From Oblivion's Ashes
Page 100
Scratchard brought out his cold chicken and pasta and cake. God revealed a rack of ribs, some sort of potato mixture, and a couple of chocolate puddings cups. They traded parts of their lunch with each other, both eating until they were full.
Then, it was back onto the final leg of the journey, a straight run through the night over the New England territories. As the shy sun rose above the eastern horizon, Bangor could at last be seen in the distance. As they drew nearer, the tall, dark, looming canopy of reorganized human tissue grew more and more impressive.
“We’re here,” Scratchard called out, jarring God from a nap he’d started while still sitting upright in his chair.
“Hmm?” God said, shaking off the cobwebs. “What’s that?”
“We’re here.”
God sat up straight, and the two of them spent the next several minutes staring with amazement and awe at the sights of Bangor, Maine.
If the organism, even in the throes of a Super-Swarm, perceived The Vaccine as a threat, it gave no indication, and the blimp was permitted to drift undisturbed through and in between the monstrously tall towers, bridges, and gates that marked the upper levels. The sheer height of the constructs was staggering, and they reached upwards much higher than the airship could go. Dangling strips of reformed meat, blood, and bone linked most of the towers and landings, creating a jungle-like feel to the scenery, albeit a jungle dominated by flesh tones and bone.
Steering carefully, Scratchard gently and slowly slalomed his way through the bizarre jungle, taking them deeper and deeper into the array. Occasionally, they would pass a human-like appendage, sticking out of a surface or wall. If it was a head, it would sometimes twist on its neck to watch them drift past, but if it saw anything worth objecting to in their arrival, it kept its silence.
“How much closer do we have to get?” God asked, his eyes wide.
“We’re close enough already,” Scratchard said. “You know what they say: Close only counts in Horseshoes and Nuclear War, one of which we are playing. Even so, I’m going to try bringing us all the way to ground zero before triggering the blast. It looks to be in the absolute heart of the Super-Swarm, and I want one last look before we go.”
“How do we trigger?” God asked.
Scratchard lightly tapped his shirt pocket.
“I slap the button on the remote in my pocket here,” he said, “and it should all go to Hell very fast. If we can find a viable point to land and push the bomb out the back, then we might try to escape, but in all likelihood, we won’t get that option. It’s a hair-trigger, so we can set it off anytime we like.”
“It’s hard to believe,” God murmured, gazing down at a twenty-story platform that was as broad as a football field, “that an alien organism could do all this.”
“There,” Scratchard said, pointing. “That’s the epicenter of the whole thing.”
He hit a switch.
“This thing has exterior cameras that look at the ground,” he said, “for helping when they land. Zooming in with one of them should give us the look we want.”
God nodded and touched a button on the dashboard, causing a screen to flare into life.
Just then, a light trembling shook the blimp.
“What was that?” he asked. “Are they attacking us?”
“We’d be dying if they were,” Scratchard said, anxiously checking all the gauges. “That was a shockwave, something put out by the array itself.”
“Could it be getting ready to fire?”
Scratchard shrugged. “Could be. Or it could just be shape shifting. Whatever it was released a lot of energy. Good thing we’re ready to party at a second’s notice. For now, let’s get a look at… well now. How about that?”
“Incredible,” God said, staring at the screen in wonder. “Of all the things we expected to see… do you suppose they’re pure bone?”
“It looks like it,” Scratchard replied.
On the dashboard monitor, they could see a camera view that looked straight down at what used to be ‘The Eighth Wonder’ oddity, curio, and mystery shop. The building structure itself was long since destroyed, with bits of flesh-covered rubble filling the streets surrounding the location. In its place, however, a new construct had been raised.
Its shape was alien and warped, while still oddly geometrical. Ten pillars like spokes on a bicycle wheel spread out in all directions from a round, central platform, extending down to the ground at a forty-five degree angle, so that the platform itself was about one story off the ground. Molded from human flesh and bone, like everything else, were obscure, rectangular lumps and fixtures, which shapes and topography vaguely corresponded with the furnishings that Scratchard had witnessed in the video of the Eighth Wonder on the day of the outbreak.
Stranger still were the three employees, standing in a vague circle around the central ‘table lump’, on which still rested the broken bits of the original meteorite. The employees were immaculate, perfectly shaped from a substance that looked like pure, white bone. With dead, bone eyes, they gazed across the table at each other like adherents trying to conduct a séance.
Another tremble shook the blimp, stronger this time.
“Very strange indeed,” Scratchard said, shaking his head in wonder. “So many things to learn, if only we still had the opportunity to study them. But unless I miss my guess, we’re running out of time.”
He produced the remote from his shirt pocket.
“Are you ready?” he asked, looking across at God.
“Yes,” God said. “You might say I was born ready.”
“For what it’s worth,” Scratchard said, “if I was inclined to imagine a universe with a God figure inhabiting it, I’d want him to be a lot like you. Kind, smart, friendly, forgiving, and someone I can push around a little.”
“Thank you, Nicholas,” God said, grinning. “I guess we’ll get to see who’s right. It’s just a short journey from here.”
His smile faded. “I’m sorry about your mother. I think you’re wrong though. I think I would have liked her.”
“Well,” Scratchard said, “if you’re right, then maybe we’ll find her waiting.”
“I’m sure we will.”
Scratchard nodded, and took a deep breath.
“If we do meet on another side,” he said, his thumb hovering over the button, “What color do you want. Black or white.”
“What, do you mean chess?” God smiled. “White, I suppose.”
“Here’s hoping we get to play again,” Scratchard said.
The flash, when it came, was visible all the way to New Toronto.