort them. I’ll mark the boundary over here with rocks or something, so you know how far to go. All you have to do is hold your breath and make it to here.”
The men fidget where they stand, but don’t do anything I say.
“Are you kidding me?” I shout. “Johnathan, we don’t have time for this crap!”
He stares at me from the other side of the void. A boulder has more expression. His men twitch. I wait. The sun dips lower in the sky. Finally, Jonathan nods. “Do it,” he orders, and his men peel off to retrieve the pilgrims.
I kick around the grass, looking for something to mark the boundary. Jonathan watches from across the dead air, thinking whatever he’s thinking. I stack a few stones and cross back over as the ferrymen bring the people up.
A quick inspirational speech from Jonathan, and a short tutorial from me on what to
do, is only noise to the pilgrims. All they really hear is we’re intentionally going where the air is death. Fear takes them by the bones. People murmur, chewing their lips, and dread grows in every face. The tiniest ripple, the smallest catalyst, will spark a full-on panic, and in a vein this narrow, people will die…probably…everyone will die. I didn’t see this coming.
Jonathan reaches for gentle, encouraging words, but whatever he’s saying is too weak, and nobody listens. The instinct to stay with breathable air roars in their ears. It deafens a few ferrymen as well, and I catch a suspicious glance from two of them. We’re going to lose everyone right here. Jonathan fumbles for control, but people are too tired to trust him anymore. The next thing said, will make the difference.
Slate steps in. “Mim has been across once. See the stones over there? She put those up so we’ll know how far to go. She’ll take the first three people over herself...but only three.” He says it like they’re winning a prize. “So who thinks they’d like to be escorted by the former Grand-Champion, dangerball queen, Mim 14?” He shoots a quick glance at me. “If I wasn’t working, I’d be the first in line.”
The pilgrims gawk, the ferrymen stare, and Jonathan looks at Slate like he’s stupid…and he is—stupid.
“Well? She’s only taking three, so who wants in?”
Amid all the hesitation, two arms shoot up immediately.
“I want to go.”
“Me too.”
My Lopper partners, Emily and Victoria, push to the front squabbling over who volunteered ahead of the other and which one of them should make the first trip. They’re brave girls.
“How about we all three go together?” I say…and we do.
The pilgrims wring their hands and swallow hard, watching us move through the remorseless invisible waiting to steal our lives…it doesn’t. In a few short paces, Emily and Victoria are leaning forward, hands on knees, drawing their first sips of air on the other side. It’s rich and full, having the same effect on my partners as it did me—charging through their bloodstreams, awakening nerves and muscles doped by the long trip and thin atmosphere.
