The Mammoth Book of Apocalyptic SF - Mike Ashley [187]
"Ed," I said. "The truck's okay. A blown capacitor. Danny fixed it."
He turned and smiled. "That's great." He seemed distant, lost in thought.
"What?" I said.
He pointed at the skeleton. "I remember when I would have taken those bones, Pierre. Can you believe that? Nutrients, you see. The marrow in the bones. Boil them up, make a soup. Pretty thin, but nourishing ... " He shrugged. "No good now, of course. All dried out, desiccated."
He knelt slowly, and I could almost hear the creak of his joints. He reached out and picked up a scrap of paper. He joined me in the doorway where the light was better and held out the old newspaper.
"Christ, Pierre. 2040. What, fifty years ago? Look, a headline about the peace pact with China. Lot of good that did!"
He'd told me about what had happened to China. The military had taken over in a bloody coup, overturning a government they accused of not doing all they could to feed the people. And then the people had overthrown the junta, when the military had proved as useless as the government.
Not long after that, China invaded India, and Europe came to the aid of the subcontinent, and World War III broke out. It lasted five days, according to Edvard. And after that, the world was never the same again.
That was the beginning of the end, Edvard said. After that, there was no hope. What humankind had begun with wars, the planet finished off with accelerated global warming.
He stared at the scrap of newspaper. In his clawed hand, the paper crumbled.
I took his arm. "C'mon, Ed. Let's get something to eat."
We sat around the fold-down table in the truck and ate spinach and potatoes grown in the hydroponics trailer, washed down with the daily ration of water. Danny talked enthusiastically about the maps he'd found in Paris.
Kat's smile was like a mother's watching a favourite child. She was sixty, grey and thin and twisted like a length of wire. There was something shattered in her grey eyes which spoke of tragedy in her past, or knowledge of the future, and Danny loved her with a tender, touching concern.
He jabbed a finger at the map. "There's the trench, right there, just north of the African coast. I'm sure if we drill deep enough ..."
"We could use some fresh stuff," I said. "I'm tired of drinking recycled piss."
Danny laughed. Edvard raised his glass and examined the murky liquid, smacking his lips. "I don't know. As victuals go, this is a fine drop. Good body, a hint of mustard."
I watched Kat as she ate, which she did sparingly. She'd given herself a small portion, and didn't eat all of that. Before the rest of us had finished, she pushed her plate away and left the table, limping to the door of the berth she shared with Danny. He watched her go, then followed her. I looked at Edvard, as if for explanation, but his eyes were on his food.
After the meal I moved outside, taking my rifle with me, and in the spill of light from the truck I had a bath. I sat naked in the sand, taking handfuls of the fine grains and rubbing them over my body. I felt the grease and sweat fall away, leaving a fine covering of sandy powder. I dug deeper, finding the cooler sand, and poured it over my belly and thighs.
I thought about Kat, and told myself she'd be fine. Minutes later, as if to confirm that hope, the truck began rocking as Danny and Kat made love. I found myself thinking how Kat must have been good looking, way back. But I stopped those thoughts as soon as they began, stood up and pulled on my shorts.
I was about to go inside when a door opened along the flank of the truck and Edvard looked out. "Pierre?"
He stepped from the truck and slowly lowered himself into the sand beside me.
We sat in silence for a time and stared into the night sky. The storms were starting high above the far horizon, great actinic sheets of white fire.
At last I said, "Is Kat okay?"