After the Winter (The Silent Earth, Book 1) (9 page)

“Well, those guys who once pulled the strings are dead now. And you’re still alive.”

“Yeah. Lucky bastards.” He pointed to a street that veered its way south of the river. “Head down there. That’s Fitzgibbon Avenue. I remember that one. Go that way.”

I steered him off the walkway, through the dirt and then bounced him over the curb. We crossed the street and headed down Fitzgibbon. The avenue was filled with the remnants of gaudy sculptures and a modern, ornate style of architecture. I stopped and pulled something shiny out of the dirt. Blowing off the dust, the white glint of what appeared to be diamonds flashed in the sunlight. There must have been hundreds of stones in the necklace: square cut in the centre, round and teardrop shaped lower down. I dangled it below one hand and let it turn gently, flashing brilliantly even through the grime.

“Real, do you think?” I said.

“Maybe. Looks like you struck it rich, Brant.”

I scooped it up in my palm and tossed it away.  It landed with a puff of dust and disappeared again from view. 

“Not really my style.”

Ahead, Fitzgibbon Avenue wound lazily along, the resting place of stylish cafes and boutiques for the rich.
 
A place undoubtedly abundant with worthless treasures. Ahead, rising from the earth like a gigantic rusted spear was the towering bulk of Ol’ Trembler.

“There she is,” Max pointed out. “Dead ahead.”

“I told you, I’m not going close to that thing. I can’t risk it.”

“I know. A deal’s a deal. We’ll stop when you say ‘stop’.”

The closer we got, the more impressive it became. That slight tilt only seemed to heighten its mystique, as if it wasn’t just a building, but some massive artwork, an erection to match the great pyramids of Egypt. The hexagonal honeycomb shapes that rippled across the exterior, at a distance a modest scale, now seemed huge and imposing. Architectural marvels. I felt a moment of remorse that it was not long for this world. This amazing monument to man’s technology would soon be rubble.

I stopped in its shadows, a few hundred metres away. Far enough to take evasive action if the worst happened.

“Wow,” was all I could say.

“Beautiful, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t
wait
to see her go.”

“It’ll be a shame,” I said solemnly.

“Pfft,” Max said, his voice full of scorn. “Like hell. One step closer to the end, that’s all it’ll be.”

“So what was the purpose of it?”

“Residential.  Lots and lots of rich people lived there.  Restaurants, cafes.  One of those elevated swimming pools with a glass bottom up on about the hundredth floor.  You know the kind.”  He raised his hand and swept it before him as he remembered.  “The outside was
completely covered in glass. Like this bluish-greenish honeycomb glass that changed in colour depending on which angle you viewed it from. You could see it from the hills as you drove into the city at night, lit up like a great shimmering sceptre. Course, they never let me in there. I wasn’t near rich or famous enough to get in.”

I could see streak marks on the rusted steel hexagons where rain had sluiced down for decades. The beauty, the majesty that Max described was long gone, but scale of the place was still breathtaking in a way.

“So, we’re here,” I said. “We’ve done it. Are you happy now?”

“We’re not going closer?” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.

“Uh,
nooo
,” I drawled. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Well, let me sit here for a while at least, huh?”

I sighed. “All right, Max. I can give you that.”

He crawled down out of the wheelbarrow and made his way over to a bench on the sidewalk. It creaked as he hauled himself up onto it and then he sat back to enjoy his view of Ol’ Trembler.

I spent the next couple of hours searching the stores along the street, not finding anything much of practical value. At one time the women’s fashion accessories, jewellery, and fine imported coffee would have been worth a small fortune. Now it held no more virtue than the rubble out on the street.

I turned my attention to locating some decent kindling and gathered it together in a pile on the street near Max. By the time I was done the day was fading, the shadow of Ol’ Trembler stretching out across the landscape like a great arm.

“Whatcha doin’ there?” Max said.

“Thought I’d make a campfire. I haven’t done it in a while.”

“And here’s me without marshmallows.” Max swung down off the bench and crawled over as the first flames licked at the tinder. The evening breeze was beginning to pick up again and he leaned across with his hands outstretched to offer the burgeoning fire some protection.

“There we go,” I said as it began to crackle. “Beautiful.”

We had a good healthy fire going by the time darkness set in, and I stretched my hands out to bask in the warmth. The receptors in my synthetic skin could detect heat and cold, just as they were sensitive to pain and injuries. I’d felt the cold of the Winter many times in those bleak days. For a clank, a drop in temperature represented no immediate danger to wellbeing. The ability to detect heat and cold was merely a trait used to mimic the sensory perception of a human. A clank could theoretically be submitted to sub-zero temperatures for days on end with no ill effects. At some point the sensors would become numb and temporarily shut down. Still, I enjoyed the sensation of the fire’s warmth on my hands. It gave me a small sense of comfort.

The aroma of the wood fire too was stirring. It was a smell that I associated with camping and being with family from the days when I’d been human. It spoke to me of ghost stories, of hot mugs of cocoa, of embers dying in the early hours of the morning as children slept nestled in laps and adults talked and laughed, of canoeing in the lake, and huddling in sleeping bags.

I pulled the photograph from my pocket. Smiling sadly, I traced my finger around the tattered edges.

“That lab of yours, with the cryotanks,” Max said from across the fire. “I sure hope it wasn’t destroyed by air raids or Marauders.”

“So do I. We reinforced it as best we could. Given the timeframe, anyway.”

“Won’t matter if it took a direct hit,” Max said.

“No, but there was only so much we could do. It was sealed after the displacement to prevent contamination. Hopefully it’s still the way we left it.”

“What I don’t get though, is how are you powering the place?” Max said, hunching forward. “Wouldn’t it have run out of juice by now?”

“No. The two cryotanks are the only things running in the lab. When you get down to it, it’s a small power budget. The cells we installed are rated to provide low level power for a long time. A bit like these.” I tapped my chest.

“And you’re so confident in all of this,” he waved his hand about airily, “that you’re happy to wander across the country and leave it sitting there unprotected.” 

I flicked the photograph idly in my hand. Over the river, the crescent moon hung above the horizon, a refulgent yellow-red.

“It’s not unprotected. Arsha is there. And besides, I told you. I’m protecting it by leading the Marauders away from it.”

“This Arsha... is she your girlfriend or something?”

“No, we’re just colleagues, fellow scientists. There were never plans for us to bear children of our own. Our job is to raise the embryos held in cryostorage, nothing more.”

His eyes dropped to the photograph. “So uh... are you gonna tell me about that?”

I lowered my gaze and held the picture in both hands. The firelight danced across it, warm and golden. I got up and edged around the fire, handing the photograph carefully to Max. Showing equal care, he gently took it from me and looked upon it. For a long time he said nothing. He just stared, his milky eyes betraying no emotion. Finally he held it up for me to take.

“Yours?” he said.

“Yeah.” I took it back from him and held it up again. The boy beamed back at me, his sandy hair tousled and a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. They were clear and blue as sapphires. “His name is Zade.”

“What happened?” he said softly.

“He was lost to the Summer,” I said simply. “Like all the rest.” I’d memorized every part of this photograph over the years. Every tuft of hair.
 
Every curve of his smile. Even the freckles on his pale cheeks were as familiar to me as the stars in the night sky to sailors of old. I had no need to hold it in my hand to recall it in minute detail. But still I felt the need to do so. It was like the only piece of him left, the only thing that wasn’t buried in memories from another life. To look upon it made me feel human again, if only for a while.

“I’m sorry,” he said with surprising genuineness.

“Thank you, Max.” I smiled sadly. “We all lost so much.”

“It’s real, isn’t it,” he marvelled.  “You really
were
human.”

I nodded. “I really was.” I placed the photograph back in my pocket.

“Do you mind if we stay here tonight? I’d like to see the sun come up on Ol’ Trembler.” A kind of sadness seemed to have come over him. Some of his bravado had been lost.

“Of course. I’ll see if I can gather some more wood for the fire.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure, Max.” I paused and watched his half human, half machine face in the firelight. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said dismissively. “I’m okay.”

“All right then. I’ll be back soon.”

“Brant,” he said. I turned to look back at him. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. You have to understand, I’m just a broken old machine. I uh....”

“Max, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. And you’re not a broken machine.”

He smiled wanly and stared in the direction of Ol’ Trembler, but offered no reply.

“Max, why don’t you come with me?”

It was a casual way to make such a momentous proposal.

With one hand on the wheelbarrow as he prepared to climb in, Max suddenly stopped and turned to face me, scowling in the yellowish light of morning.

“What?” he said quizzically.

“Come with me. When I leave.” I toyed with a handful of pebbles and tossed them idly one by one at the dying embers of the fire. It was a paper-thin attempt to appear relaxed. I’d been waiting to bring this up for some time, but couldn’t find a way to naturally slip it into a conversation. I figured now was as good a time as any.

“The fuck you talking about, Brant?”

“I’m suggesting that we both get out of here. Soon.” I met his gaze and held it.

“Get out of Perish?”

“Yeah.”

He wiped a hand across his mouth, agitated.  “And go
where
?”

I shrugged. “Somewhere. I don’t know. We have to stay ahead of the Marauders. We bought some time getting rid of that guy, but they’ll find us eventually. We have to keep moving. I suggest in a couple of days, if not sooner.”

He pushed away from the barrow and scraped closer to me. “Are you going home?”

I cast an appraising eye to the sky. “Soon, yeah. One of these days I have to make a stand. I can’t stay out here forever. But not yet.”

“So what’s brought this on, huh?” he said, indignant. “Do you think I need your pity?”

“No.”

“Because I certainly don’t want it.”

“I know that.”

“If you want to leave, then go.”  He waved a hand.  “You don’t have to worry about how
poor old Max
is going to cope without you.”

“Look, it’s just an idea.”

He set his mouth firmly.  “So let me get this straight,” he seethed.  “You’re suggesting we just saunter off into the wild blue yonder.  That
I
saunter off into the wild blue yonder. With you.”

“Well, that’s a little simplistic-”

“Have you lost your goddamn mind? What, are you just going to stuff me in your satchel and carry me around? You do realise I weigh twice as much as you?”

“No, I-”