Spares - Michael Marshall Smith [97]
Most people reacted to Rapt about the same, but some went really weird on it. There would be soldiers who regressed when they were Rapt, started running about like terrible children. Some of these guys regressed in a way that made you think what they were regressing to was the childhood of something that wasn’t entirely human. Or maybe it was human, but humanity of a different evolution. It was as if there had once been two tribes, identical in appearance, but subtly different at every emotional and psychological level. Maybe between the trees in The Gap there wandered the childhoods of Gap people, lost but still alive. Maybe they got into some of the men.
As soon as we saw that a guy was prone to react that way we tried to turn him into a drinker instead. It was just too disturbing to see them being like that. We couldn’t deal with it.
Problem was, all any of this did was hide it. Not all of it, just enough. It didn’t go away. All that fear is still inside us, and even now we’re slowly using it up. People try to hide it different ways, by being strong, being weak, being a cop or being a gangster. But everyone feels it. Everyone is still afraid.
When the first surge of Rapt planed out into lucidity Vinaldi and I stopped running, our chests suddenly filled with liquid fire. I reeled off into the bushes and vomited uncontrollably, my body revolting against the exertion and trying to make it clear it wasn’t having any more of it. Bodies are great, and I wouldn’t go anywhere without mine, but sometimes they’re so disappointing. If we mistreated them as badly as we do our minds then everyone would be dead, and yet there they go, complaining all the time. Someone needs to get all our bodies, sit them down, and give them a good talking-to.
All I could think of as I hurled up my guts was a hope that I wasn’t losing any of the Rapt this way. I knew I was going to need it, and was already thinking of the remaining two packets. What I had was all we’d got, but it was already all I could do not to just shoot it up there and then.
Meanwhile Vinaldi slumped with his hands on his knees, sucking air in like he was in danger of imploding. I guess he did time in a health club or something; compared to me he was fucking Superman. I could feel my body looking on enviously, wishing I treated it that well. I hate fit people. They’re so undermining.
When we’d recovered sufficiently we looked around, slowly turning in a circle. All we could still see, for 360 degrees, was forest—except that the second time we went round, a stream had appeared. (That was normal; either there are more than 360 degrees in a circle in The Gap, or things just don’t work that way.) We realized then that our feet were wet, and thus we’d probably come across that very stream. A large group of leaves was standing on the other side, unable to come across. Though they didn’t have eyes—obviously, because they were just leaves—we could tell they were watching us. Also, that if we tried to go back that way they would stop us.
So we kept turning, and saw that what was behind us hadn’t been what we’d originally thought. It wasn’t simply more forest. In front of us, about half a mile away down a slight incline, there appeared to be a village.
“How did we get here?” Vinaldi asked.
“Fuck knows. Couldn’t you tell?”
“Are you kidding? I couldn’t tell who I was. I’d forgotten you existed.”
“I don’t want to go down there,” I said suddenly.
Vinaldi nodded. “Me, neither. But we’ve got to.”
“No, we don’t. We could go somewhere else. Maybe that’s not the place. Or maybe the clothes led us and it’s a trap.”
“Jack, it doesn’t matter if it is or not,” Vinaldi said. “I can’t stay out here much longer. I don’t have the Bright Eyes anymore, remember?”
It hit me then just how much courage he had. Your eyes were operated on the day before you were sidelined into The Gap. There was something about certain types of light in The Gap’s forest—though