Wastelands

by John Joseph Adams

Ciffonetto scarcely heard him. "I should have realized," he mumbled. "Should have guessed. The radiation, of course. It would speed up mutation. Shorter life-spans, probably. You were right, Von der Stadt. Men can't live on bugs and mushrooms. Not men like us. So they adapted. Adapted to the darkness, and the tunnels. It—"

  Suddenly he started. "Those eyes," he said. He clicked off his flashlight, and the walls seemed to move closer. "He must be sensitive. We're hurting him. Divert your flash, Von der Stadt."

  Von der Stadt gave him a doubtful sidelong glance. "It's dark enough down here already," he said. But he obeyed. His beam swung away.

  "History," Ciffonetto said. "A moment that will live in—"

  He never finished. Von der Stadt was tense, trigger-edged. As his beam swung away from the figure down the tunnel, he caught another flicker of movement in the darkness. He swung back and forth, found the thing again, pinned it against the tracks with a beam of light.

  Almost he had shot before. But he had hesitated, because the manlike figure had been still and unfamiliar.

  This new thing was not still. It squealed and scurried. Nor was it unfamiliar. This time Von der Stadt did not hesitate.

  There was a roar, a flash. Then a second.

  "Got it," said Von der Stadt. "A damn rat."

  And Greel screamed.

  After the long burning, there had come an instant of relief. But only an instant. Then, suddenly, pain flooded him. Wave after wave after wave. Rolled over him, blotting out the thoughts of the fire-men, blotting out their fear, blotting out his anger.

  H'ssig died. His mind-brother died.

  The fire-men had killed his mind-brother.

  He shrieked in painrage. He darted forward, swung up his spear.

  He opened his eyes. There was a flash of vision, then more pain and blindness. But the flash was enough. He struck. And struck again. Wildly, madly, blow after blow, thrust after thrust.

  Then, again, the universe turned red with pain, and then again sounded that awful roar that had come when H'ssig died. Something threw him to the tunnel floor, and his eyes opened again, and fire, fire was everywhere.

  But only for a while. Only for a while. Then, shortly, it was darkness again for Greel of the People.

  The gun still smoked. The hand was still steady. But Von der Stadt's mouth hung open as he looked, unbelieving, from the thing he had blasted across the tunnel, to the blood dripping from his uniform, then back again.

  Then the gun dropped, and he clutched at his stomach, clutched at the wounds. His hand came away wet with blood. He stared at it. Then stared at Ciffonetto.

  "The rat," he said. There was pain in his voice. "I only shot a rat. It was going for him. Why, Cliff? I—?"

  And he fell. Heavily. His flashlight shattered and went dark.

  There was a long fumbling in the blackness. Then, at last, Ciffonetto's light winked on, and the ashen scientist knelt beside his companion.

  "Von," he said, tugging at the uniform. "Are you all right?" He ripped away the fabric to expose the torn flesh.

  Von der Stadt was mumbling. "I didn't even see him coming. I took my light away, like you said, Cliff. Why? I wasn't going to shoot him. Not if he was a man. I only shot a rat. Only a rat. It was going for him, too."

  Ciffonetto, who had stood paralyzed through everything, nodded. "It wasn't your fault, Von. But you must have scared him. You need treating, now, though. He hurt you bad. Can you make it back to camp?"

  He didn't wait for an answer. He slipped his arm under Von der Stadt's, and lifted him to his feet, and began to walk him down the tunnel, praying they could make it back to the platform.

  "I only shot a rat," Von der Stadt kept saying, over and over, in a dazed voice.

  "Don't worry," said Ciffonetto. "It won't matter. We'll find others. We'll search the whole subway system if we have to. We'll find them."

  "Only a rat. Only a rat."

  They reached the platform. Ciffonetto lowered Von der Stadt back to the ground. "I can't make the climb carrying you, Von," he said. "I'll have to leave you here. Go for help." He straightened, hung the flash from his belt.

  "Only a rat," Von der Stadt said again.

  "Don't worry," said Ciffonetto. "Even if we don't find them, nothing will be lost. They were clearly sub-human. Men once, maybe. But no more. Degenerated. There was nothing they could have taught us, anyway."

  But Von der Stadt was past listening, past hearing. He just sat against the wall, clutching his stomach and feeling the blood ooze from between his fingers, mumbling the same words over and over.

  Ciffonetto turned to the wall. A few short feet to the platform, then the old, rusty escalator, and the basement ruins, and daylight. He had to hurry. Von der Stadt wouldn't last long.

  He grabbed the rock, pulled himself up, hung on desperately as his other hand scrambled and found a hold. He pulled up again.

  He was almost there, almost at the platform level, when his weak lunar muscles gave out on him. There was a sudden spasm, his hand slipped loose, his other hand couldn't take the weight.

  He fell. On the flashlight.

  The darkness was like nothing he had ever seen. Too thick, too complete. He fought to keep from screaming.

  When he tried to rise again, he did scream. More than the flashlight had broken in the fall.

  His scream echoed and re-echoed through the long, black tunnel he could not see. It was a long time dying. When it finally faded, he screamed again. And again.

  Finally, hoarse, he stopped. "Von," he said. "Von, can you hear me?" There was no answer. He tried again. Talk, he must talk to hold his sanity. The darkness was all around him, and he could almost hear soft movements a few feet away.

  Von der Stadt giggled, sounding infinitely far away.

  "It was only a rat," he said. "Only a rat."

  Silence. Then, softly, Ciffonetto. "Yes, Von, yes."

  "It was only a rat."

  "It was only a rat."

  "It was only a rat."

  Waiting for the Zephyr

  by Tobias S. Buckell

  Tobias S. Buckell is the author of the novels Crystal Rain and Ragamuffin, as well as many short stories, which have appeared in magazines such as Analog and Nature, and the anthologies Mojo: Conjure Stories, So Long Been Dreaming, and I, Alien. Forthcoming is a collection, Tides from the New Worlds, and his third novel, Sly Mongoose.

  A native of the Caribbean, Buckell lived for a time aboard a boat powered by a wind generator. As a result, he has long felt it would be natural to bring wind power to a flat, desert-like area, and when he began speculating about a fossil fuel-less future he looked to his own background for an alternative.

  Buckell says that post-apocalyptic SF is often a way of doing literary penance for all

  our imagined or real modern sins. This story, however, is perhaps the most optimistic in this volume.

  The Zephyr was almost five days overdue.

  Wind lifted the dust off in little devils of twisting columns that randomly touched down throughout the remains of the town. Further out beyond the hulks of the Super Wal-Mart and Kroger's Mara stood and swept the binoculars. The platform she stood on reached up a good hundred feet ending in the bulbous water tank that watered the town, affording her a look just over the edge of the horizon. She strained her eyes for the familiar shape of the Zephyr's four blade-like masts, but saw nothing but dirt-twisters.

  The old asphalt highway, laid down back in the time of plenty, had finally succumbed to the advancing dirt despite the town's best attempts to keep it out. The barriers lay on their side.

  Mara still knew the twists and turns of the highway she'd memorized since twelve, when she'd first realized it led to other towns and people.

  "Mara, it's getting dark."

  "Yes, Ken."

  Ken carefully put the binoculars into their pouch and climbed down the side of the tower. Pushing off down the dust piled at its feet she trudged down to Ken, now only a large silhouette in the suddenly app
roaching dusk.

  "Your mother still wants to talk to you."

  Mara didn't respond.

  "She wants to work it out," Ken continued.

  "I'm leaving. I've wanted to leave since I was twelve, come on, Ken . . . don't start this again." Mara started walking quickly towards the house.

  Ken matched her pace, and even though she could see him wondering what to say next, she could also see him examining the farm out of his peripheral vision. Their farm defied the dust and wind with lush green growth, but only because it lay underneath protective glass. Ken paused slightly twice, checking cracks in the façade, areas where dust tried to leak in.

  "Their wind generator is down. They need help, Mara. I said I would go over tomorrow."

  Mara sighed.

  "I really don't want to."

  Ken opened the outer door for her, stamping his boots clean and letting it shut, then passed through as she opened the second door. Dust slipped in everywhere and covered everything despite precautions. Brooms didn't quite get it all. Although Ken thought them a useless necessity, Mara thought the idea of a vacuum cleaner quite fetching.

  "I need your help, Mara, just for an afternoon. You wouldn't feel right leaving someone without electricity, would you?"

  Ken was right, without the wind-generator her parents would be without power.

  "Okay. I'll help." Ken, she noticed, ever the wonder with his hands, already had a dinner set for the two of them. Despite being slightly cold from sitting out, it was wonderful.

  The Zephyr was six days overdue.

  Mara shimmied up the roof and joined Ken. He already had parts of the wind-generator laying out on the roof. She had just managed to brush past her father without being physically stopped. Mother stood around, looking wounded and helpless.

  Ken made a face.

  "The blade is all right. But the alternator is burned out."

  Simple enough to fix. The wind generators consisted of no more than an old automobile alternator attached to a propeller blade and swivel mounted on the roof. What electricity the houses had depended on deep cycle batteries that used the wind generators to recharge. Solar panels worked in some areas, but here the dust crept into them, and unlike wind generators, didn't work at night. Plus, it was easy enough to wander out to a car lot and pick an alternator out of the thousands of dead cars.

  Mara half suspected her father had called them for help just to get her out to his farm. Damnit.

  "Mara," her father said from the edge of the dust gutter. "We need to talk." Mara looked straight out over the edge, out at the miles and miles of brown horizon. "Mara, look at me. Mara, we spoke harshly. We're sorry."

  "We like Ken," her mother chimed in from below. "But you're young. You can't move out just yet."

  "Come back, honey. We could use your help on the farm. You wouldn't be as busy as you are with Ken."

  Ken looked up at that with a half-pained grin. Mara swore and slid off the low end off the roof, hitting the dust with a grunt. Her father started back down the ladder but Mara was already in the cart, pulling up the sail and bouncing out across the dust back towards the relative safety of Ken's farm, leaving her mother's plaintive entreaties in the dusk air behind her.

  Damn, how could she have fallen for that? Her parents were so obvious. And Ken, she fumed on her way back. He shouldn't have taken her over.

  Even after he showed up, sheepishly cooking yet another marvelous meal, she tried to remain angry. But the anger eventually subsided, as it always did.

  On the seventh and eighth day of waiting reception cleared up enough for the both of them to catch some broadcasts from further north. Ken had enough charge in the house batteries for almost eight hours of television shows, and they both cuddled on the couch.

  Mara began to wonder if the Zephyr would ever show. The last visit was two years ago, when the giant, wheeled caravan sailed into town for a day. Traders and merchants festooned its various decks with smiles and stalls.

  The Zephyr, Mara knew from talks to its bridge crew, was one of the few links the outer towns of America still had with the large cities, and each other. Ever since the petroleum collapse, with the Middle East nuked into oblivion and portions of Europe glowing, the country had been trying to replace an entire infrastructure based on oil.

  Almost two generations later it was succeeding.

  The large cities used more nuclear power, or even harnessed the sewer systems, but small towns were hit the hardest. Accustomed to power, but dropped off the line, isolated, a minor Dark Age had descended on them. Life based itself here on bare essentials; water and wind.

  Mara wanted to see a city lit up in a wanton electrical blaze of light, forcing away the dusk and night with artificial man-made day.

  On the tenth day Ken found her in the bedroom frantically packing.

  "They spotted the Zephyr coming in from the east," Mara said, hoisting a pack onto her shoulders.

  "Are you sure you want to do this?"

  "What?"

  "Go. You don't know what's out there. Strange places, strange people. Danger."

  Mara looked at him.

  "Of course."

  Ken looked down at the ground.

  "I thought we had something. You, me."

  "Of course." Mara paused. "I told you that I would be going."

  "But I'd hoped . . ."

  "Ken. I can't."

  "Go." His voice hardened, and he walked into the kitchen. Mara sat on the edge of the bed biting back tears, then snatched the two packs and left angrily.

  The Zephyr rolled through Main Street, slowing down to a relative crawl to allow people to run alongside and leap up. Kids thronged the sides of the street, and furious trade went on. The four tall masts of the Zephyr towered above the small two- and three-story town buildings. The masts looked like vertical wings, and used the same principles. Air flowing across the shorter edge of the blade-like mast caused a vacuum, drawing the massive wheeled ship forward.

  Mara followed the eager crowd behind the ship. She nodded to the occasional familiar face.

  Plastic beads, more precious than gold due the rarity of oils, were draped across stalls that slid out of the side of the hull. Mara aimed her quick walk for one of these, but instead found herself blocked by a familiar form.

  "Uncle Dan?"

  "Hi." He had her arm in a firm grip. Mara saw the bulk of the Zephyr slowly moving away. She tried to pull out of his grip, but couldn't. Her dad pushed through the crowd.

  "Dad! What are you doing?"

  "It's for your own good, Mara," Uncle Dan said. "You don't know what you're doing."

  "Yes I do," she yelled, kicking at her uncle's shins. The crowd around them paid no obvious attention, although Mara knew full well that by nighttime it would be the talk of the area.

  She begged, pleaded, yelled, kicked, scratched and fought. But the men of the house already had their minds made. They locked her into the basement.

  "You'll be out when the Zephyr leaves," Mom promised.

  There were no windows. Mara could only imagine the Zephyr's slow progress out of the town. She tried to put a brave face on, then crawled into a corner and cried. After that she beat on the door, but no came to let her out.

  The basement was a comfortable area. The family den, it held several couches and carpet. The door creaked open, and from looking out Mara guessed it to be dusk. Ken came down the stairs carefully.

  "It's me, Mara."

  "I suppose you're in on this too?"

  "Actually, no. You're family wants me to speak some sense into you. I won't lie to you, Mara. I want you to stay. But holding you here like this is ridiculous."

  "The longer we all stay out here, away from the cities, the crazier it gets."

  "Maybe. You're family's scared. They don't want to lose you."

  "That doesn't give them the right to lock me up like a damn dog!" Mara yelled.

  Ken came closer.

  "My sail-cart is outside. That's as far as yo
u need to get. You're a better sailor than anyone else, once in you can outrun everyone. The Zephyr is still reachable on a long tack. Hey, I never did get along with your uncle anyway."

  Mara looked up at him and gave him a long hug.

  "Thank you so much."

  "If you're ever back in town, look me up."

  "Will you come with me, then?"

  "Ask me then."

  Ken pulled away and stepped up the stairs.

  "Stay close."

  He launched himself into her uncle and dad, tackling them with a loud yell. Mara ran past, losing only a shoe, pushing past her mom and out into the yard.

  The cart's sail puffed out with a snap, and she was bouncing her way over the sand before she looked back to see two figures at the door watching her go. No one bothered to chase her. They all knew her skill with the sail.

  It took the better part of a few hours before the four masts showed up. Mara could hear distant shouting as she overhauled the giant land ship.

  "Ahoy Zephyr," she shouted.

  Someone tossed a ladder down, and Mara hauled herself up. The small sail-cart veered off and tipped into the dust, snapping its tiny mast in two. It felt faintly liberating to land on the deck with a smile.

  The merchant with the ladder stepped aside, letting an officer in khaki step forward.

  "We've been watching you approach for the past few hours," he said. "We like the way you handle the wind."

  "Can you read a map?" asked a woman in uniform. She wore strange braids on her shoulders.

  "No."

  "You looking for a position on board the ship?"

  "Yes." Mara felt her stomach flip-flop.

  "Then we'll teach you how to read charts," the woman said. She stuck out a hand. "Welcome aboard, kid, I'm Captain Shana. Ever cross me or give me a reason to, I'll toss you off the side of the ship and leave you to the vultures. Understood?"

  "Yes ma'am."

  "Good. Give her a hammock."

  Mara stood on the deck of the Zephyr, enjoying the moment. Then the man in uniform touched her shoulder.