The Human Experiment

by Kevin McLaughlin

  He pulled himself into the little nook with agonizing slowness. It took everything to get there. He arrived utterly spent. Sagging against the trunk, he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the tree. There was nothing else he could do but wait out the rest of the storm and hope he somehow survived.

  Eight

  John woke to the feeling of warm sunlight on his shoulders. He blinked his eyes, half-surprised that he was still alive. The rain had faded sometime in the night. He looked around at a world utterly different from the one he had known.

  The tree he had taken refuge in had lost half its branches. Most of the leaves were gone, as well. And whatever food it once produced, whether nuts or fruit he didn’t know, it was all gone.

  “But I made it. I survived,” John said. That was something, at least. Hell, it was more than something. The storm had been the worst ordeal John had ever had to endure. More frightening even than the death of his mother.

  All around him were signs of the storm's devastation. Where once the world was covered with gently flowing knee-high grass, only muddy brown soil and rock remained. Half of the trees once scattered across the world had been blasted to bits. The ones that survived had lost most of their leaves, and there was no food in sight. That was going to be his first challenge, he figured. His stomach growled in agreement.

  It took longer than it should have for John to descend from the tree. He hurt everywhere. His head still ached, his arms, legs, and chest were covered with scratches and scrapes. The injury to his thigh had stopped bleeding, but it was still too painful to put weight on the leg, forcing him to favor it and limp heavily.

  “These problems aren’t going to solve themselves,” John said aloud, trying to steel himself for the effort he knew he had to make.

  He looked around, taking stock of his new situation, but it was too much. The devastation was complete and had come out of nowhere suddenly and unexpectedly. He wasn’t sure how to cope. He didn’t know where to start.

  “What would Mother have done?” John asked, looking for the only foundation on which he could stand.

  The question made him think of her grave. Was it still safe? John had a horrified thought, looking around at the spots where the water had washed the soil completely away, revealing a layer of rock beneath. He limped his way quickly to his parents' graves. Surely, they were safe. They would still be there.

  But they weren’t. At first, John thought he was just having a hard time finding the gravesite. Everything looked so different. None of the landmarks he was used to seeing were the same. Everything was different. Even the river had run over its banks, the rushing water wearing new grooves into the soil so that it too looked like some new waterway. At last, he found the place where he was certain his parents graves had been.

  But nothing remained. Here, too, the soil had been scoured away by the rain. There was nothing left. Not the stones he had laid carefully atop his mother’s grave, as she had done for his father. Nor the earth lovingly piled atop her body. Not even the soil around her was spared. And worst of all, their bodies were gone. Bare rock within the copse of trees was the only thing remaining.

  John sank to his knees. He was too exhausted to cry. Even this small comfort was taken from him? He ran his hand over the rough rock. His face tensed. Then, with an anguished cry, he raised his hand and smashed it hammer like down against the stone. He beat his hands into the rock until they bled.

  Then, at last, the tears came. He sank down against the stone. It was warm from the steady sunlight. John lay there for a long time, sobbing for his loss. He thought he was alone before. But now, even the memorial to his loss was taken from him. Part of him wanted to give up. What was there left to fight for? Why keep struggling?

  It would be easy enough. All he had to do was jump off the edge of the ravine, and it would be over. If life was hope, what did he have to look forward to? His world was transformed from one of ease and companionship into one hardship after another. Compounded by loneliness so deep it cut him to the bone.

  He moved around the area, gathering loose stones. His efforts seemed frantic as he rebuilt the graves, smaller with a headstone for each, memorials to his parents, wherever their bodies had gone.

  John curled up around himself. Finally, he rose. He looked out over his changed world. He took in the torn ground, the blasted trees, the shattered remains of everything he had known. In the distance, the ravine beckoned to him, offering an easy way out, but he turned away from the thought.

  “I’m not done,” John said. “I made it through last night. I can survive this, too.”

  His stomach grumbled again, reminding him of a pressing need. Food had never been something he had to worry about before, but it was clearly a factor now. Was there anything edible remaining in the world? He set off to find out.

  The worst of the damage to the trees seemed to have happened closest to the ravine. Perhaps the cliff face had sheltered some of the trees within its shadow? He went to look there first and was rewarded for the effort. One of the apple trees along the cliff was virtually untouched and still had a dozen or so fruit hanging from its limbs.

  That wouldn’t last forever, but it was a good start. John plucked one and began to eat hungrily, his starving body urging him to take bites as quickly as he could.

  A rustling noise from behind startled John. He whirled, already wondering what new danger was coming at him.

  It was an animal! It looked the same as the one he’d rescued from the river, but that was impossible. How could it have survived the storm? And yet, there were the same markings on its flank that he’d seen when he saved it. Surely this was the same animal?

  “You’re a survivor, too,” John said. “Same as me.”

  The animal watched him like it was listening and could understand every word he said.

  His parents had spoken of animals, but there had never been any in the world. John had never seen one. He wasn’t sure where they had gotten the stories from, for that matter. They’d spoken like they were talking about things they had seen, but that was impossible, wasn’t it? He’d come to believe they were but tales to entertain their child.

  Looking at the thing in front of him, John had to reconsider that old belief. It stood about as high as his waist on four slender legs. Each of the legs ended in a small, black hoof. Its face was long instead of rounded like his own. And its entire body was covered with short, tawny-colored hair.

  John thought it looked something like the stories his parents had told him of deer. The name rang true in his mind, somehow. Even never having seen one, the word just felt right. He didn’t understand why that would be, but he felt like he ought to trust his instincts.

  “Are you a deer?” John asked.

  The animal bobbed its head up and down. John wasn’t sure what sort of response he’d been expecting. Did deer talk? He didn’t remember his parents mentioning whether they spoke or not. He tried another question.

  “How did you get here?” John hadn’t caught even a glimpse of the deer since the day he saved it. He didn’t know where it had been keeping itself, or how it had survived, but it must have come from somewhere other than his world.

  The deer turned its head sideways, looking at him the whole while. It flicked its ears. He took a small step forward, and it jumped back faster than he would have thought possible. But it didn’t flee, moving just a few footsteps before coming to a stop once more.

  “I guess you can’t talk. Or you don’t want to,” John said. It didn’t really matter. The animal seemed to understand him.

  At least, and that was something. “I won’t hurt you, don’t worry. Are you hungry?”

  He went back to the apple tree and picked a second fruit. There were precious few remaining. John wasn’t so sure there would be enough food left for him, let alone for a second mouth. But he wasn’t going to let this new guest go hungry, even if it meant hardship for him. He held out the apple for the deer.

  The deer gave him a curi
ous look, and then took a few cautious steps toward him. Once it was close enough, it took a quick bite from the fruit and darted away again, chewing carefully. John smiled and set the apple on a stone, then backed away. He leaned back against the tree trunk and crossed his arms over his chest, watching to see what the deer would do next.

  It took one tentative step forward, and then another. Once it reached the fruit, it began to eat. It never took its eyes from him while it devoured the apple. John wasn’t sure what he had accomplished, but felt pride, a small victory within a shattered world.

  Nine

  John continued his survey, the deer following a few paces behind him. The search didn’t take long. If anything, John’s world seemed smaller than it once had. Most of the trees had lost their foliage, so in most places, he could see clear across from the wall to the ravine. All the old spaces where he could wander among the trees, losing himself in thought, were gone.

  The devastation was the worst closest to the ravine. None of the trees nearest to it had survived. Much of the soil on that side was scoured away by the rain. John estimated that bare rock now made up about half of his little world. Broken trees were everywhere, explosively shattered by the blasts from the sky. Even the ones that survived had lost limbs and leaves. Only time would tell if the damaged trees would eventually recover.

  In the meantime, a few things were clear. The wall had sheltered several trees nearest to it. For whatever reason, the bursts of light had not struck close to the wall. And the washout from the rain was minimal nearest the cliff face as well.

  “Which makes that the best place to build a new shelter,” John said.

  Getting a roof back over his head was of paramount importance. He was afraid another storm would roll through, and he wanted to be ready. That meant building something stronger than his parents ever had. The new building would need to be sturdy, capable of surviving the worst the rain and wind could throw at it. And now, John knew what that looked like. He gritted his teeth as he thought back.

  It had been only last night. He yelled at the sky in challenge. "I do not fear you!"

  He began gathering the broken trees to the spot he chose. John picked one particularly large log as the basis for an immediate shelter. The thing was huge. Almost three times as long as he was tall, it was impossible to carry it where he wanted to put it. He managed to roll it, but it took most of the morning to get the one log in place. Once he reach the wall, he levered one side as high as he could and angled it against the cliff face.

  John looked at it, but wasn't satisfied that it would remain in place. He used a small branch and a flat rock to start digging a hole next to where the log was wedged into the ground. He dug until he hit the bedrock. He put his flat rock on the far side of the hole, away from the cliff and rolled the log in. It wedged against the rock and the stone. He filled the hole with dirt. He leaned against the log, pressing as hard as he could using only one leg for leverage. The log wouldn't budge.

  He smiled and looked at the sky. "You will not defeat me." He had purpose, daring the sky to try again, but only the blue smiled back. He limped to the stream and took a long drink before getting back to work.

  John gathered as many branches, fallen limbs, and large pieces of trunk as he could. He piled them beside the big log. Wiping sweat from his brow, he was pleased with his slow progress. Working with only one good leg was trying, but the stiffness seemed to lessen as he moved.

  It was already well past mid-day, so he paused for lunch. He found a tree with a few nuts hanging from its branches. He ate some of those and an apple, offering another apple to the deer when it reappeared.

  “I don’t know where you came from, but I’m grateful for the company,” John said.

  When he got back to work, the deer followed him around. It didn’t help with the hauling, but John wasn’t expecting that. Just having someone else around was good enough. Even if all the deer did was watch.

  The mystery of where it had come from still confounded John. He had been over every inch of his small world hundreds of times. There had never been anything like the animal living there before.

  Appearing first, right after his mother's death, and then again, after the rainstorm. Where had it come from?

  Far more questions than answers. But the questions quickened John’s curiosity. He found himself wondering what was on the other side of the wall. There was no question in his mind anymore that there was more world out there. First, there was the smoke he had seen. And now an animal had arrived, seemingly out of nowhere. But it must’ve come from somewhere, which meant there was somewhere else to go.

  “If there is a place, then there’s a way to get there,” John said. “I just need to figure out how to do it.”

  But before he could worry about that, he needed to secure his home. That meant learning ways to survive whatever his world threw at him next. He looked at the pile of timber he’d collected. It was a start, but he was going to need more. For tonight, all he would be able to build was a simple lean-to. He stood, and began carefully leaning the branches and bows against the long log. Each one he added give a little more cover to the area immediately under the center log. By the time he was done, the space beneath was mostly covered. He had an opening nearest to the cliff large enough for him to enter without ducking.

  The new structure would never survive winds of the force he had seen the night before. He needed to build something stronger, a home that would take whatever the weather might bring. But that was a task which would take time and tools. For this first night after the apocalyptic storm, he hoped the meager lean-to would be enough.

  It would have to be. There simply wasn’t time for more. Night was beginning to dim the sunlight by the time he’d finished. He ate a small, rationed meal that still left his stomach grumbling for food. It had been a long time since John had to spend a full day working as hard as he had. His muscles burned, and the searing pain from the wound on his leg was a constant companion. Despite the aches and pain, when he settled down inside the shelter, he fell immediately to sleep.

  His last thoughts as he drifted off were of the deer. It had remained outside his shelter, no matter how much he tried to coax it inside. He hoped it would be all right through the night, but he figured it would probably be fine unless there was another storm. If that happened, neither of them were likely to survive, anyway. He’d done what he could in the time he had. Beyond that he had to hope for a little luck.

  The deer observed John from the outside until it was sure he was asleep. Then it wandered away a few paces. It wanted to be far enough from John to avoid any chance of his seeing more than he ought to. Once it was sheltered from his view by a hearty tree, the deer made a bobbing motion with its head. A blue light gathered around the creature, illuminating the space around it for a few seconds.

  Then the light vanished, taking the deer along with it. Quiet and darkness settled over the plateau.

  Ten

  A rustling noise woke John from his slumber. He rose with a start. The sun was already high enough that early light was hitting his shelter, sending dappled beams through the spaces between the logs. It wasn’t a good enough cover, not really. Even a light rain would have likely left him drenched. Another storm would have washed the entire thing away.

  But it held for the night. Today, he intended to get to work on something better. Something more permanent. There were plenty of fallen trees he could still collect, which would be one viable material for a new house. But the storm had washed away the old home, also built from wood. Maybe it was time to build from something stronger?

  He leaned against the wall as he exited his lean-to. The wall—the massive cliff face which marked one half of the boundary of his world—was made of stone. It hadn’t been torn apart, eroded, or seemingly damaged in any way by the storm. Better still, the trees closest to it had been sheltered from some of the worst of the weather. There was plenty of rock available as well. Maybe it was time to look at building with
stone, instead of wood.

  More rustling from outside got his attention. The deer was still there, waiting for him. John smiled in greeting. He’d been half-afraid it would vanish while he slept, returning to wherever it had come from. Its unexplained presence in his world felt somehow magical. Like a dream that might vanish as quickly as it had arrived.

  But not only was the deer back, it had brought food! It nuzzled the ground, rolling a pair of apples in his direction. John smiled and picked them both up, taking a hungry bite from one of the fruits. His stomach was growling noisily. He hadn’t eaten enough yesterday. For that matter, he didn’t think he’d been eating enough for the last several days, even before the storm. He regretted that now. When food was everywhere, he’d taken it for granted. Now that food was short, it was impossible to see it the same way.

  “Paying me back for sharing with you yesterday?” John asked the deer. He offered one of the two apples to the deer, but it shook its head. “Not hungry? You’ve already eaten then, I guess. Thank you.”

  John finished the first apple while he took stock of what needed doing. Building a stone shelter would be a lot of work. He wasn’t sure how it would go together. He’d watched his mother build a pile of rocks atop his father’s grave, and he’d done the same for her. But the water had washed all of that away.

  That method wasn’t going to be enough by itself. Plus, he couldn’t very well live under a pile of rocks. He needed a living space.

  He picked up a rock and beat it against the hard stones beneath his feet. The rock in his hand splintered apart, shattering a little more with each impact. The big stone on the ground wasn’t more than scratched. Tunneling into the rock wasn’t going to work well, he figured.