The Dig (38 page)

Though Hank couldn’t tell what their real names were, he seemed to have two choices for each. The smaller one, who always wore sunglasses, called the other “Jon-Jon” most of the time, but occasionally just “Jiji”—perhaps because he didn’t think Hank was listening. Jon-Jon/Jiji would call the other man “Gabriel,” though with his thick accent it sounded like “Gah-vril.” The other name he used was “Mkundu,” though, again, he couldn’t tell which was real and which was just a handle.

The arguments would range from who had to untie him so he could use the nonfunctioning toilet, to fights over custody of the TV remote control. Hank pretended to ignore them and avoided eye contact. His ear had dried blood crusting on it from yesterday, when, unable to understand what Jiji was saying to him, he had raised his voice in reply. Jiji’s blow had ripped the top of Hank’s ear away from his head, and it had bled profusely.

He also had a cracked rib or two from when they snatched him in the woods. He had been walking behind the Felicia girl. Just after she ducked a low-hanging branch, he had heard a crackle on the ground beside him, and a hand slapped over his mouth to silence him. The two men had dragged him a short distance as he struggled and kicked, until one of them slammed a knee into his ribs. No one had heard his muffled yelps, and he was eventually tied up, with a smelly T-shirt pulled over his head, and tossed into the back of a pickup truck on the side of the road.

As Jon-Jon shook the wad of cash in front of Gabriel’s shaded eyes, he yelled louder and louder, and Hank could hear the neighbors upstairs banging on the floor again. He could tell he was in an apartment building with noisy people on all sides, but apparently his captors were going too far this time.

When a teacup or some other ceramic object flew just over Hank’s head and shattered on the wall beside him, he glanced into the kitchen to see that Gabriel had drawn the small pistol from his belt and was waving it in Jon-Jon’s face. As they continued shouting, Jon-Jon shook the money hand toward Hank, and Hank looked away. The tones of their argument, and the repeated words and gestures, made it easy to imagine what they might be saying:

“If you want some of this money, you go kill him now!”

“Why do I have to kill him? Why don’t
you
kill him?”

“Too scared?”

“
You
scared!”

“Kill him now!”

“I will kill him now!”

“Then stop talking and do it!”

Or, Hank mused, maybe they were discussing something else altogether:

“I have a lot of money in this hand and I want to buy doughnuts!”

“If you get doughnuts, then I get half of them! I want doughnuts!”

“Some for him?”

“None for him!”

“Get the doughnuts!”

“I will get doughnuts!”

“Hurry and get the doughnuts!”

Or why assume that they were so simple? It could be a quite scholarly argument, for all he knew. Perhaps the fistful of cash had inspired a social sciences debate.

“Keynesian economics has not withstood the test of time!”

“Nor would Marxist economics or…”
Uh-oh…

When Gabriel stomped across the room and jammed the barrel of the gun to Hank’s temple, he realized that his first scenario may have been the correct one after all. They were both still shouting, and Hank closed his eyes and waited for the boom that, if it came, he would never hear. He began to pray in his head, though he did not actually believe in God.

God, we both know I don’t believe in you, and I am sorry about that. But if you are real, then I do believe in you and I will always believe in your… greatness… holiness!
I will go to church or temple or mosque or all three, but I need to keep living right now. Please let this be over, and I will do your good work or whatever it is you want. Oh, and I’m sorry again for not believing in you until I required your intervention. That probably doesn’t rate too high on your list of criteria for saving people. Amen.

The gun pressed against his skull as Gabriel shouted louder and louder. Hank felt the spittle hitting his face.
Is he yelling at
me
? Should I say something? Where is Jon-Jon/Jiji?

A horrible smashing sound ended the shouting, and Hank opened his eyes as Gabriel fell and rolled over Hank’s knees, landing on the floor. The crash had consisted of two distinct sounds, that of breaking glass and plastic and the grisly crunch of a human skull being bashed in. Hank saw the destroyed microwave oven, and the blood spreading out from under Gabriel’s head. He lifted his feet from the floor as the pool widened toward him.

Carefully looking up at Jon-Jon, he saw the man’s chest heaving as he stared at the body sprawled on the floor. Jon-Jon said something to Gabriel, presumably telling him to wake up or get up. Moving closer, he kicked Gabriel in the side.

Jon-Jon began to pace all around the apartment, sobbing and talking to himself. Hank imagined that the repeated words were something to the effect of “Oh, no; oh, no; oh, no,” interspersed with “Gabriel… Gabriel… .Gabriel…” He hoped Jon-Jon might now somehow forget all about him and just run out of the apartment to escape. Instead, Jon-Jon remembered that Hank was tied to the chair and had just watched him murder someone. He went to the kitchen and returned with his rifle, which he pointed at Hank’s head. The man glanced down at the dead body then turned to Hank, sweat pouring from his temples.

He spoke in a quiet voice. Hank heard “
Ju ju way sah may… ju ju way sah may.
”

Jon-Jon poked Hank’s forehead with the gun a couple of times, then tossed the rifle to the couch and ran to the door. He began to unlock it, then returned to the table, where the rest of the money lay. After stuffing it all in his pockets, he left the apartment.

After a moment, Hank twisted his head around and realized that Jon-Jon had left the door open. Several minutes later, a neighbor poked her head inside and shouted something before disappearing into her apartment.

When at last he heard the sirens approaching outside, Hank closed his eyes and took a deep, quivering, breath.
Thank you, God,
he said
. I thank you for ending this. I’m really going to try to do the church thing or whatever. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

H
ALFWAY THROUGH THE FIFTH NIGHT OF
travel, some began to feel foodrise, and the procession had to stop. On investigation, it turned out that a young man had picked some red berries from a bush and, finding them sweet, pointed them out to others near him in the column. A short time later, a hundred people were losing their midnight meal, and their skin grew hot.

Irin decreed that no one eat anything but the food they had brought; after all, who knew how many poisonous things grew in this new and strange place? He was anxious to journey on, but Orin said it might be best to sleep where they were. As she pointed out, there were trees for shade, with none of the black pods, and also, far too many had fallen sick than could be pulled in n’wips. Irin grudgingly agreed, and they passed the rest of the night and the next day where they were. By next night, the afflicted had fully recovered, and the people marched on.

Five more nights of travel passed, and water grew scarce. A tally of n’wips revealed that they had several weeks’ food remaining but only three nights of water if they rationed well.

Camping twice in arid, treeless plainland, they slept only fitfully. They moved slowly now, and Irin did not push them to go any faster. Wil had told him three nights ago that they were more than safe from the coming sky stripe—the task now was to find a suitable place to build their new home.

They found water just in time, reaching the banks of a small stream toward the end of the eleventh night. As they filled their water bags, some of the fighters studied one of the flowering plants growing along the banks, whose seeds they had seen hairy crawlers gathering as they approached.

Irin rubbed the seeds between his fingers and sniffed them. He asked the fighters, “Who’s willing to try one to see if it’s harmful?”

A burly fellow named Plit stepped forward, bit it tentatively, then munched it down. He raised his eyebrows. “The taste is good,” he proclaimed.

“Good,” said Irin. “We’ll wait a while, and if your belly doesn’t complain, three more can sample them.”

Irin found Wil kneeling by the water. “How are Owil and the newest fairing?” he asked as he filled his own small water bag.

“Both much better. Owil wishes to begin walking on her own.”

“Good. I need you back with me at the front.”

Wil raised his chin to him.

“Have you had any new dreams?” Irin asked.

“About you?”

“No—any at all.”

“No, nothing.”

Irin fought back the desire to ask more about the vision of his death. He stood up and surveyed the sky to the sunset side. He could see the outline of small hills in the distance. Could that be their new home, he wondered? Hills often meant trees, and perhaps watercourses like this one.

The seeds, which grew in abundance downstream, proved safe. Some people went on a gathering mission, filling empty food bags with what seeds they could find. Though there was no shade to sleep in, they could go no farther before sunrise, and so they set up the n’wips in a half circle, closed on one side by the stream. As the sky brightened to the pale blue of a lightstick, Irin settled to sleep under a n’wip, beside Orin. No terrible dreams haunted him for the first part of the day, but soon after the sun had passed its highpoint, he was awakened by a woman’s scream.

Through the back of his k’yot, he could see five fighters running toward him, trying to dodge between the sleeping forms, stumbling over some. Heads began to pop up, awakened by the noise. Irin stood and pulled out his long cutter. Were they coming to kill him?

But the men running toward him kept looking back, and now more were shouting from the far side. It was difficult to see much through the k’yot top, but suddenly Irin saw what had caused the commotion. His cutter fell from his hand as he stared, dumbfounded.

Beyond the n’wips at the far end, by the stream, Irin had seen an earthen-hued hump and assumed it was a distant mountain. But then it shifted, and beside it a spike-covered neck rose up from behind the n’wips. When it stopped rising into the sky, the head was higher than ten Center Houses—so long that the creature’s feet stood outside the circle while its head waved above the middle of the group, most of whom were now awake and screaming and running helter-skelter.

Irin had no idea what to do. Before him stood a creature big enough to eat every one of them and still be hungry. Its tail rose up behind it as it plodded into the circle, knocking over two n’wips and crushing one utterly. The ground trembled with its every step.

“RUN!” Irin shouted out, and picked up the waking Orin at his feet. Blinded by the daylight, she covered her eyes, though still catching a glimpse of the monstrous animal coming at them. They ran past the n’wip as more and more people got to their feet and fled for their lives. Glancing back, Irin saw the enormous foot come crashing down on a cluster of people who had somehow managed to sleep through the uproar around them. Where were Wil and Pwig? The scene became a blur of people running with hands or clothes covering their faces, scattering in all directions, tripping over one another—and there was nothing Irin could do to stop it.

He looked back and stopped running. The thing had paused in the middle of the circle and was swinging its head around, apparently searching for something. Several people who had been hiding beneath n’wips seized the moment to get up and flee.

The beast’s head hovered above a n’wip full of food, then descended and began to chew the covering blanket and rope. It seemed not to like the taste of it, and its head rose up again as a tongue the size of a half-grown new tried to remove the rough, fibrous stuff from its mouth. The neck curled backward, like a screamer’s, and the rest of the body followed, the tail swinging around behind it and clipping the tops of a half-dozen n’wips, knocking most of them over.

As he watched the n’wip cover drift to the ground, Irin noticed that the huge beast quite ignored the people it had crushed, as well as the ones still hiding and trying to remain quiet.

“It doesn’t eat us,” Orin said, squinting through a small hole in a cloth she held against her face.

“No,” Irin agreed. “But it wishes to destroy us.”

Behind them, people began to walk cautiously back toward the n’wips. Irin turned and looked past the river, where the giant thing was heading, and saw that hundreds of its kind were slowly making their way across the land ahead. They did not seem to be going anywhere in particular, though many stretched their necks to the tops of the tallest trees and examined them, most likely for food. Even if these giant screamers did not want to eat them, how could the people possibly walk among such creatures and make it to those hills?

In the sky, over the heads of the distant long-necked animals, flew hundreds of flyer-looking creatures. This land belonged to others, Irin thought—perhaps he had brought his people too far.

As the destructive beast moved farther away from them, people began to run back to the scene to see who was killed, who was injured, and who still hid. Many new were crying, and the tears spread to others when word traveled about who had been crushed: Dit, Odit, and two others who could not be easily recognized. Dit and his woman had been friends to many.