End Times, Inc. (A Great & Continuous Malignity)

by David S. Wellhauser

  Liberating a few cars and small trucks in northern Conway they sorted the remaining unaffiliated Metas into these and drove to a northerly bend in the Arkansas River. Why the Metas followed so willingly Matt was never certain, but they did come along—there were about a dozen of these. The area was quiet and there was almost no traffic on the highway. Once there he emptied out the box truck—all of the prisoners had had their arms zap strapped behind their backs; immediately out of the truck Matt had their legs bound. With all of these sitting or lying on the ground, he began the interrogations. Extracting the information had not taken as long, or was as bloody, as he expected it might have been. In the end what he suspected to be the case turned out to be accurate. They were transporting the humans and Metas to Monterrey—none knew why.

  Matt had been located on the outskirts of Conway when they’d stopped for gas. The information was communicated to them because they were the closest available units—their orders were to kill him. Again not a surprise, but travelling across the South with a target on his back did not increase his calm. With the information he needed, Matt proceeded to the next step. After finishing with the last Transhumanist he looked over to the unaffiliated, and they backed away. Coral and her people were hardly less frightened. “We can’t leave them behind us alive. If they were found, and they would be, information about where we are would become known.” He saw they understood, but were still unnerved by the action.

  Matt texted the information to Jonah, who was, by then, in northern Texas—he wasn’t sure what to make of the gathering in Monterrey other than to suggest they were fast approaching the new zero-hour. Which gave Matt no comfort—but he couldn’t turn his back on China. Finished with Salt he turned back to the Metas and offered them the choice of going with them or wherever else they wished—freely. Four, for fear of Matt, left, but the others came along. Leaving the truck, Matt distributed the Meta arms amongst these and they turned west.

  ***

  “You okay?” Coral asked. As Matt came to, he could see Prester leaning forward between the seats, his face drawn and anxious. Taking his bottle of water from the cup holder he took a short swallow to loosen his throat; then answered.

  “China and Leonor; we need to head for a Houyhnhnm village in Talimena State Park. Apparently we’re to take highway 88 into the park.”

  “Check that out.” Coral said to Prester.

  “There’s a highway 88 off of 271 not far east of Talihina.” He appeared to want to say more, but his thoughts to himself. Matt supposed Coral saw that much—and she was looking askance at him. A practical woman, Coral was not comfortable taking direction from dreams. The Metaphysics of magic and messiahs had never sat well with her, but there was no choice. All of Sansa acknowledged their best hope was to be found in Salt and Feargal—but this did not prevent suspicion.

  “We, probably, should spend the night at Talihina. I don’t want to be driving through a dark forest at night.” Matt answered, but neither seemed moved by the humour so he let it pass.

  “Matt?” Prester asked. Feargal grunted taking another drink of water. “What is a Houyhnhnm?” Even Coral wanted to know.

  “A species of non-human sentient creature at the end of Gulliver’s Travels; they were horses but possessed reason and civilisation. They, I suppose, were supposed to represent the best of people without their vices—never liked Swift much, myself. Good book, though.”

  The idea of running into Meta-horses or some weird human transformation didn’t particularly appeal to Matt. This had to be more of the Thin Man’s work and that, alone, meant trouble. Telling the others what he thought wouldn’t help though; bad enough that they were about to face literary characters brought to life.

  What did strike Feargal as odd was that he’d not run into any others literary-Metas, but if Wilson had been busy they might not be the last. Looking out the window he watched the countryside roll by and wondered what the world the Thin Man had created would look like in a few years—maybe a couple of generations? Even if they finished with Zakara the mess left behind by this madman would take years to sort out, and that would not be pretty. The thought was not original to him. Feargal had had that conversation with everyone from indigents to UN diplomats—all expressed the same anxiety, but offered no solution. “Wake me,” Feargal said without turning from the window, “when we get to Talihina.” And he pushed down into the seat, resting his head against the window—hoping for no more dreams.

  ***

  When the truck pulled to a halt he woke with a start and reflexively reached for the P90 strapped to his chest. “Whoa,” he could hear Coral’s voice from the back seat, “we’re here.” As he rubbed his face she smiled. “You were really out—didn’t even wake when we changed shifts.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Any dreams?” Prester asked from beside him.

  “No—nothing. I like nothing; am looking forward to a time that’s all sleep will have to offer.”

  “Well, there was no barricade on the road and it looks like everything is pretty normal here.” Matt looked about and it seemed so. Even though the sun had gone down the street-lamps illuminated a street with small bungalows and a flatness he never liked about the Midwest. The sameness of the land made him uneasy.

  “Let’s find a motel and some food for starters.” Coral said.

  “There’s the Kiamichi Country Inn on Dallas—not far from here. Pics look okay.” He passed the phone to Coral and she to Matt.

  “Sure, why not?” In less than half an hour they’d check in and were looking for a meal. After dinner they found a sporting goods store that was still open and were inquiring about camping gear and a good grocery store. Once the owner learned they were heading into the park the team learned things were not as good as they seemed. There had been some incidents along 88, but they would not elaborate on these except to say that they’d asked for Federal assistance. Presently there was none available according to Oklahoma City. Their advice had been to avoid the park and set up a patrol of the effected end of town with heavily armed parties—especially in the evenings. This was where he was headed, once he closed up.

  ***

  The next morning they were up before dawn and on the road just after. On the outskirts of Talihina the patrol cautioned the group that no matter what happened, no one would be coming after them. Seemed fair enough to Matt, but the Metas they’d brought along were ill-at-ease with the sentiment. He supposed they not be seeing these for much longer. That they had made it this far, after the scare from the previous evening, was surprising to Feargal, but where else had they to go? That, probably, was true for each of them. It was for him.

  Shortly after turning off of 271 and onto 88 they came across a clutch of abandoned cars, one of these burned out. Matt was beginning to suspect another LBL when the trees a few hundred metres ahead shivered and an Arabian stallion stepped out and nickered, shaking a mane which was a little wild and unkempt, but beautiful. Behind him two Appaloosas appeared, one to either side of him—they too appeared to be stallions. Matt had Coral slow to a stop, a few metres before them. None of the Meta-animals appeared frightened, or even surprised by the car.

  ***

  For a moment the column, formed behind Matt’s lead vehicle, sat before the animals and didn’t move. They could have been just horses that had escaped from a ranch close by. Yet, predictives were not very useful any longer; sure they occasionally worked, but that was no longer the norm. Matt assumed this was what they were looking for. Still, the day Swiftian characters exit a forest to parlay was the day he knew he’d left the path of sanity. He’d forestalled the recognition for years, but now here it was. Feargal wondered why the spring, Shea, China—post-conversion, or even the Milwaukee incident had not done this. Everyone had their point where reality skitters to a halt to vomit its discursive strategies over street and pedestrians. Here was his—three Houyhnhnms stepping from the eaves of a state park forest. Now, he supposed, it would all become a whole lot easier.r />
  “Wait here.” Matt half turned toward Coral.

  “But...” The voice relieved, but needing to observe the forms.

  “It’ll be okay.” Though Feargal’s voice sounded far less than certain as he stepped into the road. Doing so one of the drivers in the back of the column cracked a door. With one foot on the road, Matt motioned him back into the car. At first he seemed reluctant, but with another nicker from the horses they pulled back, closing the door loudly. Smiling, Matt was heartened by the Meta’s common sense. Common? Well, they’d sense.

  Closing the door with a snick, Matt approached the trio, cautiously. The Arabian pawed the shoulder a couple of times and nickered once. Matt stopped a few metres from the group and waited. Nothing, though they didn’t turn from him or charge. “Hello.” He felt more the fool for the courtesy, but there was nothing for it.

  “Hello, young Yahoo.” Rabbit Hole. Sure enough, he was mixing his tropes but here literary devices of drunken signification were of no real concern since he was fairly certain the world was not wholly mad. Then it occurred—how were they speaking and in such a crisp, unalloyed dialect. Mr. Ed? Focus.

  “Matt Feargal’s my name.”

  “I,” the Arabian continued as though not registering the abruption, “am Gustav. To my left is François and my right is Henri.” The creature threw down as much Quebecois as they could on the names.

  “You are Canadian?”

  “We were before the Great Change took us, and we had to leave. Now we are Houyhnhnm, this is our home.”

  “Your country?”

  “If you mean nation—no. We do not find much use in the old designations young Yahoo.” Matt let the xenophobia go. They might not have much use for the designations but certainly the sentiment was alive and well. Uncertain what to do next, Matt assumed seeing where they were from would be a good start—after all, they were why China had sent him here. The purpose, he assumed would become apparent soon enough. Gustav arrived at the same notion, when he offered to show their village and hoped they’d spend the night. However, it was a short trek into the forest and there were only paths, so the vehicles would have to be left behind. On top of this they were living in harmony with nature and machines, excepting the Green, were not welcome.

  Ideologues. Matt’s anxieties were triggered at the realisation, but there was a point somewhere in all of this and he was going to carry on. “I need to ask my people first.” With Gustav’s leave he collected the team and Metas together at the back of the column. There was some resistance, especially since they would have to leave all but concealed automatics and knives behind. Ultimately, all agreed because Feargal was going. But he warned them to be careful, there was something not right here. And so, after about an hour trekking through the forest and undergrowth they emerged into a glen with several crude houses—really, little more than stables with troughs. Though the stables were open concept with no stalls.

  The group spent a night and a day in a guest house, which was fitted out for what appeared to be bipeds, but none were in evidence until the next day when more Houyhnhnms returned with several humans. That evening the group was gently warned about the über-rationality of the Houyhnhnms. This had been apparent over the course of their time in the village. The creatures had no concept of mendacity, which struck Matt as odd for a social animal, nor was there a belief in violence or criminality—excepting for their Yahoo friends, or misconduct as defined by Houyhnhnm ethics. All of this was based upon a spoken, metric language they were still in the process of perfecting because their new physiology precluded writing tools—and their friends were not encouraged to use theirs. Somewhere around this time they were overheard having just such a discussion with one of the braver friends.

  Matt had thanked them from their hospitality and decided now was a good enough time to put some distance between them. For whatever reason China had intended for his stay here, it was not materialising. With all the courtesy he could spin on their exit, Matt shared their intention of leaving. Even though the sun was approaching the western horizon of the forest it seemed past time for some distance. Gustav however was being pressed by the Houyhnhnm Council to detain them for disposition. Matt wasn’t having that, so the P250 came out—as well as the other concealed weapons. The gathered Houyhnhnms reared and kicked and Matt put Gustav down with a shot to the head. Things went sideways after that. In the escape, with the human friends, a couple of the Metas were killed by rearing and kicking Houyhnhnms. In the process someone had set fire to the stables and several Houyhnhnms ran from these, manes on fire.

  This was the last thing Matt saw as they disappeared into the forest.

  ***

  Having bumbled and stumbled through the forest for the better part of the night, with several members periodically discharging their weapons at suspicious sounds, the group finally emerged on highway 88 as the sky was turning purple. They appeared to have come out several kilometres from the vehicles because looking back along the road, westward, there was no sign of these. This left Feargal and Coral with a difficult choice—head back along the road and risk a counterattack by the Houyhnhnms that remained or head east. The hope in heading east was that they’d come across something, anything, friendly. Matt was for heading back, but Coral and the others had been unnerved by the Swiftians. He observed there could be worse ahead and reminded Coral’s team of the LBL, but they were of the opinion the friends of the Houyhnhnms could not have all come from Talihina.

  The idea that there were humans out here seemed ludicrous to Feargal, but the panic which had crept over the others because of a few equine xenophobes with imperial ambitions did not seem sensible. But, then, they were French—if only colonials. Surrendering to the others he had everyone check how many rounds they’d left. It was promising, but at least they could scare off any more minor problems—if, however, they ran into anymore LBL eccentricities the matter would not be so simply dealt with. So they ended up taking a couple of hours rest while Matt and Coral stood guard. Then the team headed east on highway 88.

  The group had not gone more than an hour and change when they met a group of humans that called to the friends which Matt had liberated from the equines. When these called back, several men and women stepped from the eaves of the forest in from the shoulder, beyond a shallow ditch. Once the friends had finished embracing, the story of what had happened came out, and it was much as they’d been told before. The Houyhnhnms had raided their village, after they’d first come to the park for safety, for slaves several times over the course of a few months. The raids were always done late at night and left a great deal of destruction in their wake. The villages, both humans and Metas, attempted to retrieve these. Their firearms, rifles, shotguns, and handguns, they believed would give them an edge, but in the end this didn’t help because the equines just took their people and melted deeper into the forest.

  In the end, a frontier grew up between them and neither crossed this, but most villagers worried the Houyhnhnms were planning something. Matt was almost certain of this. You cannot have an opinion of yourselves and others as the equines did without attempting to subjugate them. That is if the Yahoos were as Swift conceived them. The way Gustav had spoken this had to have been the case and then there was the Houyhnhnms reaction to their conversation with the friends. So their opinion of what the next step of the nascent imperialists would be seemed certain. Now that was at an end, especially after directions were given for the location of the village relative to their now abandoned vehicles, the hope was this would make it easy to locate.

  “But why are you here—and Archaics and Metas together?” Matt had to ask.

  “We’re here because it’s getting crazy out there.” A woman, called Nadine, answered. She was tall, rangy, and almost walleyed—but friendly. “Just yesterday we received word of a blast in Toronto, Canada. This reduced the eastern part of the city to ruins. Those that survived, especially the western end, where the effect of the device wasn’t immediately experi
enced, developed strange, almost spontaneous, mutations.”

  “You mean,” Coral corrected, “transformations.”

  “No, mutations. The blast, apparently, was neither nuclear or Meta in nature but nonetheless had inspired radical physiological deviations—most of which have been fatal, but not all. Still, the news said these weren’t Meta transformations, just physiological mutations. There’ve been no pictures or videos, not even online, when that’s working, but there have been some descriptions and it doesn’t sound Meta.”

  “How,” Matt asked, “are you getting that information out here?” Nadine smiled.

  “We’ve got a satellite dish powered by a combination of solar and wind power.” Feargal smiled. There’d been a time, not all that long ago, when he’d been amused by Preppers but they seemed to have the way of the world, when he and Salt were still trying to hold on to something that had long since vanished—or was now making a good imitation of it. Perhaps the world now belongs to those as Nadine, or those prepared to embrace the new instead of clinging to the fragments of the old they could still interpret as real. It occurred that he should be more upset about Toronto than he was. After all, it was not more than an hour from Dilmun. He gave up on the worry almost immediately.

  “We need a vehicle to get out of this place.”

  “I can see that would be useful. Do you have anything to trade?”

  “Besides killing off a large part of your pest problem, there are our vehicles and the weapons in them.” This captured Nadine’s interest and she agreed to the exchange. What they got for their trouble was an antique, baby-blue Chevrolet pickup with a large camper on the back into which Coral and Matt squashed those still coming with them. Once they completed the trade, the group rattled, literally, down 88 hoping their side arms and what ammunition they’d left would be enough to take care of whatever they might find on the latter part of the trip. Nadine assured them there was nothing other than the Houyhnhnms in the park.