Falling Sky

by Rajan Khanna

  The smell of the animal fills my nostrils and I clamber up clumsily, pulling on the man to help seat me. He takes only a moment to make sure I’m secure, and then he swings about with something long and hard, and it pushes the Ferals back. Many of them dead. Most of them injured.

  “Grab tight,” the man snarls at me and I grip his body. Then, with the barest hint of a command, we’re galloping away, up the hill and away from the Ferals.

  I sneak a peek behind us and notice that none of the Ferals are following.

  It’s only then that I exhale, not even realizing that I’m holding my breath.

  In what seems like only moments later, we’re at the house on the hill, and, springing some kind of mechanism, a gate opens in the tall metal fence and then swings shut behind us with a clashing sound.

  We slow, then stop, and the rider slips easily to the ground. I try to follow him and almost fall off the animal that I now realize must be a horse. My father told me about them, but most of them had been killed for food years ago. I’d seen a few pictures on the covers of old books, but I never imagined how big they were.

  The rider helps me to the ground, which I gain practically on my knees, and then removes his helmet.

  He’s a big man. Burly. With dark hair streaked with gray and a large, bushy mustache. His eyes are dark and serious.

  “Thank you,” I say, loosening my scarf. “You saved my life.”

  He frowns. “Whatever were you doing out there alone?”

  I grimace. “It’s a long story. I was running from some raiders. In a vehicle, but then it ran out of fuel. I saw your lights up here last night and thought I would try to make it here today. The Ferals found me, though, before I found you.”

  “Then you’re incredibly lucky that I came along when I did,” he says.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” I say.

  He smiles, then, and the serious look is replaced by one of mirth, lines creasing the corners of his eyes. “I’m Viktor,” he says, and holds out his hand.

  “Ben,” I say, and take it. Now that I have time, I can see he’s wrapped well. He knows the drill, then.

  “A horse?” I say.

  His smile widens. “Not just a horse. This is Rex.” He pats the horse’s flank. “Last of a fine breed.” The smile falters for a bit.

  “I thought they were all gone.”

  “Most are, I would expect. But I take care of Rex.”

  And he does, taking off the saddle, rubbing the horse down, leading him to a special enclosure.

  “The Ferals can’t get in here?” I say.

  He shakes his head and shouts over his shoulder. “The fence keeps them out. They can’t jump it and it’s barbed and also electrified.”

  “Electrified?” I say. “Where do you get the electricity?”

  He smiles. “That’s a secret.” He winks. “Here, you better come inside. It doesn’t look like they got you.”

  “No.” I show him my coverings.

  “Good. Then come in.”

  And I do, following him through a thick wooden door into his house. I might as well be walking through an entryway to another time. The house is fully furnished and lit, and doesn’t show any of the signs of deterioration or damage most homes have. Viktor beckons to a table. “Have a seat.”

  The paranoid part of my brain pricks up just then, but I beat it back down. If he had wanted me dead, he could have left me to the Ferals. He risked his life to save me.

  But what if he wanted you infection-free, the voice said. To eat. Or fuck. Or god-knows-what?

  I still have my revolver, I think. One bullet is still chambered, the one I was going to put in my head.

  He returns a moment later and passes me a plastic bottle filled with water.

  This is the moment of decision for me. He could have put something in the water. Poison. Drugs. Whatever. But at the moment I’m thirsty and the attack didn’t help with that, so I take a sip.

  It tastes clean. Which doesn’t mean much. But I take another sip.

  “This is quite the setup you have here,” I say.

  He smiles again. “I’m rather happy here.”

  “And it’s just you. Alone out here?”

  “I’m hardly alone,” he says, and tips back his own water bottle. “I have Rex.”

  I shake my head. “A real horse. What do you feed him?”

  “I have some grain,” he says. “But Rex is mostly kept on pasture. He doesn’t go out too often. Honestly, keeping him supplied with salt is my hardest problem. I’ve scavenged every source I could find from the surrounding area. Luckily I found a stash of salt blocks that’s lasted for a while.”

  “And the Ferals don’t bother you on Rex?”

  “They try,” he says. “Sometimes. If they get over their fear of his size. But typically they can only reach my legs and I keep those well-armored.”

  “But what about him?” I say.

  He laughs, a rich, deep sound that fills the room. “Horses can’t get the Bug,” he says.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Before Rex, I took care of other horses. One of them was bitten by a Feral. Nothing happened.”

  I nod. “I guess it makes sense. It makes people into animals. I suppose it wouldn’t be able to do anything to an animal.” I’d listened to Miranda’s crew enough, though, to know that the Bug was unpredictable. Some animals, it could kill. But apparently not horses.

  Viktor takes a seat opposite me. “So how did you happen to be out in a vehicle without enough fuel?” he asks.

  “Not by choice,” I say. “I used to have my own airship.”

  “A zep?”

  I nod. “She was called the Cherub. I took her to try to help some friends, but . . . well, someone stole her while I was down on the ground. I took the Ferrari, the vehicle, to escape, but the fuel ran out.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I bet you miss your ship. I sympathize. I can imagine how I would feel if I lost Rex.”

  “How old is he?” I ask.

  “Twenty,” Viktor says. “And still in his prime.”

  “Well, then I wish him a long life,” I say. I don’t add that the longer Rex lives, the longer that Viktor is likely to.

  Viktor raises his bottle. “To a long life.” We both take long drafts.

  “How did you end up here?” I ask.

  He shrugs his large shoulders. “My grandfather owned this farm. Kept horses. When everything went down, his children held on to it.” He shrugs again. “I was born into this life. It’s all I’ve known. I’ve tried to hold on to it.”

  I nod. It’s the same with me, my life—my former life—in the sky. It’s all I’ve known.

  “To legacies,” I say, and hold up my water.

  He raises his, then frowns. “If we’re drinking to things, then maybe we should be drinking something else. Hang on.” He shuffles out of the room and disappears for a little while.

  I think of how lucky I am. To run into someone who isn’t a complete lunatic. Someone who has survived being on the ground. Lucky plod.

  Truthfully, I’m in awe of him.

  He comes back with a jug. “I’ve been saving this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Elderberry wine,” he says, setting it down on the table. His smile grows wider.

  “Are you sure you want to open it?” I ask.

  “Of course,” he says. “I don’t normally have occasion to. And I would be hard-pressed to finish this myself.” He twists off the cap and pours the dark-red liquid into two mugs. He picks his up and raises it to toast again. I clink his, and then we both take long swallows.

  It’s fruity, and sweet, with flavors I’ve never tasted before. It makes me curl my tongue. I’ve had wine recovered from cellars, but this is something different. But not bad. Very not bad.

  Viktor tells me about horses and his farm and how he cares for himself. I get the feeling that he’s lonely. Why wouldn’t he be, living out here, with no one to talk to?

>   It makes me question my life in the sky. Before Miranda. It was just me and the Cherub. Like Viktor and Rex. But Rex at least is living. Rex has a pulse.

  Indignation rises up in me. The Cherub is as real to me as Rex is to Viktor. She’s as precious to me, as important, as useful in surviving the Sick.

  But even before I lost her, it was just me and her.

  Is that enough?

  We drink through our mugs, and then Viktor pours us more. This continues and continues, the two of us trading stories, until the jug is empty and I can barely see straight.

  The rest of the night passes in a haze. At some point I stand up, only to realize that I can barely walk a straight line.

  I move to a long, flat couch that has some ratty pillows on it, fall onto it face-first, and know no more.

  I awake the next day with a pounding headache and a dried-out riverbed in my mouth. That’s the problem with alcohol. There’s always the temptation to drink your cares away, to escape the harshness of the world with a good tipple, but the repercussions are difficult to deal with. Especially if you’re about to deal with Ferals or raiders. Especially if water is something that’s at a premium.

  Luckily there’s still some water left in the bottle from last night, and I finish it in one swig.

  The headache resists my crafty measures.

  I tell myself I need to start thinking of next steps. Even if Viktor were to invite me to stick around—and really, why would he? I’m just another mouth to feed—what would I do? There’s only the one horse. I could help groom him, I suppose. Help gather water and food and tend crops and things. But the thought makes me want to crack open another jug of Viktor’s wine and drink until I can’t see straight again.

  The Cherub is gone.

  Miranda is gone.

  The Core is gone.

  What do I do?

  As I’m wrestling with such weighty issues, Viktor reappears. His hair is windblown and he’s wearing his outside clothing, so I assume he’s on his way back in. I ask him about it.

  “I wanted to check around,” he says. “The local wretches don’t usually bother me much. They’ve learned better. But you must have riled them up enough to try something.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Eh, it’s okay,” he says. “It’s not like I didn’t hit the point home again for them.”

  I laugh. “You certainly know your way around Ferals.”

  “Down here you have to.” He says it lightheartedly, but I hear an undercurrent in his tone. I expect he doesn’t have too high an opinion about us zeps. To him we’re probably living in some fantasy world above the clouds while plods like him try to eke out a living down here on the ground.

  I don’t know that I can disagree with that opinion. But, given the choice right now, I would take the sky every time.

  “I expect you’re trying to figure out your next move,” he says.

  I nod. Then shake my head. “I’ve only known a life in the sky. I don’t know how to do anything down here.”

  “That’s not true,” he says. “Sounds like you do a lot of foraging. You know your way around abandoned buildings. That could come in handy, I think.”

  “You want me to help you forage?”

  He takes off his boots and eases his bulk down into a chair. I think suddenly of how I didn’t think to check him for any wounds. But he just seems so capable. And all I can remember is being up on Rex and feeling like I was out of reach.

  Viktor leans forward and presses his hands together. “I’m limited in my range. Rex can only go so far and he needs steady terrain. He’s already thrown two shoes and I’m running short on replacements.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “I was thinking—I have some fuel I’ve used for the farm. We mostly use solar power, but I have some gas for generators as well. I’ve scavenged some from the surrounding farms. If we could get your cart up and running . . .”

  “We can look farther afield.”

  He slaps his leg and nods.

  It would give me something to do.

  “What do you say?” he asks.

  “I say, why the hell not? You don’t mind me sticking around?”

  “Not at all. It will be nice to have someone who can actually talk back to me.” Viktor smiles. “Then it’s set.”

  And it is. And I’m happy. But we’re going to have to go get the Ferrari. And it might not work with the fuel he’s got. And it will put us out in the middle of Feral territory. But it’s a place to live. Someplace safe. And something to do. And since I have nothing else I say yes.

  My heart is thumping as I sit behind Viktor on Rex’s back. The horse doesn’t seem inconvenienced by the extra weight. Viktor hits the release and we shoot out of the fence and gallop down the hill.

  The pace throws my ass around like a balloon, first up in the air, then down hard against the saddle. Somehow Viktor avoids the worst of it, like he’s floating above the horse. I try to imitate how he’s sitting, but it doesn’t seem to work.

  Still, I have to admit there’s something exhilarating about speeding down the hillside, the wind blowing in our faces. I’ve often fantasized about riding at the front of the Cherub as she cuts the sky. This is the closest I’ve gotten.

  But still . . . my aching ass.

  We’re getting near where I left the cart and I’m scanning all around us for Ferals. It’s hard moving as fast as we are, but I do my best nonetheless. So far it looks clear. Viktor says the Ferals don’t get moving this early in the morning (and I don’t blame them).

  “It’s up ahead,” I yell in his ear. Normally I’d worry about yelling so loud, but the sound of the horse’s hooves on the ground swallow up what I’m saying.

  Then, there it is. The Ferrari. Sitting there against the tree, it looks ugly as hell—all ungainly metal and rubber.

  And this is the tricky part.

  Strapped to my back is a large can of Viktor’s fuel. I now have to dismount and make myself vulnerable as I move to the cart, hoping that no Ferals are hiding around or beneath it.

  For a crazy moment, I wonder if any could have gotten inside. So it’s with my revolver in hand that I approach the cart.

  “I’ll keep an eye out,” Viktor says. But it doesn’t stop me from darting my own around. Then I’m crossing to the cart and the fuel chamber and pouring Viktor’s mix inside.

  When it’s done, I nod back to Viktor and move to the door. With a deep breath, I open it, my pistol out, ready for something to jump out. When nothing does, I cautiously look inside and see that it appears to be empty.

  Muttering thanks to my father, like I often do, I climb behind the steering column and press the ignition button. The engine coughs but doesn’t start. I punch it again. The same thing.

  It’s then that I hear Viktor yelling. I know what that means. He’s caught sight of Ferals. He’s a sitting duck standing still, so he’s already off moving, and as I slide over to the other seat to look out the window I see Rex’s hooves kicking up dirt and grass as he tears away.

  I count to twenty, timing the beats to my heart, which is beating pretty fast at this point. I’m protected in the cart, but not against everything. Even with my racing heart, the count seems to take forever. Then I hit the button again.

  This time it catches and the engine roars to life. With a smile as wide as Rex I press on the accelerator and pull away from the Ferrari’s hiding place.

  There’s a thump as I slam into something solid and I wince, but there’s no blood splatter on the window as I watch the Feral’s grimy body spin away.

  Then I’m shooting down the hill and to the west.

  Viktor and I had planned this part as well. Whether or not we were discovered, I would continue on to the old country road and down to the farms at its end. Viktor couldn’t guarantee that they weren’t infested, but he was optimistic there might be some good forage there.

  It feels good to be moving again. And as much as I enjoyed riding Rex (well, all
of me save my ass), this feels somehow better. To have an engine under my control. It’s not the air, of course, but it’s definitely closer.

  I leave the Ferals far behind me and pull onto the dirt road and open up the cart. Viktor assured me that it’s clear at least of vehicles, which is rare enough. I’ve foraged and flown over enough roads to know how unusual that is.

  I wonder how it went down out here when the Sick came down. Were people enjoying their quiet country lives when the Bug hit? When the Ferals caught up to them? Did they flee to the big cities like so many others did? Or were their homes empty? Waiting for a day when they could visit them?

  Of course there’s no way to tell. So many stories. So much horror.

  The Ferrari’s wheels handle the rough road easily. That was something that Sergei got right—I think he pulled the wheels off a vehicle they found. But it handles easily.

  It’s not long before I see a house approaching rapidly. It’s a tall one, dilapidated after all this time but still standing. It doesn’t look dangerous enough to fall on me, which is important.

  I slow the cart down and let it coast to a stop in front of the house, angling my head to scan the structure. One of the difficulties with foraging is finding the right way in, which often, but not always, serves as your way out.

  There’s a front door that looks mostly rotted away, which means easy access. But doors like that mean that Ferals might have gotten in. Though they also could have entered by the windows that circle the porch. From here the panes look mostly intact, but I can’t see all of them.

  The second floor looks difficult to get to without special gear. If I had the Cherub it would be a piece of cake, but I don’t and so that’s out of the question.

  The third floor is a pipe dream.

  I pull up close to the house and circle round until I see another door alongside. This one is a set of double doors with more windows than the other.

  I get out of the cart. Here I’m faced with a dilemma. Do I leave the door open or close it? Leaving it open means that I can get back in quickly. But so could a Feral. That would be a nasty surprise. So closed it is.