by Obert Skye
A huge rant knocked down a soldier and screamed triumphantly. That seemed to be all that was needed for everyone to forgo every ounce of restraint they had ever had. Fences from all over were pushed down as thousands of beings from Foo made it their business to free themselves.
The sound of shots being fired echoed off the pavement as megaphones screamed for everyone to please calm down. A troop of black skeletons tore apart a temporary shelter and were shot at with canisters of tear gas. The gas did nothing to the skeletons but make their bones shinier and their minds angrier.
Four rants mowed down a couple of soldiers and stole their rifles. One of the rants then accidentally shot himself, not knowing which end of the rifle was dangerous. The poor being fell to the ground moaning and was picked up and carried off by a chanting crowd of angry Foovians.
A tank fired a shot, taking out three small cogs who had been running.
“Keep moving!” Tim screamed. “Over behind those short trees.”
Osck ran as fast as he could, stumbling with every other step and constantly turning around to make sure Janet was still there. “It’s so hot here. My feet feel like they are falling apart.”
“Keep going!” Tim yelled unsympathetically. “We’re going to be trampled.”
A huge purple bolt of light shot out across the sky as if heaven were shaking out a tablecloth, and birds began to drop from the air, flopping down against the ground.
“What’s happening?” Tim yelled.
The ground shook, and then, as if the earth had slid off its axis, the whole landscape seemed to tilt, sending everyone to their knees.
“This is Reality?” Osck yelled to Tim as he got back on his feet.
“Normally it’s calmer,” Tim replied.
More fences came down as every Foovian who had come through the tunnels joined the movement to be free. The ground shook and the sky began to pulsate.
Soldiers didn’t know whether to shoot at those escaping or run for their own lives. As most of them were trying to make up their minds, millions of thin black strings shot from the ground and began to wrap themselves around anything they could grab.
“It’s the Dearth,” Janet cried.
“Find a car,” Tim yelled.
“What’s a car?” Osck screamed back.
“Over there!” Tim pointed through the crowd to a blue jeep about a hundred yards away.
When they reached the jeep, they found the doors locked, but the windows were broken. Tim reached inside and unlocked the door. Osck crawled through the back window and took a seat next to Janet.
“Let’s see if I can do this.”
Tim was not a criminal. He was a garbage man with a great brain who had read a lot of books in his lifetime. Fortunately for the travelers, one that he had read and remembered dealt with what to do in an emergency—for example, if you were stuck in the woods and had lost your car keys. How would you get your vehicle started?
Tim reached down, pulled out some wires, twisted two of them and connected another, and the car roared to life. He took the briefest moment to smile proudly before throwing the jeep into drive and slamming his right foot down on the gas. The car bucked and then shot forward like a horse that had been stung in the rear. Tim plowed over a fallen fence, almost taking the life of a cog who was foolishly running for his life directly in front of the car.
Tim swerved and moved around the crowds of beings, finding brief open spots to drive on. He spun around a tank that was just sitting there and then headed for the far side of Blue Hole Lake, hoping that most people were going the other way. There were fewer people but more short, ugly trees and old houses.
Tim smashed a chicken coop and drove right through an empty garage that was attached to an old adobe house. He wound between the few houses, taking out mailboxes and trash cans and anything in his way. He worried for a moment that someone might be chasing him, but Santa Rosa, New Mexico, was one big, chaotic mess and there was no way, short of a miracle, that it would ever be anything else.
The world was officially off balance.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Way to Worship
Sometimes we underestimate the impact we have on other people’s lives. Everybody living, no matter how miserable his or her life may be or how glorious each day is, makes an impact on others.
Sometimes the impact is obvious.
Perhaps you’re a plastic surgeon and you give someone a really big nose. That stands out; it is pretty clear what impact you had on that person’s life. But sometimes the impact is less obvious—like when someone suggests a certain breakfast cereal and it lowers your cholesterol ten points. I mean, who’s going to know unless you tell them? And sometimes you meet people so briefly, but in that brief moment they say or do something that sticks with you, and although you may never meet them again, your life is changed permanently because of it.
The journey to the oldest tree is not an easy one. In fact, it’s quite challenging and draining on a person, because you never really know how much unfinished business might be lurking in the form of people you’ve somehow influenced. In the history of Foo, only a handful have ever walked through the ruins of what Foo once was and faced the things they had never finished. It’s almost impossible to know who you might meet along the way or what bit of your past might be waiting up ahead to jump or drain you.
And that’s before you ever even see the tree.
There were no pictures of the oldest tree, not even drawings, because so few had ever seen it—and those who had weren’t exactly the type of people who were going to make postcards and sell them.
Of course, in the beginning, there were many who witnessed the tree. It was the center of Foo and of all activity. Great buildings and cities were built up around it. Many of the dreams that came in back then swirled through its branches and received inspiration from it. But as Foo changed, and as even the slightest imbalance occurred, fewer and fewer saw or experienced the tree. Towns and cities went to ruin as Alder eventually broke off and became an island in the center of the Lime Sea, a place only the Waves had access to. A place most of Foo could conveniently forget about.
Leven steadied himself—it felt as if the entire island of Alder was sliding around in the Lime Sea.
“What’s going on?” Leven asked.
“I thought you were just walking funny,” Clover replied.
“No more dreams?” Leven said. “And the ground’s moving? And look at the color of the sky.”
“Black’s technically not a color,” Clover said.
The bushes and trees were so thick that Leven had to stop every few feet and look for a clear place to step. He could still see bits of the glass trail under all the growth, but it was almost impossible to walk a straight line.
“Isn’t it noon?” Leven asked.
Clover stared at him.
“Lunchtime?” Leven clarified.
“Feels like it,” Clover complained.
“What’s the deal with the sky being so dark?”
“It’ll lighten up,” Clover said. “It just looks like the suns are a bit confused. See, here comes one.”
In the far sky the small sun rose up, as if peeking to see how bad things were. The light spread out across Alder and touched the path they were standing on.
“There,” Leven pointed. “Look at that!”
In front of them a good way off stood a large chapel made completely out of wood. Its towers and roofs were ornate and massive. It was boxed in by trees, and there were bushes and branches shooting out of the windows and roof. Leven walked as quickly as he could, jumping over fallen trees and thick bushes. By the time he reached the chapel, he was short of breath. He looked up at it and walked around slowly.
“Wow,” Leven said quietly. “I would have loved to see this thing years ago before it was so weathered.” He made a complete circuit around the building and then climbed the seven steps up to the closed front doors.
“Are we going inside?” Clover asked.
�
��I am.”
“What do you think is inside?”
“From the look of the windows, probably just bushes and trees.”
Clover disappeared, and Leven reached out and tried the knob. The door was locked. Leven pulled out his kilve and slammed it down on the doorknob. The door made a snapping sound and then swung open, squealing as it moved.
Leven stuck his head inside.
The large chapel was completely overgrown. It looked like a bird sanctuary that someone had forgotten about and now it was nothing but growth and decay. There were a couple of very large trees that had actually grown so tall they were bursting through the ceiling, and all the windows had bushes around them that were thirsty for light.
Across the chapel, Leven could see what used to be a podium, and an organ with large wooden pipes sat silent.
Leven stepped in and walked carefully across the chapel and through the rows of decaying benches. It was deathly quiet. Even the air seemed to be holding its breath.
“Woooooaaammmmnnnnaaaa.”
The organ played and Leven jumped half his height.
“Who’s there?” Leven hollered.
“It’s just me,” Clover hollered back. “I wanted to see if this worked. Listen.” Clover jumped all over the organ keyboard, making sounds no respectable organist would have approved of. He leapt onto the top keyboard and then bounced his behind down on the keys. It sounded like a circus who couldn’t afford a real organist. The noise bounced off the walls and floors and made it difficult to think straight.
“That’s enough,” Leven called, holding up his hand.
Clover pressed one last note. “Sorry.”
“What do you think this place was?” Leven asked.
“It was a church,” a male voice answered him from behind.
Leven spun around, pulling out his kilve and slicing it through the air.
“No need for that,” the voice said.
Whoever was speaking was sitting in one of the decaying pews and staring straight at Leven. Leven had walked right past him on his way across the chapel.
“Do you remember me?” the voice asked.
“I’m not sure that I do,” Leven said, still pointing his kilve toward him. A tiny ray of light shifted to expose the right side of the dark visitor. Unlike the last time Leven had seen him, he was whole. “Jamoon.”
Jamoon sighed. “There’s no need to fear me. My body hardens even as we speak. My feet are stone and I can feel the rock creeping up my legs. This will be the last place I sit.”
“I don’t understand,” Leven said, walking closer. “What unfinished business do we have? You were dead.”
“You’re right,” Jamoon said. “Dreams have stopped. I suppose us rants are now whole. But what good is it? We will all harden, Foo is crumbling, and I helped make it happen.”
“You had some pretty dark help,” Leven pointed out. “Sabine—and Sabine and you were messed up by the Dearth.”
“Don’t make excuses for me,” Jamoon pleaded. “I know what I did. I suppose that’s why I’m here, to make something right.”
“How did you get here?” Leven asked.
“I was working my way toward death when I was pulled here,” Jamoon said. “When I fell at Morfit, I lay beneath the stones dying for days. As my life finally slipped away, I was stopped— by what, I don’t know—but my fate was on hold until I came here.”
Leven looked down at Jamoon and could see the stone creeping up his neck and beneath his chin.
“I’m sorry I chose the wrong side,” Jamoon said.
“I’ve never needed your apology,” Leven said sincerely. “In all honesty, you always sort of amazed me.”
Jamoon smiled. “You are as remarkable as you were prophesied to be.”
“I only wanted . . .”
The rock crept up Jamoon’s face. His mouth and nose were now stone. He looked at Leven with his wide eyes and then shut them as the stone finished him off. Jamoon now sat there as a statue with closed eyes.
“Do you think that even looks like him?” Clover asked.
“It was him,” Leven said quietly. “You saw.”
“I know, but the stone makes him look like a woman.”
Leven laughed softly.
“I’m just saying that someday someone might stumble upon it and think it’s a statue of a woman and put it out in their garden.”
“And you were complaining about me talking too much?” Leven asked.
Clover disappeared and they left the chapel.
“I feel different,” Leven admitted. “It’s like everyone we run into takes part of me.”
“People can be so selfish.”
“Seriously,” Leven said. “Although maybe what they’re taking are bits I shouldn’t be holding onto anyhow.”
Clover materialized and looked Leven up and down. “You look okay to me.”
Leven walked faster, being careful not to trip over his own feet.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
There’s No Repellent Strong Enough
Geth had just helped Phoebe up and out of Blue Hole Lake when something small and noisy smacked up against his left shoulder. Whatever it was bounced off and flew into a crowd of female cogs.
“What was that?” Phoebe asked.
“They have really big bugs here,” Geth answered.
“There’re so many people,” Winter moaned.
Geth looked at the thousands and thousands of hot, unsettled, screaming people and strongly suggested to Winter and Phoebe that they still keep themselves hidden.
“You!” A heavy man with a square red face stopped them. “Come with me.”
“Okay,” Geth answered. “But . . .”
Apparently the red-faced man didn’t have time to explain things. He waved frantically at Geth. “Come.”
“What’s this about?” Winter whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
“I have no idea,” Geth replied.
Phoebe was mesmerized by all the cameras and flashbulbs. She stared at a tall reporter with red hair as he frantically clicked off hundreds of shots of her.
“Come on,” Geth insisted.
“What are they doing with those sparkling lights?” Phoebe asked.
“They’re taking your picture,” Winter answered.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that millions of additional people can now drool over you,” Winter explained.
The red-faced man waved at them to get them to run faster. In the distance they could hear crashing noises and the roar of a crazed crowd. The red-faced man stopped and looked in that direction.
“I knew it,” he said, pressing a button on his walkie-talkie.
The sound of a gun going off cracked through the air.
“What was that?” Phoebe asked, plugging her beautiful ears.
“That was a gunshot,” Geth said.
“I’m not sure I like Reality,” she frowned.
The red-faced man seemed to lose interest in them; he stormed off as a tank fired out a shot and more fences started to come down.
“We’ve got to get somewhere safe,” Geth said. “Follow—”
Geth flew backward, landing on his rear and slamming his head against the dirt.
“Geth!” both Phoebe and Winter yelled.
Winter knelt down next to him and tried to pull him up.
“Leave him be,” a voice demanded.
Winter looked at Geth as he lay there. Geth’s eyes were closed, and he wasn’t moving. But there on his forehead, standing as tall as a fancy toothpick could possibly stand, stood Ezra. He was pulsating a muted purple color and had both of his fists up as if ready for a fight. Winter might have been surprised by a talking toothpick if it had not been for the time she had spent carrying Geth around when he was one.
“You must be—” Winter started to say.
But her words were halted by Geth as he sprang up, swiping Ezra into his right hand. Geth slowly opened his fingers and held up his pa
lm. Ezra was not happy—small bits of steam were rising off of his purple tassel.
“You’re Ezra,” Geth said, holding him up close to his face.
“And you’re Geth,” Ezra spat.
Geth wiped the spit from his face with his other hand.
“You did this to me,” Ezra raged. “Took all the pleasant and left me the rage.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Two more tanks fired as the scene became complete anarchy. Dennis finally arrived and stopped to stare at Ezra in Geth’s hand.
“Jealous?” Ezra snapped.
Dennis looked at Geth. “You must be Geth.”
“I am,” Geth answered kindly. “This is Phoebe and Winter.”
Dennis looked at both of them and his bald white head went even paler.
“And this is, and this is, and this is,” Ezra raged. “Who cares who anybody is? The only name that matters is mine because in a few moments you will be dead.”
Ezra leapt from Geth’s palm and slammed his metal leg directly into his forehead. The leg pierced the skin a good inch before Ezra pulled it out. Geth stumbled backwards but was able to pinch Ezra’s tassel and fling him upward. Ezra flew up and then came right back down on Geth, pushing him to the ground and jumping up and down on his chest.
Geth rolled over, catching Ezra off guard and landing on top of him. All around, guns were going off and fights were breaking out.
“Run,” Geth yelled to Phoebe and Winter. “Go with Dennis and get somewhere safe.”
Geth could feel himself rising from the ground as Ezra lifted him from beneath. Geth began to spin as Ezra twirled him. He spun faster and faster until he flew up and into a platoon of soldiers. Geth knocked all the men and women down and landed on his stomach.
Ezra sprang up from where he was and perched on the edge of a fence, looking down at Geth.
“Had enough?” he screamed.
Geth was shaking his head, trying to regain his composure.
“Oh, really,” Ezra said. “Excellent.”
Ezra opened his arms and Geth was forced to the ground, unable to move. The deranged toothpick then shot off the fence, holding his arms and legs in and aiming directly for Geth’s face. Geth pushed a fallen soldier off of himself and turned his head just in time to have Ezra miss his face and pierce his left earlobe.
