Extinct Doesn't Mean Forever

by Phoenix Sullivan

  That was when I noticed the people. The first people I’d seen on our side of the river for hours — well, the first living people.

  There were about twenty of them, 50 meters or so further along the riverbank, in a neat line, dipping containers attached to long cords or wires into the river and then passing them back along the line. At the end of the line, a couple more people loaded the containers on to a metal trolley, with two shelves and little wheels underneath. When the trolley was filled with containers of all shapes and sizes — Metallo bowls, plastic boxes, TuffChina jugs, and those were just the ones I recognized — the two people loading the trolley would push it away, and two more people would appear from the shade between the buildings with an empty one.

  There was something odd about the people. I raised my hand to shield my eyes a little from the rising sun. They were smaller than I was used to. Most of them were hunched over; some moved awkwardly, as if their bodies were twisted. Olds. They were a group of Olds who must have gained permission to escape their 100-year Disposal for some reason – which meant most were probably veterans of the Illusory Wars.

  They moved slowly, but rhythmically; not rushing, with a plodding rhythm even an Old could likely keep up for hours. Not just that, but they moved with purpose. They were working towards something that didn’t involve crossing the river.

  I was immediately interested in finding out what they were up to — but I was also envious of the water they were hauling up. I longed more than ever for the cool of the water to escape the pain in my skin, even just for a moment.

  My legs were moving before I’d even thought it through. As I drew closer to the group, one of the men at the front of the line raised a hand and said something I couldn’t hear. Immediately the person at the front hauled up a container, only half full, and everybody in the line apart from the man who’d raised his hand withdrew silently into the shadows between the buildings.

  The man who waited was less bowed over than most of them. He stood, legs slightly apart, both hands in his pockets, relaxed, as if he was waiting for a ‘cino at a café machine. His hair was silvery colored and his skin was only slightly pink. These people had shelter, and it was somewhere not too far from here.

  I stopped a few meters away from him.

  He nodded at me. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. I was wondering if I might borrow one of your containers of water.” I held out one of my dark red, blistered hands. “Just to soak a bit. And for my friend —” I tilted my head back at Vin.

  He hesitated for a moment and then beckoned to the shadows. A hunched lady scurried forward, bearing a small Metallo bowl of brown water, handed it to the man and then scurried back. He held it out to me. “It will only help for a moment,” he advised.

  “I’ll take a moment.” I carried the bowl carefully over to Vin and scattered some water over his face. I couldn’t see his hands, enfolded somewhere against his chest. I wet my hand again and dripped water over his head and the back of his neck, then did the same to my own head and neck. It smelt bad. I wondered if it would kill us if we drank it. Not that we had much choice. I held the bowl to Vin’s mouth; he mumbled something, and then tried to drink. Most of the water spilled. Despite the color and the smell, I drank the rest, then carried the bowl back.

  The Olds were back in their line, hauling, passing, filling. The old man stepped out of line to receive the bowl, and another Old stepped forward and another back to smoothly fill the gap.

  I thanked him for the water and we stood together for a moment, watching the Other Siders. There was no fear now, no flitting between buildings. They walked on the other side of the river, in SunGear-clad groups of two or three, sometimes looking over at us, sometimes simply walking. It was hard to tell if they were guards, watching for any attempt to build a bridge, or just going about whatever business they had to do over there.

  “They look inhuman in those masks,” said the old man.

  “It is inhuman, what they’ve done.”

  He shrugged. “It’s only what we’ve done to them for decades.”

  I’d always thought those blank SunGear masks had no expression. But as I watched the Other Siders glancing over at us I suddenly thought they did. They looked smug. “Do you think they turned off the electricity?”

  The old man shook his head. “I think they just saw a chance and took it. The electricity — I think that’s got more to do with the crack in the Vault.” I looked at him blankly. “Over on the east side. It’s been in the FloScreen news for months.”

  “I don’t watch the news.”

  “Ah. Well, the government swore there was no danger.”

  “I hope they’re behind StayClosed.”

  A smile split his pale cheeks. “I’m sure they are.”

  “You seem to be well organized. Had you thought about building a bridge?”

  He shrugged. “Too old, too weak. They’re waiting for us anyway. They’d have us tipped into the river before anything we built even touched the other side. Some strong young men like you, though…” He glanced over at Vin, in his distinctive fetal position, and frowned. “Beppies?”

  I nodded. “Not long, now.” Phrocking Vin. I’d tried so hard for him and now he was going to die anyway.

  The old man hesitated. “Might be able to help you. If we could still get some into him.”

  “You’ve got Beppies?”

  “Plenty where we are.”

  “Could we … would you … please?”

  He hesitated again. Then nodded. “Sun’s come up; it’s time we headed out anyway. Think you can carry him?”

  Normally, no way. But today was no normal day.

  I sprinted back to where Vin lay, and heaved him up into a sitting position. I bent down, throwing one of his arms over my shoulder and around my neck and stood up, half carrying him, half dragging him back to the group of Olds.

  Vin groaned in pain. “Phrock,” he scraped out between clenched teeth. “Phrock. Don’t … want that … be my phrocking las’ … word.”

  “Don’t worry, it won’t be.” As long as it wasn’t far to go. For my sake as well as Vin’s.

  The Olds were filling their last trolley, the line breaking up. They formed into small groups and walked away, through the buildings. The old man with the silver hair waited for us. With Vin hanging off my neck, my pace easily matched his slow steps as he led us along a few city blocks and down a narrow lane that opened up into a wide Geocrete courtyard. In the middle of the yard stood a wide building of only three stories. The building was ancient, built from flaking Fabbro, with six square windows on either side of the double front doors — regular doors. Third Illusory Veterans Home read a small Metallo plaque to one side of the doors.

  Inside, the building was just as decrepit, with peeling yellow paint on the walls and ripped Plast-O-Lay on the floor. This was the honor that veterans won themselves. I wondered if Disposal wouldn’t be better.

  Their medical room, though — that was a whole other matter. A white-walled room opposite the front door, it was lined with cupboards with clear doors, every one packed with medicines of all types. I dumped Vin on a long narrow bed near the door. He tried to groan, but all that came out was a puff of air.

  “I’m Nondo Wild,” said the old man as he typed the code into an old-fashioned security panel: 123456. They sure trusted these veterans with their Pharma. He lifted down a small yellow bottle. “I think we’d best dissolve one of these. His throat muscles are probably half closed already.”

  He dropped a Beppie into a glass of yellowish water he poured from one of many jugs that lined the counters. “We leave the water to settle and filter on its own.” I could see in one clear-sided jug how the sediment had settled into a dark brown solid layer at the bottom, blending upwards through shades of lighter brown, to the pale yellow at the top.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, propping Vin up against me. I forced his mouth open and Nondo poured the liquid Beppie in, bit by bit. Vin’s f
ace was frozen, but the muscles in his throat worked wildly, trying to get the stuff down. What he couldn’t manage to swallow spilled out of the sides of his mouth.

  “Give him an hour or so, then get him up,” Nondo said. “That’ll get it moving around his body faster. When he starts to twitch, that’s the right time. When he’s ready to move, come and find me. Turn right into the corridor and then turn right again. I’ll be at the terrace — you can’t miss it. Ah — and this is for you.”

  He handed me a little tube of Silveral burn healer. Once he was gone, I peeled off my Bluesuit and slathered it all over my body. I put it on the bits of Vin’s skin I could see — his face and neck. The rest of him would have to wait until later. I looked down at the Bluesuit, a pool of stained Plast-O-Fabron on the floor. I didn’t want to put it back on again. Not all of the cupboards had locks. I opened a couple, finding wipes and mats, and in one of them, a pile of loose Fabron pants. I put them on.

  Alone, bare-chested and barefoot, I paced, with no idea of time, studying Vin, lying still on the bed. Drug-addicted, stupid krig that he was, he was all I had. I thought about the Beppies, about how much had spilled out the side of his mouth. I thought about the strength of Vin’s addiction. The bottle of Beppies still stood on the counter. Just one more to make sure. I dissolved it in the yellow water and helped him drink. His lips closed tight on the glass. Only a few drops spilled out this time. It was working.

  I waited, studying the cupboards, counting the bottles again and again, trying not to look at Vin, just waiting. They had everything a Pharma could offer; not just Beppies and Sudo, but the really strong stuff like Vinerol and Slancol. Finally Vin moved, spluttering and coughing. I turned round in time to see his arms and legs twitch randomly. His eyes rolled wildly in his head. It was time to get him moving. I dragged him off the bed, half dropping him, half catching him, but winding up getting him mostly on his feet with his arm around my shoulders. I started moving, walking him around the room chanting: “Walk, Vin, walk.” His legs dragged helplessly at first, then began to sway, then make more purposeful movements. When he started to feel lighter against my shoulder, I figured he was taking some of his own weight and was ready for the corridors. I turned right out of the room as instructed, walking Vin along a long corridor of blank doors. The walls were lined with container after container of water. I turned right again at the end, more blank doors and more water. I kept walking — Nondo had said I couldn’t miss “the terrace.”

  We came upon it suddenly, double doors opening out to our left into a large courtyard. I saw now that the building was a square, built around this open area, this extraordinary area. I didn’t know what to call it — Nondo’s “terrace” would have to do. It was green this place, all green. On the ground grew what looked like grass from my teacher’s photo. Rising everywhere out of the grass were the tall structures she said nobody could name — long brown poles, topped with that puffball of green. Unlike the ones in the picture, these green balls were dotted with color — red, orangish and peachy-colored bits in the shapes of balls, ovals, tiny marbles — all different. Some looked like Jufruits, others like Carnadines — like fruit, not growing in TubalChem but on these strange structures.

  I heard a hiss of surprise from Vin, not quite in control of his mouth yet. A Metallo bench sat just outside the door, so I stepped through and dropped him down on it, then, out of breath, plopped down next to him, gazing at the greenness. Vin, still struggling for balance slumped against my shoulder and stayed there. The ground felt squishy under my feet, and I saw brown stuff oozing up between my toes. It felt soft and cool, not unlike the Silveral I’d just smeared over my skin.

  The air smelled different here too. A little like the smell of fruit, but richer, darker somehow. And there was a gentle, fluttering noise from all around. The view, the sensation, the smell, the sounds — it all added up to something I hadn’t known in a long time. Peace.

  I couldn’t see Nondo, but other older folk moved between the structures, some stroking them, others talking to them, some simply standing, looking.

  Vin, still leaning heavily against me, muttered in a hoarse voice, “They’re mad”.

  “Nice to hear from you, mano,” I whispered. “They saved your life. At least that one did.”

  Nondo walked towards us through the greenery, smiling. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Vin said nothing.

  Nondo rested an arm on the on the back of the bench beside me, looking out in the same direction I was. “I’m sure you haven’t. This is a garden. The green on the ground — that’s grass.” He pointed at the tall structures. “Those are trees, with branches and leaves. The smaller ones, bushes. All of them growing fruit.”

  “I’ve never seen fruit look like that before.”

  “No. These are antiques. Fruits people used to eat before TubalChem. The seeds for these were exported from Earth hundreds of years ago — by people who knew they wouldn’t survive to see them arrive. Others planted them, knowing they would never see them grow. Now we take care of them. A hobby. We have plenty of time. Or rather had plenty of time.

  “Now it’s not a hobby any more, this garden. It’s our hope for the future. To grow our own food, to take shoots from what’s here and plant them elsewhere. If the electricity never comes back on — Don’t flinch like that, you’re obviously a bright young man. Who do you think is left who can fix the electricity station? Fix whatever’s wrong with the Vault? Nobody, I’m betting. And I’m pretty sure those thoughts have run through your head as well.”

  They had. He looked down at me, flinty grey eyes fixed on my own. Reluctantly, I nodded.

  “We could do with some help here. Some strength. Like you and your friend. To keep things growing, keep them healthy. Take the shoots and distribute them. Get over that river; share them with the Other Side. Stop the flinching. You know as well as I do that even if they don’t want us over there, that’s where our only hope lies. And with this garden, we may have something they want. There must be somebody over there who can understand what this means. Get something new started.”

  I looked out at the garden. All I knew was that it was the freshest, cleanest thing I’d seen. Something I could never have imagined existed.

  Nondo moved his hand from the bench to my shoulder. “You must be tired. Your friend too. He looks like the Beppies are taking effect. What you both need now is rest. We have 50 rooms here and only 30 residents — there’s plenty of space. Would you like to stay? And talk more tomorrow?”

  Suddenly too tired to talk, I nodded. He led us to two rooms, side-by-side. They contained the bare minimum of furniture — a Metallo-framed bed and a few other bits and pieces I barely noticed. I deposited Vin, now close to walking, on the bed of one of the rooms, and took the other for myself. Where Nondo went, I don’t know; I didn’t even say goodbye. I was asleep before I’d even hit the bed.

  The greenery from the garden wound its way into my dreams, with its rich scent and beautiful colors. Even the sounds were there — the shivering leaves chattering gently, whispering gentle messages to me. I woke — I don’t know how much later; it could have been minutes, hours or days — shaken awake by Vin, his big face looming over me, wild eyed.

  He was in mid-sentence, speaking fast, “— phrocking Slancol, precious jewel. Mano, you gotta try somma this. Voices like angels, yeah man — and the colors, krig, those colors. Got ‘em from that Pharma room. Krig, man, you were wandering about like nothing in there — like something lost. Thought you’d never make a grab. Got those sharp teeth aching. 123456 — call that secure — I don’t think so.” He cackled with laughter. “Slancol, Vinerol — got them a batch of Adcarad somewhere in back too. I’ll be moving on to them later, so come on, mano, get you somma too. Get a smile on that face. Get a look at the pretty colors, all red, mano, all red, and plenty more to do—”

  I thought he’d never shut up, and th
en he was hauling at my arm: “Plenty there for all, mano. Such sweet stuff. Come help make a little more red—”.

  I pushed him away. “Krig, Vin, let me sleep. I’ve dragged your phrocking half-dead butt all over the city.”

  “Sure, sure, you take you your little naptime. Vinnie’ll save you some for after. Plenty red to go round.” He let go of my arm and I slumped back on to the bed, back to sleep.

  When I woke again, I woke to silence. Vin had left me two little piles of pills on the table by the bed; one of little red Vinerol, the other white-and-yellow capsules of Slancol. I didn’t want them.

  I lay in bed for a bit, savoring the memory of the garden, anticipating the moment when I would see it again. When I would talk to Nondo about the future. I wanted to stay here; I knew that already. Help and learn and discover and share. I reached up to the ceiling in a long, luxurious stretch, then rolled out of bed and on to my feet in a single move.

  I padded along the corridor towards the garden. The home was so silent, almost as if nobody lived here. These Olds were quiet. I liked that. I was already smiling before I turned into the garden.

  It took me a moment before I realized what was different. The ground wasn’t brown any more, wasn’t scattered with the tiny green shoots of grass. It was red, all red. I didn’t understand at first. Then I saw the bodies. The garden was scattered with the bodies of the Olds. The thin hunched bodies were twisted now with more than age, their limbs distorted and bent. Arms, legs and heads turned in impossible directions, some broken and torn away. Every one of them lay in a pool of deepest red, runnels of blood streaming from each body. My feet felt sticky. I looked down. I stood in a puddle of blood.

  “Mano!” A high-pitched yell of excitement echoed around the garden. I couldn’t see him at first. Then I saw a flash of movement between two bushes. Vin pushed between them, grinning widely, his mouth stained with some kind of fruit.