The Mammoth Book of Apocalyptic SF - Mike Ashley [150]
May sees me. I feel her eyes but when I try to meet them, she shifts direction. A fond hand touches her father's shoulder, and whatever story she has been telling ends with the words, "And that's how we finally crossed the Mississippi River."
Raucous laughter.
And I retreat outdoors.
My mind is still made up. Yes it is. I just need a better moment, and maybe a smaller, more open-minded audience. And I might have to lie. Winston gave a hypothetical confession. I'll just change his words a little, giving him even more arrogance than usual. But even as I'm practicing this speech, Jack emerges to ask me, "What's wrong?"
I take a deep breath, wanting to answer. But my voice is missing.
"Did you catch Winston?"
I nod.
"You look sick, Noah."
That's only because I feel sick. I've got a rabbit's heart in my chest, and I can't seem to breathe fast enough to make my chest stop aching. I want to sit. I want that tall beer and a good chair and silence. But mostly, I want to be in a different place than this, and that's why I ask Jack, "Did you ever get my elk unloaded?"
"Mostly, but then our guests showed up and my boys bolted," he says. "Why? You want to start home now?"
"Yes."
He nods. He says, "Let's go finish then. I don't know where my boys got to, but there shouldn't be much left to do."
"No."
He studies me, waiting.
I'm not sure what I want. But I hear myself saying, "Do me a different favor. Would you?"
"Sure, what?"
"When you get a chance, tell May ... tell her that I know."
"You know what?"
"Tell her that her brother told me most of it. And I figured out the rest for myself."
"What did you figure out, Noah?"
I just shake my head.
Now Jack looks grim and serious. One of those strong hands clamps down on my shoulder. "What'd that kid say to you?"
Through the door comes more laughter. Fourteen years of my life was spent in this town, and I can't remember ever hearing this much joy.
"Noah?" he presses.
But I shake free, starting back to the butcher's shop. "Point May towards me, would you? And don't wait long, Jack. As soon as the meat's off, I'm driving out of here."
Three years after my mom died, Lola and I took our last trip to the city. Useful scrap was hard to find by then, what with fires and rust and time. But we had some loot worth the trouble, and we also realized we'd never come back to this place again. Which was a very worthy accomplishment.
Half by mistake, half by planning, we ended up standing next to one of the mass graves. A fleet of bulldozers had been parked on the same ground for nearly two decades. The ground was still rough, bits of bone and stubborn clothes poking out here and there. Looking at that sorry scene, I thought about the last funeral that I had attended, and when Lola asked what I was thinking, I told her.
She was crying. I was crying.
Sniffling, she told me, "Somebody wanted this. Somebody planned all of this."
I couldn't count the times we had wrestled with this subject.
"Know what I wish, Noah?"
"What?"
"That those responsible had come out and said so." My sweet sad shunned wife leaned into me, explaining, "As soon as the Shakes began, they should have put out some official statement proving that they were real and listing all of their wise good-hearted reasons for doing the unthinkable."
"We can guess their reasons," I said.
"But if they went public, there wouldn't have been any doubts."
"And what would that have changed?"
"We would have somebody to blame today. A group with a name, real people with a clear purpose."
"The Shakes would have killed the same people," I said. "Every government would have failed in the same ways. And the two of us would have ended up here or someplace like here, looking at dead people and dirt."
"Except," she said. "If they offered their proof and their reasons, then we'd know that people were responsible for everything.