False Dawn

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  They ate little bits, and slowly, being too hungry to hold much at first. The flesh was sweet; swallowing it almost hurt, and their stomachs gurgled in anticipation of a proper meal. The taste only made their hunger sharper, reminding them how long it had been since they had eaten enough. The dandelion greens which Evan had used for stuffing were bitter in contrast to the pork, and welcome, off-setting the meat with tartness. Finally Evan stopped both of them, wrapping the remainder of the piglet in part of his shirt to keep it for the morning.

  “Never mind, Thea. We can eat again, tomorrow. We can eat for a week on what we have here,” he said softly, seeing fright return to her face, and hearing the one quick gasp she made as she reached convulsively for the meat. “We’ll be sick if we eat too much at first.”

  “I know. I know. It’s just that…” She let her words trail off as she watched Evan put the wrapped piglet in the smoking lean-to with the other. Sighing, she sank down by the rocks, close to the fire. It was getting cold and the circle of warmth was precious.

  Evan lay down near her, perceiving his own regret that Thea held off from him. He knew that her hurt was still in her, raw as ever, and that watching the raiding party at the farm had brought back all the pain, the invasion. She slept away from him, curled around herself, separate, shutting him out. He wondered as he watched the stars slide over the sky how long he could go on not touching her. Their desolate world ate the heart from him, pulling him away from the dreadful thing his life had become, wholly divorced from the cultured success he had enjoyed when he was young. Thea had the courage to live on in the ruins, to shore herself up against the terrible future, Maybe at Gold Lake, with others, they could hold off the bleak years ahead. He took hope from that thought, though he had little faith in it. As they were now, if this was all they would ever know, he feared what would become of them. He looked toward her huddled form once again. It would have been a solace, to lose himself in her body. But Thea did not want him. She cringed at his touch. There would be no comfort in her, not even a momentary satisfaction. There would be only more desolation, greater guilt. So he lay silently, and breathed in the smell of the piglets in the lean-to, trying not to recall other times and better food.

  Late in the night Thea murmured, saying, “Evan?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Good.” Then she was asleep again, and Evan was not sure that she had ever been awake.

  With the morning they decided to cut across the mountains, leaving the river to wind slowly out of its canyon. The passage would be hard, but they faced no danger from men on motorcycles or stray Pirates away from the roads. There had been no sign of lepers for almost a week. There was a certain risk, of course—from animals as well as other humans—but that risk remained no matter which route they took, and this way they would cut down the time to Quincy by nearly three days.

  Away from the river second growth pines rose in spindly protest from the brush, their needles brick red. They had once been Ponderosa pines, but had been forced to change. Botany no longer had a name for them; they were on their own.

  Striking east across the mountain ridge, Thea and Evan came on the old Pineleaf Mine Road winding up out of the gully where the mine had been. It was overgrown and rutted, showing ancient potholes through the weeds, but it marked a path through the mountains, skirting Smith and Snake Lakes. Here there were more trees, some of them still standing green, a testament to the pure water left in these high lakes. But it was a futile gesture, for poison moved in the air and fell with the rain. It would not be long before the trees succumbed.

  Pineleaf Mine Road merged with the Snake Lake Road, though neither of those pitiful trails deserved to be called a road. It led them over the last shoulder of the high country. Below them and to the east lay Quincy, protected by mountains, in the warm pocket of the American Valley. From their vantage point, Thea and Evan watched the small cluster of houses, remembering that they had less than a quarter of a piglet left, and knowing that in houses there were meals.

  “It looks peaceful,” Evan said doubtfully. “Not even armed gates.”

  “Then there’s something wrong,” said Thea. “They’re on a highway; they must have had trouble before now.”

  Evan weighed the paring knife in his hand thinking it a travesty of a weapon “A trap? What are the chances it is?” He was thinking aloud. “Were taking a big risk going down there without knowing more about the place.”

  A horse-drawn buggy moved down the main road of the town unremarked and unhampered. “They aren’t starving that’s certain. They still have horses, big ones,” Thea observed. She cradled her crossbow with a grimace. “That means they must have food for themselves and feed for their animals Why?”

  Frowning, Evan watched the town. Food and horses meant they were prosperous, given how little passed for prosperity in these days. It made even less sense for them to be unguarded and open to attack No leper flag hung red and yellow over the roofs, no pesthouses huddled outside the town, their doors painted telltale black. There was no sign of contamination in the color of the trees.

  Idly Evan tossed a pebble down the slope watching it bounce through the brush. Startled by the disturbance a large deer with a heavy bison-like hump on its shoulders lumbered from its hiding place, thickened antlers pulling on bits of scrub as he went. Part of his flank was the tawny color of regenerating tissue.

  “Maybe that’s what’s wrong,” Thea said. “If they’re mutants, we can try for Gold Lake from here. It’s a way to go, but we’ll manage. We can find other food. We don’t have to go down there.”

  “Mutants? Because of that deer?”

  “Maybe they’re Untouchables. That would protect them.” She glanced questioningly at Evan. “Gold Lake will take us in, I know it.

  We don’t have to go down there.”

  Rubbing ruefully at his new arm, he responded, “They might take us in here, too, give us a chance to prepare for the last leg of our journey, If they’re mutants, we certainly qualify.”

  “You don’t know that.” She pulled her tattered jacket, holding her elbows tightly. “Winter will come soon,” she said, thinking that they would have to travel quickly to reach Gold Lake before the snows came. They did not have time to stop in Quincy. With food scarce as it was, she did not want to be alone in the mountains after winter set in.

  “Yes. There is winter.”

  She studied Evan’s face, but read no answers there. Under his sandy beard, matted now and white-flecked, his face was carefully devoid of expression.

  In the afternoon they began the hike down, keeping to the old road, moving cautiously toward the town. They took their time, watching for sentries or other outlying, hidden guards that might be concealed along the trail, ready to snipe at the unwary traveler. By keeping to the animal tracks, they stayed out of sight of the town most of the time, and they paused often to take stock of the defenses. But there were no guards that they could see and by nightfall they were less than two miles from the edge of Quincy, camping in a bend of a creek.

  “What now?” Evan asked, looking toward the pale lights glowing yellow in the distance. “Do we go in? Do we wait?”

  “We wait until morning. It doesn’t seem like it, but we could still be walking into a trap. A bad trap.”

  “All right,” Evan agreed, and began to loosen his pack from his back. His new fingers ached, hut he knew they were growing stronger, and eventually would work almost as well as the old ones had.

  It was two hours later that the men came to their fire. Thea grabbed for her crossbow, but found a boot on her hand and a large man, surprisingly clean-shaven, staring down at her. “Don’t do that, missy. We didn’t come out here to make trouble. Don’t you make any.”

  Very carefully Evan stood up, keeping his hands in plain sight of the men who stood just out of range in the shadows beyond the fire. He was terribly aware of the color of his right hand, of the clumsy newness of it. “We don’t mean you any harm,” he said slowly. “We saw
the town and thought maybe we could get some food. We’re both strong and able to work for what we need. That,” he pointed to the last bits of pork on the spit over the fire, “is all we have left.” When the men made no answer he went on. “We’re healthy. We can read. We’re willing to work.” And, he thought, if these men were slavers, they would work, that was beyond doubt.

  One of the men in the dark laughed, a sound not of menace but of sorrow. “Don’t be too sure of that,” said the voice that went with the laugh.

  “Y’see,” explained the man with his foot on Thea’s hand, “we’re Untouchables here. Hasn’t been a normal birth in over two years. We got a dozen kids who’re pretty bad off. Some deformities, some mental trouble. Now, I don’t mean the kids are useless or vegetables or any of those things. But they won’t grow up right. They aren’t…” He scuffed at the ashes by the fire. “They look kind of strange and some of them don’t talk so good. But they’re our kids,” and looking up fiercely, he glared at Evan, daring him to contradict this.

  “Yes,” Evan said, reaching down for Thea to help her to her feet.

  “Oh,” said the large man and moved his foot. “Sorry. I saw you go for that crossbow. Didn’t mean anything, you know.” Flushed with embarrassment he moved back. Thea stumbled away from him toward Evan, her eyes blind-looking.

  “That’s all right, Thea,” Evan spoke softly and let go of her hand.

  “Thea,” said the large man, doing his best to make amends. “Now, that’s a pretty name. Always had a liking for Thea. One of my aunts was named Thea. She was a fine woman. Pretty, too. Lived in San Francisco right up until the evacuation. Had a place on Russian Hill. Said it was the best view in the city.”

  “It’s Althea,” she said coldly, angry now that the worst of her fright was gone.

  “That’s nice, too,” the man said clumsily. “Mine is Hobart. They call me Honey ‘cause I raise bees. Got my own apiary and all.” He said the last all but squirming with discomfort. Then he waited for the same informational courtesy from Evan.

  “I’m Evan Montague,” he replied, returning Hobart’s steady look.

  One of the men in the shadows asked sharply, “The Pirates’ Montague? You’re that Evan Montague?” It was a question Evan dreaded, but he answered it promptly. “Yes. I was.”

  “Was?” asked the voice, not needing to be seen to sneer.

  “At Chico this summer,” Evan said with resignation, not expecting to be believed by these suddenly stern men. “We had taken Orland and were crossing the river to Chico. It was a bloody hell. In the middle of it all, Cox took over. He trapped me and two of my men.” He closed his eyes. “They killed Pearson and Rossi, before they started in on me. With a saw. They were going to do the same to me, but…but they waited too long. All they got was my arm.” He held out his right arm with the strange new growth below the jagged scar. Making an effort to smile he went on. “I was lucky. They didn’t get a chance to finish me. And they forgot I’m left-handed. When Cox left me to lead the havoc, I got away.”

  “You’re Montague,” another one of the faceless voices declared, and it was an accusation. “You’re the Pirate?”

  “No more. There’s a price on my head. If they catch up with me, Cox or his butcher-boy Mackley will be happy to do the job right. It will be worse now, because Cox is out to destroy Mutes. Obviously, I’m one.” He held his hand out to Thea, wishing she would take it. But she didn’t and he went on, “Thea is, too.”

  “Don’t believe him,” said the first voice in the shadows. “He’s scouting for the Pirates. They’ve found us, and they want our land and stock.”

  “Shut up, Simon,” Hobart said lazily. “Is she your wife?”

  “No,” Evan said more bitterly than he knew. “She’s traveling with me, that’s all. We met up after Chico. She’s the reason I’m alive.”

  “Chico,” repeated Hobart. “I heard about Chico. I remember hearing things about Cox. Maybe you’re telling the truth.”

  The fire snapped as a branch collapsed in the flames under the piglet. “Our food is burning,” Thea said, glaring at Hobart. “This is the last of it. We can’t waste it. And I’m hungry. It’s been a long day.” She knelt to rescue the charred remains of their meal, ignoring the men around them.

  It was as if a spring had snapped. Three men came out of the shadows, one with hands that started where his shoulders ended. “Don’t worry about your supper,” said the one Hobart had called Simon. “We got food to spare at home.”

  The man with no arms bent with supple grace to rescue the meat on the spit. “The lady’s right: no sense wasting this.” He smiled kindly at Thea. “My wife can make something for the dogs with it. They like a little pig now and again.”

  “Do you have dogs?” Thea asked, still startled at the obvious prosperity that allowed them dogs of their own. She remembered seeing men fight over the emaciated carcasses of dogs and cats. To have pets, no matter how useful, was a luxury.

  “They’re our guards.” he said, as if to excuse a weakness. “Most of us have dogs, and there’s cats around. They get rid of vermin. We’ve still got trouble with rats, sometimes?’ He offered his hand to help her to her feet.

  Sensing that she must not refuse this offer, yet dreading to be touched, Thea looked to Evan and saw encouragement in his face. She felt her body grow sticky cold, recalling Lastly’s hands on her, and his knife as it cut into her breast. Teeth clenched, she took the man’s hand and rose quickly to her feet. “Thank you,” she mumbled, and looked away.

  “I’m Lockhart,” said the armless man. “That’s Simon. And the one with the face scars is Zimmermann.”

  “Zimmermann,”‘ Evan said. “Carpenter?”

  With remnants of a German accent, he said, “Yah. Carpenter to you. But to me, Zimmermann.”

  Zimmermann and his family fed them dinner. While Thea and Evan ate rewarmed beef stew with dumplings, their host regaled them with his memories of the city that had been his home forty years ago.

  “It was Hamburg, you know,” he said with a ponderous sigh. “A beautiful, beautiful city once, filled with industry and culture. As a child, as a boy, before the trouble, I loved it…The Elbe was so magnificent then. A splendid river, one that poets could write about and be proud…It became so…so ugly…after the accident. Who would have thought that the power plant at Domitz would not be shielded enough to keep the radiation contained? They ran tests, and everyone said it was safe, that there was not one chance in ten thousand that anything could go wrong. But one in ten thousand does not always mean the trouble will happen on the ten thousandth time. It might mean the second, or twelfth, or nine hundredth.” Even with the distance of miles and years, his eyes were bright for his vanished city. “So, so lovely a city, Hamburg. My father,” he went on briskly, afraid to think too much of his distant home, “considered carefully. He decided that these mountains would be his stronghold. He did not know that he had brought his own contagion with him.”

  Thea watched him nervously over her steaming bowl. She had seen her fill of cities, and did not know how anyone could love them. Filthy, rat-ridden places they were, and dangerous. “I’ve been to Sacramento,” she said uncertainly. “It was awful.” Once more she could see the huge buildings, their slab-like walls pitted and their windows broken, showing holes like missing teeth. The streets had been a battleground for the few people left and the river stank with chemical mire.

  Katherine, Rudy Zimmermann’s young wife, put an affectionate plump arm around her husband’s shoulders, chiding him gently. “They know what has become of the country, Rudy. The death of a thing is always sad for those who will miss it. Don’t let’s dwell on it.”

  But Evan stopped her. “I was in Hamburg for a week once.” He saw interest in Rudy Zimmermann’s eyes. “I was very young at the time. My father was there to conduct the symphony.”

  Rudy Zimmermann leaped up, a tragic smile on his ruddy face. “Was he that Montague?” he demanded, almost desperate. “The
one who loved Mozart so? The one who did the great Requiem of Verdi’s in the cathedral? Was he your father?”

  “Yes.” Evan’s face was also alight, brightened by a smile he must have worn as a boy. “Did you hear him? In the cathedral?”

  “Yeah. I heard the Verdi. Did he also conduct the opera there? I think I recall a Nozze?” Zimmermann was near tears. “I haven’t heard Mozart for so many years, not as it should be. Not with the instruments and the lights, and the people all around me.”

  Thea looked uncertainly at Evan. “Mozart? He wrote music once, didn’t he? I can’t remember any, but I think that Iris Thompson used to play some of his things on the piano.” She had never seen Evan so perilously happy, and it alarmed her as much as it pleased her. For that moment he was beyond her, and she knew that she could not reach where he had gone.

  “He died in 1791. Almost two hundred twenty years ago. His music’s been around a long time.” He looked warmly at Zimmermann, finding the days of his childhood growing brighter in his mind. “Thank you. I had almost forgotten the Nozze. He did a Giovanni in London that year, too. I couldn’t have been more than eight.”

  The old German began to sing in a quavering baritone, “Dove sono I bei momenti, Di dolcezza e di placer?” His voice broke. “I will not go on,” he said roughly.

  Evan laughed and echoed Zimmermann with a voice that might have been beautiful at another time, in another place. “Se vuol ballare, signor contino, se vuol ballare, signor contino, I! chittarino le suonero.”

  “Il chittarino le suonero, si, le suonero, si, le suonero!” they finished together, Figaro’s comic promise of vengeance giving them amusement precariously close to tears.

  Evan thought for a moment, going over the words slowly in his mind. “The first one said, ‘Where have they gone, those sweet moments of pleasure?’” Evan rubbed his eyes with his hands, then looked across the darkness to Thea.

  “And the other?” she prompted.