CRYERS

by North, Geoff

  He shrugged. “For the most part, I still believe that to be true. The base instinct to survive is what we’re experiencing now. My rage and hunger for vengeance is undoubtedly a need to rid ourselves of a threat to our continued existence.”

  “Admit it,” Jenny whispered, “we’re still human.”

  Lothair shook his head slowly. “No longer… Humans are the enemy.” He went to the freshly thawed ABZE clients huddled closely around Strope and eyed them individually, taking on an almost militaristic role, as the colonel himself had done centuries before. He started with a beautiful black woman. “Your name is Aleea Shon. You were very famous, extremely wealthy. You were an entertainer.”

  “I’m a singer.”

  Lothair ran his fingers along the woman’s smooth skull. “And female singers in the 2030s always shaved their heads bald?”

  “It’s the—it was the style back then.”

  “Do you still consider yourself a human, Aleea?”

  Aleea felt her bare arms and stomach. She looked down at her nude body and shook her head. “There was an accident…the plane went down. I remember my body burning…the smoke was so thick. After that, everything became a blur. I think people were talking to me…telling me about the procedures my body was undergoing. Always telling—never asking. The surgeries, the reconstruction...there were dozens. And then all those friends stopped talking—they stopped visiting. It was all doctors and professionals wearing masks. After a while even their visits ended.”

  “There was only so much they could do,” Lothair offered softly. “There was only so much they could repair at the time.”

  “I was dead,” Aleea said. “So to answer your question—no, I don’t consider myself human any longer. I don’t know what I am anymore.”

  “You’re alive.” He went next to a stocky middle-aged man with a thick gray beard behind her. “You are Ivan Tevalov—frozen in 2055. Your assets in oil company holdings made you the wealthiest man in Russia. Your political ambition ignited a third Cold War and resulted in the deaths of over a hundred thousand civilians in Kiev.”

  Tevalov seemed confused, and responded in Russian.

  Lothair nodded and continued in the man’s language. “Of course. I understand. You’ll find it easy enough now to learn a second language, and a third, and a fourth.” He steered him towards the computer in the wall. “Learn English first, please. It will make communication with the others less difficult.”

  It took only seconds for the Russian billionaire to familiarize himself with the touchscreen. Ivan had been frozen not long before civilization’s collapse; the technology wasn’t that far ahead of what he was used to. Eichberg went back to the group and singled out a young man staring at the floor. “What’s wrong, Leonard? Are you finding the adjustment hard?”

  The man—barely out of his teen years based on appearance—shrugged and scratched his short brown hair with a single finger. “Hungry. I’m hungry.” Leonard looked up into Lothair’s eyes. “You know my name. How do you know my name’s Leonard?”

  Lothair rubbed the spot between his shoulders. “Mr. Leonard Dutz’s parents were the wealthiest people I ever knew. Leonard’s father, Anderson, was a friend of mine back in the early 1970s. His early contributions helped ABZE grow into the giant it would become. Leonard was born in 1966. Leonard, if you haven’t already guessed, has Down syndrome. And although Anderson was my friend, and extremely generous, he was also one of the most ignorant men I ever knew. He saw something wrong with his son. He thought Leonard could someday be cured. But you weren’t sick, were you, Leonard?” Leonard continued scratching his head. “Down syndrome isn’t a sickness…it isn’t a disease that requires curing. I experim—I met dozens of boys with Down syndrome when I was a much younger man. They were gentle and loving…they were everything the human race should have been. It was my pleasure to work with them.” Lothair was now standing in front of him. He tilted Leonard’s head up with a finger. “You were ten years old the last time I saw you. You don’t remember me, do you, Leonard?”

  Leonard looked into the old man’s pink eyes and squinted hard. Finally he shook his head and looked back down at his bare feet. “I’m hungry.”

  “Yes, we all are.” Lothair stared at the others. “I refused Anderson when he asked to have Leonard frozen. He never spoke to me again. But it seems my old friend finally had his way after I was laid to rest. He had his only son frozen in 1986. That is what the human race is. We’re not a part of it anymore.”

  Jenny was still standing at her mother’s side. “Happy birthday.”

  Lothair raised an eyebrow at her.

  “You said Leonard was born in 1966. That makes him eleven hundred years old. People our age don’t go by months and days anymore, do they?”

  If Lothair was still capable of smiling, he would’ve done so. “You’re right… How does it feel being eleven hundred, Leonard?”

  “That’s silly. No one can live that long.”

  “They can now,” Eichberg whispered. He went to another woman. She was small and frail; gray skin hung from her cheeks in flaps, and the size small ABZE one-piece she’d chosen to wear was still far too large on her skeletal frame. She didn’t have much more hair than Lothair; the remaining wisps of white looked like strands of cotton candy clinging to her liver-spotted skull. “Miss Mary Gades—film actress.”

  “Movie star,” she corrected him.

  Lothair nodded. “I saw some of your movies in the sixties. You were stunning…brilliant. I always wondered what became of you. It would seem the latter part of the twentieth century and the first few decades of the twenty-first were hardly as kind.”

  “I was a has-been by the late eighties. Spent most of the next thirty years in doctors’ offices replacing what skin I had left with plastic… Didn’t do me much good, did it? Finally sank the last of what I had into being frozen. I was hoping maybe to wake up young and beautiful again. Guess I didn’t give your company enough cash.”

  “Do you feel human, Mary?”

  She made a farting noise with her blue lips that made the skin hanging down her chin waggle back and forth. “Do I fucking look human?”

  Colonel Strope grabbed Lothair by the arm before he could get to the next of the freshly thawed. “We’re wasting time. There’s nothing for us down here.” Strope was used to acting, not waiting. The installation belonged to Eichberg, and he would follow the man’s orders. But his patience was waning.

  Lothair pulled his arm free. “Soon, Michael. Soon.” He went to the final man in the group, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his thick chest and ample belly. “You had to be one of the first ones thawed, didn’t you, Mr. Haywood?”

  “Call me Brian.”

  “You didn’t have to pay a cent to be frozen, but it was in the contract you made me sign in 1975.”

  “What’s so special about him?” Eunice asked.

  “Brian Haywood was a farmer in Dauphin during the time ABZE was searching for a suitable location for its final subterranean installation. We had to pay him ten million for the remaining six hundred acres needed to begin construction—a small price to pay considering the size and expense of the project.”

  “That’s what I figured,” Haywood said. “Chicken feed for a guy like you.”

  “It wasn’t the money I objected to…it was your demand to be frozen that infuriated me. ABZE clients were supposed to be the best mankind had to offer. It never sat well with me that the likes of you—a farmer who knew he had terminal cancer—could worm his way in with the best.”

  “Just business,” Haywood answered unemotionally.

  There was a groan from behind Lothair. He went to Jenny and looked down into the cryo-tube at his great-granddaughter’s ravaged body.

  “Edna?”

  The woman’s eyes opened. The pinpoint-prick black pupils searched for the voice that had spoken her name. Lothair said it again and she found him.

  Michael stepped towards the tube and stared
at the scarred mass where the top half of his old lover had rejoined with the lower half. “How is this possible?”

  “ABZE ingenuity made it possible,” Lothair answered. “Along with all the wondrous advances incorporated into our brains and bodies, they gave us the gift of organ regeneration. We truly are immortal…practically invulnerable.”

  Jenny gasped when her mother reached out for her. “No. This can’t be happening. I didn’t believe you when you said she could be brought back. She was dead…blown to pieces.”

  “It was research realized under her leadership that brought your mother back a second time, Jenny. Thank her for it.”

  Edna Eichberg’s cold fingers wrapped around Jenny’s wrist; her fingernails dug into skin. Jenny yanked her arm back. “No! I didn’t want her to come back like this. I didn’t want to come back at all. This is sick.” She fled from the room.

  Lothair stopped Michael from going after his daughter. “Give her a bit more time. She was a teen. She’ll…adjust.”

  Strope looked back down at the grotesque join at Edna’s abdomen. He could see intestines slithering beneath the white skin, searching for proper alignment amongst ruined but recovering organs. Her body was bent awkwardly where the spine had fused back together. If she ever walked again, Michael was certain the woman he’d once loved would be a misshapen, shambling freak.

  Her voiced croaked out his name. “Michaaaaell…”

  Lothair clapped him on the back. “You see? As good as new…almost.” He reached down and placed a hand under his great-granddaughter’s neck. “Help me get her back on her feet. Now it’s time to go outside and reintroduce ourselves to the world.”

  Chapter 29

  It had taken the better part of the next day for Cobe to realize they weren’t going back to Burn. He’d never set out from the town walls more than half a mile up until a few short days ago, and the land looked pretty much the same whether half a mile away or half a hundred. It was bleak and depressing going; the ground was like dried, burned flesh—cracked and brown. It was flat terrain for the most part, land the rollers had beaten flatter and drier over the years. The occasional hills they did cross over, with their collections of dead and blackened tree trunks, only confused Cobe more when it came to bearing and sense of direction.

  Cobe knew they weren’t headed back to Burn—not from the layout of the land, but from the oppressive silence of the man stumbling along beside him. He moved in closer to the lawman. “They didn’t eat your horse. They didn’t have time, and we would’ve seen the remains.”

  “I know that. Lode’s full of shit.”

  “Then what do you know?”

  “I know we’re good and fucked.”

  Cobe looked over his shoulder and saw Devon glaring at them. He expected a kick for staring, or even a foul-mouthed warning to keep quiet; the greasy brute replied by burying a finger in his nostril and staying quiet. Cobe leaned closer towards Lawson and whispered, “We’re not going to Burn, are we?”

  “If we are, Lode’s takin’ the long way.”

  “We’re headed north, aren’t we? Lode’s taking us to Rudd.”

  “Yeah, would appear so.”

  “Why?”

  “No idea.”

  Cobe didn’t believe him but didn’t bother pressing the matter. If Lawson figured there was something worse than a hanging in Burn waiting for them in Rudd, it was probably best if they were all left in the dark.

  Willem shuffled up between his brother and the lawman. The boy’s legs were short, and the length of rope tied at his ankles didn’t impede his walk half as much as the others. “I heard what you said—why they taking us to Rudd?”

  “Keep it down,” growled a gangly six-and-a-half-foot man with a three-foot ponytail hanging down his back. Beff was another drunken moron from Burn that had joined in with Lode’s crew less than a year ago. He’d worked as a tanner’s assistant, but was released from his duties after he was caught trying to molest the tanner’s fourteen-year-old daughter. He’d also been beaten to a bloody pulp by the young girl’s father, and his face was still a misshapen mound of poorly healed bone and vicious pink scars. “Little fuggers… You and yer brother… Always fugging whispering.” All of his teeth had been smashed out beneath the tanner’s fists. He was a bully and a coward—as almost all the men that followed Lode were.

  Willem turned and faced him, walking backwards and talking at the same time. “It’s pronounced fuckers and fucking—not fuggers and fugging. If you can’t say it right, don’t say nothin’ at all… You dumb fugger.”

  Beff stopped in his tracks and stared at Willem uncomprehendingly. His jaw dropped open, revealing wet gums and black indents where his teeth used to be. “I’ll fugging kill you.” He ran at Willem but Cobe moved between the two first. Beff struck him away with a backhand and continued after the smaller boy. Willem sidestepped easily and dodged a second lunge. Beff’s reach was long, however, and he managed to grab a hold of Willem’s single arm and yank him in. “We’ll see how you talk when I bust out all your fugging teef.”

  He didn’t get a chance to hit the boy. A big fist connected with the side of his face, re-shattering the cheekbone. Beff fell to the ground and squealed in pain. Lawson stood over him, pointing a finger. “Try that again and I’ll bust the other side of yer face…and yer jaw, and yer nose.”

  Lode and the other men had gathered around and started chuckling amongst themselves. Cobe nursed the growing bruise on his cheek a few feet away, and thought for a moment Beff would back down. Lode’s men laughed harder, and whatever common sense Beff may have possessed evaporated in an instant. He was fast; Cobe had to grant him that. He jumped back to his feet and plowed his head into Lawson’s gut before the lawman could clench his fist again. They fell to the dusty ground in a tangle of swinging arms and kicking legs.

  Devon stepped in and grabbed a fistful of the lawman’s hair, twisting him off of the squirming Beff. It gave the man enough time to jam a thumb into Lawson’s eye. Lode pulled Devon away. “No—let them settle it.”

  Beff was on top of him now, his hands around Lawson’s throat and squeezing. The lawman punched at his ribs and pushed him off. Both men staggered back to their feet, swaying from side to side and breathing hard. On a good day Cobe figured the lawman could settle things fast. Both men were the same height, but Lawson outweighed Beff by another fifty or sixty pounds. Unfortunately this wasn’t one of Lawson’s better days. He was battered and bruised from the constant beatings Lode had administered since climbing out of Big Hole, he’d lost too much blood from his encounter with the howler, and his feet were tied together at the ankles, allowing little room to manoeuver.

  Beff could see all of this through his humiliation and rage. The lawman was a shell of a man, barely standing and twice his age. Beff screamed and rushed him, swinging one arm back in a long arc. Lawson stepped forward and leaned in; his elbow found Beff’s throat and his knee pounded into the man’s stomach. Beff fell to all fours, gagging.

  The lawman didn’t stop there. He grabbed hold of his ponytail and drove his other knee into Beff’s temple. Beff fell onto his back and Lawson was on top of him. The big fists went to work on his face, breaking bones and reopening old cuts.

  “Enough.” Lode pulled Lawson off and threw him roughly next to Cobe and Willem.

  “Are you alright?” the older boy asked.

  “Hell, yeah.”

  Lode kicked Lawson into the dirt. He continued kicking and stomping at his ribs and head long after the lawman had lost consciousness. Cobe sat there, sickened and silent, looking for any sign of life from the bloodied and still form. He could hear Trot crying. Willem had started to whimper, blaming himself. The lawman’s chest rose and fell. He was alive. Cobe heard the words in his head Lawson had spoken when he’d found him in the toilet stall back down in Big Hole.

  Too stubborn to die.

  He should’ve died then. He should be dead now. But he wasn’t dead, and for the time being, there was still hope
.

  Lode cut the rope between Lawson’s feet and instructed the others to do the same for Cobe, Willem, and Trot. “I don’t think we have to worry about the old bastard trying to escape anymore. He turned to the brothers. “Go on—run if you want. Run into the night…run back to that hole in the ground for all the good it’ll do you.”

  Finally Cobe asked, “Why are you taking us to Rudd?”

  “Haven’t you figured that out yet, boy?” Cobe stared hatefully into the giant’s eyes. “The Rites are taking place in a few days, and the lawman has been selected to represent Burn.”

  “He can’t fight in no Rites,” Trot stammered. “You done beat him almost dead.”

  Lode shrugged his massive shoulders and spit a string of green mucus onto the lawman’s chest. “I’ve conditioned him…helped prepare and toughen up for what’s to come.”

  “You made sure he would lose,” Cobe said. “He won’t last a minute against anyone they send in.”

  “You saw how he defended himself. The old man still has plenty of bite.”

  Devon rubbed his filthy hands together next to his leader. “Maybe I’ll volunteer to take him on myself. I’d tear the old prick’s throat out.”

  “That’s not how the Rites work,” Lode said. “Only representatives from rivalling towns can be pitted against each other.”

  Beff had worked himself up into a sitting position. He massaged his throat and croaked, “Don’t matter none who they put in to face him…the old fugger’s dead.”

  No one argued the point. Lode kicked Lawson one last time over onto his stomach and grabbed the lawman by his shirt collar. He started dragging him northeast. “Come along, people. The Rites will go on without us if we don’t make it in time. I would hate to see Burn have to offer up a replacement for our champion.”

  Cobe and Willem fell in behind the giant, eating the dust thrown up by Lawson’s knees and boots as he was pulled. He won’t be able to keep it up, Cobe thought. Lode would have to drop him at some point; even a monster that size needed to rest. When he did, the two brothers, along with Trot’s help, would help carry the lawman in a more dignified fashion.