He stayed there unmoving, trying to move his eyes, trying to move his fingers, trying to see something. How long have I been like this? he wondered. How long will I be like this?
* * *
A FIGURE IN A BLACK HAZARD suit was crouching over him, staring at him through a glass faceplate, repeating his name over and over. It took him a moment to realize it was one of the mules. Qanik or Qatik? He wasn’t sure. It hurt to breathe, was hard to think.
“He’s dead now,” said the mule, and for just a moment Horkai thought they were talking about him. “Qatik found him and took care of him. Just one,” he said. “Just a rogue living in the hospital. Had made himself a makeshift suit out of all the X-ray aprons he could find, but it was not a very good suit. He probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”
“I’m dead, too,” Horkai said to Qanik, his voice very low.
Qanik just laughed. “You do not know how to die,” he said. He reached down and started to gather Horkai in his arms.
Horkai felt a tremendous pressure in his chest and screamed, Qatik stopped, and instead he stood, grabbed him by the foot, and began to drag him.
It hurt like hell but was better than being carried somehow. The sound of his head scraping along the ruined asphalt echoed deep within his skull. He imagined a swath of blood unfurling behind him. He tried not to pass out.
And then Qatik was there, too, asking Qanik what was wrong with him, was he crazy?
“I couldn’t pick him up,” said Qanik. “It was the best I could do.”
They argued back and forth, Horkai watching helplessly from below. He was choking on something and coughed and could tell from the taste in his mouth that it was his own blood. And then, without transition, they were bending over him again, solicitous. One of the mules was taking hold of his hands, the other his feet.
“On the count of three,” said one of them, the one nearest his head. “One,” he said. “Two. Three.” And simultaneously they lifted him off the ground.
Pain shot through his body. His chest felt like it was being torn apart, and then he could no longer breathe. His head filled with light and he was gone.
13
HE WAS LYING NAKED on a bare concrete floor in a dim light, staring at a pile of bloody clothes that it took him a moment to recognize as his own. He smelled something familiar. At first he couldn’t place it, then realized it was the smell of a cigarette. He flicked his eyes past them, saw the two hazard suits hanging from a hook on a bare concrete wall. He touched his chest where he had been shot, but felt no scar, only a smooth, slightly softer place where the bullet had gone in. He lifted his hand, stared at it, didn’t see any blood.
“You are healing still,” said a voice, “but you are alive.”
He turned his head, saw the two mules sitting at the base of the wall to the other side of him. It was strange to see them out of their suits. They sat there in the exact same way, knees up and hands resting on them, their heads leaning back against the wall. Between them fluttered the flame of a candle. One of them was smoking, a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.
“Where did you find that?” asked Horkai.
“The rogue had some,” said the mule. “Don’t know where he got them. They’re old, but not too old. Someone’s growing stuff somewhere.” He took the cigarette out of the side of his mouth, stared at it. “Not bad,” he said. “We saw a video about them but have never tried them. A little harsh, but I can see how you would get used to it.”
“You learned about cigarettes, but they didn’t teach you what a farm was?”
The mule shrugged. “Apparently there are still cigarettes,” he said, holding his up. “There aren’t still farms.”
“I don’t like them,” claimed the other. “Filthy habit.”
“You’re just repeating what you heard in the video,” said the mule.
“Which one of you is which?” Horkai asked.
“You still can’t tell us apart?” asked the one not smoking.
“Please,” he said. “I’ve been shot.”
The mule who had spoken first sighed. “I’m Qatik,” he said. “I will let you sort out who that other one is.”
“Qanik,” said the other one, and waved his cigarette at him.
“You’re no fun,” said Qatik to him.
“What did you do with the body of the man who shot me?” asked Horkai.
“We left it as a warning,” Qatik said, and smirked.
Grunting, Horkai pulled himself up until he was sitting. He stared down at his chest. The hole that had been there was covered with a pliant layer of membrane, thick and semitransparent.
“What is this?” asked Horkai. “What’s on me?”
“Nothing is on you,” said Qanik. “That is you.”
“What do you mean it’s me?”
“Exactly what he says,” said Qatik. “You are different. It does not hurt you to be outside, and when you are injured, you heal very quickly.”
“It’s not natural,” said Horkai.
Qatik shrugged. “It is the way you are,” he said.
“Why?”
“Ah,” said Qanik. “The good old questions. Who am I? Where do I come from? Where am I going?”
“No,” said Horkai. “Just one question. Why am I the way I am? Why aren’t I dead?”
“This makes two questions,” said Qatik.
Horkai didn’t respond. He stared at the two mules, who simply stared back. Finally, Qatik shrugged again. “We do not know,” he said. He lifted his arm and rolled back his sleeve, then moved it so it was fully lit by the candle. The skin, Horkai saw, was mottled, covered with a sort of red rash, seeping slightly. There were bruises running underneath the skin as well, unless it was simply the way the shadows were cast.
“We, on the other hand,” Qatik said, “do not heal quickly.”
* * *
“WHERE ARE WE?” he asked once he had slipped back into his clothes, which were still stiff with dried blood.
“A shelter below the hospital,” said Qanik. “Nice solid concrete walls, very safe here. You can see why the rogue liked it.”
“Why do you call him a rogue?”
“Because it was just him,” said Qatik. “He is not in a hive.”
“If you are not in a hive, you are a rogue,” said Qanik. He stubbed out his cigarette on the concrete floor, reducing it to flinders that he then swept away. “If you are not part of a hive, you are nothing.”
“According to Rasmus, I imagine,” said Horkai.
Qanik nodded. “According to Rasmus,” he assented.
“It is safe here,” said Qatik again. “We were lucky. We found a nice place to stay and recover. If it had been another hive and they’d been hostile, we would be dead.”
“At least Qatik and I would,” said Qanik. “You might not be so lucky.”
“He did not shoot a hole in our suits,” said Qatik. “Instead he tried to shoot you. Our suits are still intact. We might still achieve our purpose.”
“But we have no food,” said Qanik.
“Yes,” admitted Qatik. “That is a problem. Though not as much of a problem as water. We have a little water still, but only because the rogue had some.”
“If it is all the same to you,” said Qanik, “we’d like to go now.”
“All right,” said Horkai. “We can go.”
* * *
HE BEGAN TO MOVE TOWARD THEM by sitting and dragging himself backwards. He was surprised when one of his legs seemed to twitch, though he didn’t feel anything. Maybe he was just imagining it, or his body had turned a bit.
He stopped and made a conscious effort to move the leg. It didn’t obey his command exactly, didn’t rise or change position, but did twitch again.
“Hey,” he said, “did you see that?”
“See what?” asked Qatik.
So he scooted around until they could see his legs better, then pointed to the one that had twitched, made it twitch again.
“I
t’s regaining movement,” said Horkai.
Qatik shook his head. “Start of a spasm,” he said.
“That is another thing,” said Qanik. “We were supposed to be gone only two days, three at most. It has been longer than that.”
“We weren’t told what to do,” said Qatik. “We have been sitting here talking about what steps to take to keep the disease from spreading up your spine until you have medication. And we came up with an idea.”
He held up a bone saw.
“We should have done this before you woke up,” said Qanik. “That was our plan. But it was hard to decide who would hold you and who would saw. And you woke up sooner than we thought.”
“Saw what?” said Horkai.
“Your spine,” said Qatik.
“You’re going to saw through my spine?” asked Horkai, his voice rising.
“This is for your own good,” Qanik explained patiently. “To stop the disease from spreading. The disease must not spread.”
“No, but—”
“All right, then,” interrupted Qanik. “We are in agreement.”
“If there was any other way,” said Qatik, “we would take it.”
“But how do you know that my body won’t fight off the disease?” asked Horkai.
“Same way as you,” said Qanik. “Rasmus told us.”
“But look at me,” said Horkai, speaking quickly. “I can be shot through the chest with a bullet, and after a few days I’m just fine. Why would a disease hurt me?”
Qanik shrugged. “Life is mysterious,” he said.
“Why don’t we just see?” asked Horkai. “Why don’t we wait and see if anything happens to me. Maybe I’ll be fine.”
“We can’t wait,” said Qanik. “We’re out of food. We have to go.”
“I don’t mean wait like that,” said Horkai. “We can leave any time you’d like. All I mean is wait to cut my spine.”
“It might be too late by then,” said Qanik.
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Horkai said.
Qanik and Qatik exchanged glances. “We should have done it when he was still asleep,” said Qanik. He turned to Horkai. “Understand,” he said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a little bit of pain. We will cut low and your spine will grow back. It will reconnect.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t grow back quickly enough that we will have to do this again,” said Qatik.
“That is not helpful,” said Qanik, turning to him. “Remember: if you cannot say something positive, do not say anything at all.”
“Look,” said Horkai, already anticipating the pain. “I’m begging you. Don’t do this.”
But the two mules were already standing, Qatik holding the bone saw down by his side, Qanik priming a hypodermic. Horkai began to scoot rapidly away from them.
“Can you hold him down on your own?” asked Qatik.
“Probably,” said Qanik. “For that long. Besides,” he said, louder this time, “he won’t struggle, he knows this is for his own good.”
* * *
THEY MOVED SLOWLY TOWARD HIM, Qanik flanking him on one side and Qatik on the other. Despite their size they were quick, and Horkai, without legs, knew he had no chance of escaping. But still he kept circling, kept backing away.
And then he kept his eyes focused on Qatik too long and Qanik dived in, knocking him flat. Horkai lashed out and struck him in the shoulder, was surprised to see Qanik immediately start to bleed. And then Qanik had him in a headlock, was forcing him over.
He screamed and tried to arch his back to keep from tipping over, but Qanik was too heavy. Slowly he was being turned over, forced down onto his face.
Soon he was flat against the concrete, still in a headlock, Qanik’s knee now pushing hard into his back, his ribs threatening to crack. Quick! Qanik was shouting, Quick! He felt a hand on his back, dragging up his shirt.
Something pricked into his back and he felt a sudden warmth there, the beginning of a numbness, though not numb enough. The bone saw’s blade dug deep and his vision was suddenly gone, reduced to a red haze. He screamed and flopped but Qanik rode him, kept him in place. “Again!” the mule yelled, and Horkai gritted his teeth and held his breath and the pain kept coming on stronger, and he passed out.
14
BY THE TIME HE WOKE UP, Qatik had given him a shot of morphine and the pain had moved from blinding and intense to something merely debilitating. But when Qanik tried to pick him up, it grew immediately blinding again.
“All right,” said Qanik. He put him down and leaned back, carefully lighting a cigarette off the candle. He raised it to his mouth and Horkai watched the tip glow orange, slowly fade to red, then gray. He saw that Qanik’s face was bruised, his nose broken. He wondered if he had done that. He hoped so. “We’ll wait, then,” Qanik said.
“If you ever do something like that to me again,” Horkai said, “I’ll kill you.”
“See if you still feel that way in an hour,” said Qatik.
And indeed, in another hour the pain had faded enough that Qanik could pick him up and hold him in his arms and Horkai only winced. His back, he found upon reaching behind himself to feel the cut, had already started to heal. A spongy soft material of some sort was growing firmer, stronger by the second.
“Shoulders?” asked Qanik.
“Not yet,” said Qatik. “He’s not ready for it.”
And so the two mules put on their suits again and carefully checked each other’s seams. When they were satisfied, Qanik bent down and picked Horkai up. He went out cradled in Qanik’s arms.
* * *
THEY UNBOLTED THE METAL DOOR and started up the winding metal staircase beyond it. Every step jarred a little, was like a dull throb against the severed end of his spine. They came to another metal door and Qatik opened it. Qanik threaded Horkai and himself through.
They were on the ground floor of the hospital, in a dark and dusty room. The outer doors and windows had been covered with sheets of tin, except for one, which had been crumpled and torn partly free. They forced their way out of it.
Outside, he could see the swath of blood they had made dragging him in. He stretched and looked past Qanik’s shoulder. The rogue’s body had been nailed by the elbows and the knees to the hospital façade. The forearms and lower legs had been cut off, left crossed as a warning to either side of the piece of tin they had just pushed past. The head was nowhere to be seen. What remained of the torso was so thick with dust that he barely recognized it as once human.
“Was that really necessary?” asked Horkai.
Qatik shrugged. “It could have been,” he said.
“It could have been worse,” said Qanik. “If you had been unconscious much longer, we probably would have had to eat him.”
They moved along in silence. Remains of houses now, those that still stood, more or less, were larger than the houses they had seen before, or seemed so to him. Mostly, but not exclusively brick. The road itself was straight, climbing very slightly, the mountains getting closer. They were heading, he could see, for a gap between them. They passed a metal pole still standing, a large rectangular sign on it. One side was stripped bare, but the other side, he saw over his shoulder, was, through some strange fluke of nature, faded but more or less intact. He had to squint to make out what was left of the letters. ERLING D it read, and below that, in smaller script, 00 E.
“What happened to his head?” Horkai finally asked.
Beside him, Qatik patted one of his backpacks. “Never know when you’ll need a good head,” he claimed.
* * *
THEY PASSED AROUND A SCHOOL BUS that had been turned over on its side and burned. The road grew briefly disjointed and broken and they had to pick their path carefully. The sun, Horkai noticed, was high in the sky, nearly directly overhead. The road here was edged on both sides by a long stone wall, mostly blown out, but the ghost of it still there. The mules plodded implacably forward, saying nothing.
A half-collaps
ed supermarket, complete with a sign reading ERTS. A scattering of bones around it, blankets of dust as well that might hide more. More parking lots, more malls and shopping centers. The ruins of commerce. A nondescript building that he somehow felt must have once been a coffee shop. Was it a memory?
More ruined walls, the mountains closer now. The road curved very slightly, heading for the mouth of a canyon still several miles ahead. The mules were getting nervous, he realized.
“I’m going to put you on my shoulders now,” said Qanik. “So as to have my hands free. All right?”
“All right,” said Horkai. And without another word, Qanik swung him around and dropped him there. Pain shot briefly up through his back but was quickly gone. His spine no longer pulsed with each step. He reached back to feel the cut, had difficulty locating it.
What am I exactly? he wondered.
A city bus had crashed decades before into a small building set off the road. The road was still curving ever so slightly. Suddenly it rose a little steeper, curving the other way, skirting around a hill. Houses sparser, a little more spread out now, a little more rural, the road devolving into a simple two-lane highway. An old split-rail fence, somehow in better shape than the stone walls had been. The road winding more now, moving slowly through clumps of long-dead trees, little more than stumps.
Past a small road with a sign scrubbed down to bare metal but upon which someone had written something, relatively recently, in black paint. The dust covering it made it illegible. Qatik left their side and hurried toward it, wiping the dust away with his black glove.
GLACIER LN, it read, the letters thick and clumsy.
“That first letter is a G,” said Qatik.
“What does it say?” Qanik asked, and Horkai read the sign aloud.
“We’re getting closer,” claimed Qanik from below him.
They kept on, Qatik rejoining them. A few hundred feet farther along, on the other side of the road, another smaller road split off. There was no metal sign, but someone had put up a wooden post, nailing a placard on it. OLD WASATCH BULLEVARD, it read, the last word misspelled.
Immobility Page 7
