“I want to hear about it,” he said, chewing. “I want you to tell me.”
“Not a good idea,” said Qanik.
“He has a right to know,” said Qatik. As he spoke he ate, breaking off a corner of damp hardtack and chewing it. Both the mules, Horkai realized, were eating much more than he was, and eating much quicker.
Qanik shrugged.
Qatik turned to Horkai. Horkai watched his mouth moving just below the edge of the hood, the rest of his face hidden behind the shiny black fabric.
“These suits keep out only so much,” said Qatik. “They do not protect us completely.”
“So this will damage you?” asked Horkai.
“Not damage,” said Qatik. “Kill.”
“Kill? Then why are you doing it?”
“We are the mules,” said Qanik. “This is our purpose. This is what we were made to do.”
“Who told you that?”
“That is how it is,” said Qanik.
“But who told you?”
“Rasmus,” said Qatik.
Rasmus, thought Horkai. Always Rasmus.
“Can’t you do something?” he asked them. “Can’t you make better suits for yourself? Can’t we stop it?”
Qanik shook his head.
“What if we turned back now?”
“We are the mules,” said Qanik firmly. “This is what we do.”
“But—”
“What Qanik means,” said Qatik, interrupting him, “is that we are already dead. We have already been out too long. If we turn back, we still die, just not as quickly.”
“Don’t you care about that?”
Qanik shrugged. “We all have to die sometime,” he said. “Better to die doing what you are meant to do.”
“As mules,” said Horkai.
“As mules,” said Qanik, nodding.
Below them the fusee was sputtering, the shadows leaping more erratically. “Enough talk,” said Qatik. “Back in the hood, Qanik. Time to go.”
* * *
LATER, WALKING AGAIN but riding on Qatik’s shoulders this time, moving upslope and coming closer to the point of the mountain, the sun now threatening to set, he tried to raise the issue with them again. At first he tried to ease into it gently, tapping on Qatik’s hood to attract his attention.
“If you’re going to die anyway,” he asked, “why wear suits at all?”
Qatik’s response was muffled. Horkai leaned forward and swiveled one ear and then asked him to repeat it.
Qatik tapped his speaker to clear it. “If we did not wear our suits, we would already be dead,” he said. “We would not be able to achieve our purpose.”
“Why trade your lives for a purpose?” asked Horkai. “What makes that a worthwhile trade?”
Qatik slowed, briefly came to a stop. Qanik, to one side, turned slightly, raised an eyebrow behind the faceplate. “Why are you trying to make me doubt?” Qatik asked. “Why now, when it is already too late, when I am already dead, when my purpose is all that is left to me?”
He started up again, slow at first. Qanik fell into step beside them.
“And what if you convince us?” asked Qatik. “The best that can happen is for us to decide there is no point carrying you and leave you here, on the side of this roadway, to die.”
He had, Horkai had to admit, a point. Quickly, he changed the subject.
“If you’ve never been outside, how do you know what things are?”
“We had been as far as the founder,” said Qatik.
“Still,” said Horkai. “That’s not very far.”
“Pictures,” said Qatik. “We’ve been given instruction. We have seen maps. We were given scenarios and made to solve them.”
“But it was not always perfect instruction,” said Qanik. “You had, for instance, to help us to open the hatch on the cylinder.”
“The silo,” said Horkai.
“Silo,” they said in unison.
“Farming related, then,” added Qatik. “We saw many pictures and we memorized many things.”
“And among those pictures were images of farms?”
“No,” Qatik admitted. “Among those pictures were images of farming-related buildings.”
“Do you know what a farm is?”
Qatik didn’t respond.
“A farm,” said Horkai, “is a stretch of land used to grow agriculture and livestock.”
“What is agriculture?” asked Qatik.
“Plants grown for food. You know what plants are.”
“There are plants near the founder,” said Qanik. “But they are dead. If you touch them, they break and sometimes fall into dust.”
“There are no longer living plants,” said Qatik. “There are fungus and mushrooms, and that is what we eat. Agriculture is no longer an important word. This is why we were not taught it. It is not important we know it. What is livestock?”
“Animals grown for food,” said Horkai.
“There are no longer animals,” said Qatik. “This is no longer an important word. It serves no purpose.”
“How do you know there are no animals?”
“Rasmus told us,” said Qatik.
“How does Rasmus know?”
But Qatik refused to answer the question. They walked on in silence awhile.
“Where do your names come from?” Horkai asked. And when Qatik said nothing, he asked again, louder this time, hoping to draw Qanik in.
“They were given to us,” said Qanik.
“What do they mean?”
“They do not mean anything,” said Qanik. “They are names.”
“No,” said Horkai. “That’s not what I mean. I mean where do they come from? Are they family names? Are they something from your ancestors’ culture?”
“I do not know,” said Qanik.
“You don’t know?”
“He never told us where they came from.”
“He? Who’s he?” Horkai asked, even though he already knew what the answer would be.
“Rasmus,” said Qanik. “Rasmus gave us our names.”
“Why would Rasmus name you? You’re as old as he is.”
“We are not as old as he,” said Qanik. “Not nearly. And I, I am not even as old as Qatik.”
“Maybe Rasmus gave you your name as well,” said Qatik to Horkai. “Are you certain your name is really your name?”
* * *
THE SUN HAD SLID BEHIND the western mountains; all that was left of it was a wavery slit, and then that, too, was gone. There was still light but it was gradually fading away and would soon be gone entirely.
Qanik came close, rested his hand on Horkai’s lower back. “I can now be more specific,” he said. “It has been an entire day.”
Horkai nodded. “When do we stop to sleep?” he asked.
“We do not stop to sleep,” said Qatik. “There is no time. We stop when we die.”
10
BY THE TIME THEY HAD REACHED the place where the freeway skirted the edge of the mountain and started back down, it was so dark that Horkai couldn’t see at all. The wind whipped viciously around them, making his shirt flap against his body. It was troubling to be moving through the darkness with no idea where you were going. The mules seemed to have no trouble picking a sure-footed path forward, didn’t even bother to slow down. As they passed over the top and started down, the wind tapered off, going suddenly quiet.
Above in the sky, behind the haze, arose a pale blur that he realized must be the moon. It helped him see again—though just a little, just enough to differentiate between the ground and the shape of Qanik walking beside them. If there were buildings to either side of the road, or farms, he couldn’t see them. There was a glimmer that might be water or might be something else. Nowhere were there any man-made lights.
For a long time he stayed still, listening. There were no insect noises, no birds, only the measured tread of the mules’ footsteps.
“How can you see?” he finally asked Qanik.
“We can see,” said Qanik. “That is how we are.”
“Maybe after a time, you will be able to see,” said Qatik. “Maybe your eyes will adjust.”
He waited for them to adjust, but nothing seemed to be happening.
They trudged on. They passed through an area that smelled odd. Not a bad smell exactly, or a dead smell: something else. The mules, he noticed, had sped up, unless he was imagining it.
He watched the moon smear its light through the haze. He tried again to make out the land around him, without success. He rocked back and forth, suspended in darkness. Just as, he couldn’t help but thinking, I’ve been suspended in darkness for the last thirty years, stored. Is this so different?
And what if, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking, it has all been a dream, a momentary burst of electricity in my brain caused by some small short or malfunction within the storage tank? What if I’m still, even now, in storage? That would make more sense than this ruined, lifeless world, or the fact that he seemed to have different characteristics from those around him, that he could withstand things that none of the others could. The silo, once he started thinking about it, was a lot like the tank, but very hot instead of cold—perhaps his brain was trying to tell him something. What if none of it is real?
And if it is a dream, he wondered, will it stay a dream or become a nightmare?
He closed his eyes. This isn’t real, he told himself. This isn’t real. But no matter how often he said it, no matter how much he tried to think the world away, he could still hear the sounds of footsteps crunching beneath him, could still feel the rocking rhythm of Qatik’s gait.
* * *
HORKAI PATTED QATIK’S HEAD gently.
“Doing all right?” he asked.
Below, the mule made a sound that he took for assent.
“Would it help keep you awake to talk?”
After a long pause, Qatik said, “Maybe.”
“Tell me about yourself,” said Horkai. “Tell me who you are.”
“I have already told you,” said Qatik. “A mule.”
“And the oldest,” said Horkai.
“The older of the two of us,” said Qatik, “but not the oldest.”
“And you have no parents. And despite looking alike, you are not brothers.”
“We do not have parents,” said Qatik. “We are not brothers.”
“Everybody has parents.”
He felt Qatik shake his head through the hood. “That is not how we are.”
“None of us have parents,” said Qanik, coming closer now. “Not in our community.”
“But Rasmus does,” said Horkai. “He told me the name of his father.”
Qanik shook his head. “You misheard. Rasmus is one of us. None of us have parents.”
“You’ve given up your parents?”
“If you like,” said Qatik.
“We share everything. All property is held in common,” said Qanik in a singsong voice. “We have no parents. Each of us is his own man, and each of us has a part to play in the community. We must accept our purpose or the community shall suffer.”
“Rasmus taught you this, I’m guessing,” said Horkai.
They didn’t respond.
“You’re communists,” said Horkai.
“What are communists?” asked Qatik.
“We are not that word, whatever it means,” said Qatik. “We are a hive.”
“A hive?”
“Like a beehive,” said Qanik. “It is our symbol. A united order. Next to the welfare of the community, our own welfare is nothing. We each have a part to play and we must play it. We must consecrate our lives to the service of our whole. Each of us has our purpose and each of us must fulfill that purpose or the community shall suffer.”
“Sounds almost like a religion,” said Horkai.
“A hive,” said Qatik again. “A united order. The many as one. No more, no less.”
“Who holds the property in common? Who distributes it?” asked Horkai. “Rasmus?”
Qanik didn’t respond.
“Don’t you think—?” he started to say, but then stopped as below him Qatik came to a halt, stood there motionless. “I agreed it might help to talk,” he said. “You asked me and I gave my assent. But now I no longer want to talk. And I no longer want you to talk with Qanik. Not about these things.”
Horkai stared down into the darkness, trying to discern him, but made out little more than the feeble outline of his hood. “All right,” he said. “We don’t have to talk anymore.”
He felt Qatik nod once through the hood, and then they moved on.
* * *
QATIK’S EASY MOTION was making him sleepy. At times he felt himself beginning to fall, beginning to drop off, and once Qatik had to reach up and hold him in place. Finally, when it kept happening, Qatik reached round and pulled him down, held him instead in his arms like a baby.
The suit was cool against his face, the material strange, not like anything he was familiar with. It smelled of dust and stuck gently to his cheek. He lay there, gently rocking with Qatik’s motion. Eventually, he fell asleep.
* * *
HE DREAMT THAT HE WAS IN the storage tank, just going under, waiting there with the tubes in his mouth and his eyes closed for the storage to begin. He opened his eyes, and a face on the other side of the glass—a technician of some sort, maybe someone he knew—admonished, “Keep your eyes closed. If they stay open, they might be injured.” He nodded, closed them again. He could hear, muffled and as if at a distance, the sound of the technician moving around. When will it happen? he wondered. He parted his eyelids just slightly and through veiled eyes watched the technician. He was standing there, his back to the machine, looking at something, and when he turned around, his face had on it a look of mixed fear and surprise, and it seemed, for just a moment, to be directed at him.
Horkai scrutinized the face, pretending to keep his eyes closed. Did the face look familiar? Was it someone he knew? Maybe, but in the dream, just as in life, it was hard to be certain of what he did and did not know.
And then suddenly he felt fluid flood into his mouth. His eyes opened wide and there was a hissing sound, incredibly loud, and he watched ice branch over the glass. He tried to close his eyes but they wouldn’t close and he couldn’t move. He should have been unconscious now, he knew, his existence blacked out, but he was still there, frozen but still there, still thinking. Help me, he thought. Through the glass he could hear the technician pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
11
WHEN HE AWOKE, the sun hadn’t risen yet but the sky had started to turn light, the haze streaked through with paler shades. He moved and stretched. When Qatik realized he was awake, he stopped, gestured to Qanik. Qanik nodded, quickly took the pack off his chest then the pack off his back, leaving them lying in the dirt. He lifted Horkai onto his shoulders and set off.
“I can tell you how much time has passed,” said Qanik. “A night and a day.”
“Are we close?” asked Horkai.
“We are getting close,” admitted Qanik.
They had left the freeway at some point. Horkai could see it a mile or two behind them, assuming it was the same freeway. They were heading east now, toward the rising sun, toward the mountains.
“How did you know where to turn?”
“We looked for the crater,” said Qanik.
“And did you find it?”
Qanik nodded. “And then we turned.”
“How did you know it was the right crater?”
“It was described to us. It was sung to us in detail by someone who saw it who was older than we. He was bleeding already when he sung it to us. He sung it to us and then he died.”
Sung? he wondered, but decided not to ask.
The road was large, maybe four lanes across, but not as big as the freeway. It was devastated in places, but someone had pulled the rubble off, arranging it in neat piles to one side. This seemed to make the mules nervous. They
came to a place where the road curved south again and climbed, and the mules argued about whether they had taken the right road after all. But eventually, after perhaps half a mile, it wound back east again and straightened out.
They passed a ruined mall surrounded by a huge parking lot, now heaped with piles of dust. A doll’s head, Horkai saw, had been placed on the top of a stack of rubble beside the road.
“You’re sure there’s nobody out here?” asked Horkai. But neither mule answered.
Another parking lot and across from it an old hospital, the central building intact. Not only intact, but someone had covered the windows of the ground floor over with sheets of tin. Behind a window on the second floor came a flash of movement.
“I think I—,” he started to say, and then felt incredible pain in his chest. Only afterwards, as he was falling, did he realize he’d heard a shot. He hit the ground hard, suddenly couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred and dimmed, then came back. He reached down to touch his chest where the bullet had gone in, found the hole as big as his finger, perhaps even bigger. He moved his hand back where he could see it, stared at the blood on his fingers.
Qanik was shouting, bellowing. Horkai raised his head a little, saw him running in one direction, Qatik in the other. More shots rang out, a little puff of dust rising beside his head. He’s still shooting at me, he thought. He’s trying to kill me. He looked at his bloody fingers again and thought, Maybe he already has.
Another shot hit him, but since it was in the leg, he couldn’t feel it; he knew he had been hit only because he saw the leg jump and then the fabric of his pants go red with blood. I should try to crawl away, he thought, but he couldn’t move. He let his head fall back. He closed his eyes, heard another shot, then another, and then he lost count.
12
HE COULDN’T MOVE, couldn’t breathe. The world all around him didn’t exist, simply wasn’t there. The only thing around him was darkness and more darkness, and nothing he could see or feel. He was both there and not there, suspended in a void, his eyes open; he was pretty sure anyway his eyes were open, though he couldn’t blink, couldn’t manage anything.
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