Botanicaust (4 page)

“
You never wear the bracelets I gave you.
”
Albert put on a sulky face.
“
And they
’
re not looking at us. Even Jobie has found something to occupy him.
”
He nodded to where the boy had his entire body spread against the transparent wall as if he could push through to the skimmer on the other side.

“
Oh, Jo Boy. No. Come here. Let
’
s read the lesson.
”
She hurried to gather the child away from the glass, glad for the distraction.

The fact was Mo
had
bought her jewelry. She had a whole case of necklaces, earrings, bracelets, rings, and anklets at home, from Mo and previous lovers. No self-respecting Haldanian ever bought jewelry for themselves, and the more bangles and baubles a person wore, the more loved he was perceived to be. But she couldn
’
t seem to embrace the ostentatious display.

Mo understood. He was a convert, just like her. They both respected their photosynthesis too much to cover it, even with jewelry. To do so would be an insult to the conversion technology that had saved them. Albert was native Haldanian; for him, photosynthesis was like breathing. The only time she covered her skin was in the lab, when she donned a long coat to ward off the underground chill, and the coat
’
s material was so thin it was virtually transparent.

As she coaxed Jo Boy away from the glass, a call came over the
com
system.
“
Dr. Macoby, report to Confinement for briefing.
”

With a glance at Albert, she grinned and patted Jo Boy goodbye. The call meant only one thing
—
potential converts were on the way.

Amarantox Plains

Across the river, an old road sliced a line through the dusty brown plains for as far as Levi could see. He stood at the threshold of an ancient trestle bridge spanning the wide channel between two cut banks of red-brown limestone. Water swamped the tamarisk along the shore, allowing only the gray-green tips of the fronds to sway above the current.

Behind him, the crumbling remains of an old city lay buried in weeds. He
’
d had to resist the temptation to pause and explore the fallen structures
—
the engraved cornerstone on a brick wall, the tangle of plastic pipes hanging from a rusted metal girder, a paved stairway descending into an opening in the earth. What had life been like back then, to live without the constant awareness of the thin electric wire separating civilization from cannibalism? To travel freely from one shore to another
—
and farther
—
in a matter of hours?

That kind of hubris had led to the rest of mankind
’
s demise, according to the Brethren. In the Third Fall of Man, people didn
’
t respect the Earth that God put into man
’
s care. But the Old Order remained faithful to the Ordnung, the earthly laws of God, and the Holdout was spared.

Levi turned his back on the ruins and moved on. He didn
’
t have time to dally with the past. The lessons of the Days of the Prophet had been drilled into him well enough as a child.

Until now, he
’
d followed the river close to the banks. When he
’
d come to tributaries, he
’
d forded them or sometimes dared an old bridge. But now he had to cross the river and break toward the stone buttes rising into the distant sky.

Like the open asphalt roadways, this bridge would be a natural pathway for others, including cannibals. Levi hunkered near a rusty girder to survey the path ahead. Crossing the wide expanse of water without a bridge would be unwise, at best. The roiling water bobbed with debris and detritus that proved its unforgiving strength. He had no option but to cross the crumbling concrete and exposed metal.

Muscles trembling, he hurried to the next support beam, as if sprinting from tree to tree in the apple orchard in a game of hide and seek. The pavement gaped with holes; the edges of the bridge were nothing but sagging, rusty mesh and iron rods. A few empty husks of what had once been cars littered the roadway. He wondered about the people who
’
d abandoned the vehicles. Had
they been overtaken by cannibals
? Had they become cannibals? Where had they been fleeing when they
’
d finally deserted the car?

Stop thinking and move. You have a destination.

At the center of the span, he glanced over the edge as a jumble of tamarisk branches spun past at dizzying speed. He
’
d never been so high in the air, and a wave of vertigo overtook him. Clutching a beam, he caught his breath and focused on the other shore. Rusty metal cut into his fingertips, but he didn
’
t mind. The pain helped ground him. With carefully placed steps, he slid to the next brace and the next, until he completed the crossing.

With a final glance at the bridge, he started down the road into what appeared to be desert. No longer lush with green waves of amarantox, the hard-packed red earth had crusted like cracked pottery, fissures spreading from riverbank to horizon. Spindly stems of knapweed and a strange, rounded shrub with variegated leaves intermingled with dwarf amarantox stands.

The sun beat upon his shoulders with an intensity that made him wonder if another sunstorm was coming, or if the penetrating heat was due to the change in landscape. The brim of his hat shadowed his eyes and the back of his neck, but the sun penetrated his clothing and parched his skin. Perhaps he should hide under the blanket until nightfall.

Focused on the sun, he didn
’
t notice the whiff of smoke until he stumbled into the empty camp. Startled, he froze, eyes on the rosy coals of a small campfire. No sign of cannibals. He scanned the scraggly plants, horizon to horizon. Nothing.

Well, if they weren
’
t going to bother him, he wouldn
’
t bother them. He turned to the buttes on the horizon, but a tiny sob and intake of breath from the brush halted him. Someone
was
there. Something shivered against the earth, and he realized a person knelt next to a rounded bush, auburn-haired head to the ground, dirty rags of clothing blending in better than his blanket could.

Now was not the time or place to be a Good Samaritan. But what if God was testing him? What if someone needed help? What if it was a trap?

A whimper came again, and he stepped toward the figure.
“
Do you need help?
”

With a grunting cry, the form rocked back to a squat, and he saw it was a woman, belly grotesquely swollen in pregnancy. Her pained face told him all he needed to know. Her people had abandoned her to give birth alone.

He
’
d only taken three steps toward her when a change in air pressure made him pause. A swirl of dust swept the hat from his head. He looked up to find himself face to face with a hovering metal craft, silent until a roar of flame spouted from the barrel of a gun on one side.

The woman screamed.

T
he Burn

Haldanian Protectorate

Tula jogged up the stairs from Confinement two at a time, headed to the duster pad outside. Heat from the tarmac slammed into her like a fist as she exited the climate controlled building, and she had to lift a hand to shield her eyes from the sudden sunlight. Two Med techs wheeled a screaming woman down the ramp on a gurney. Tula stepped aside so they could pass, assessing the prisoner
’
s swollen belly and shaking her head sadly. They
’
d keep the baby. But the woman was another matter.

At the door to the duster, Mo gestured to one of the other techs, hand on his weapon. He saw Tula and smiled broadly. She grinned back and loped across the asphalt.

“
Hey, baby,
”
he said, pulling her close to his side with a one-armed embrace.

Inside the duster, two techs urged a male prisoner to his feet. The big man sat on his knees, palms pressed together as he mumbled. A flash of dizziness passed over Tula, and she swayed.

“
Whoa,
”
Mo looked down at her.
“
You haven
’
t even kissed me, yet. Another Burn Op beat me to it?
”

He liked to joke that she only stayed with him for the high of his kisses. She smiled weakly at him, glad to look away from the prisoner.
“
I can make my own drugs if I need to, thank you very much.
”

He laughed and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“
Not if you never come out for air. You need me, baby.
”

“
What is this?
”
She indicated the man in the duster. The techs had him on his feet, but he kept his hands together and his lips moving.

“
Hey, if they
’
re not struggling, I bring them in. I
’
d just as soon flash them all.
”

She shuddered, well aware of his position on cannibals.
“
Do you have any idea how hard it is to prove consent?
”

Mo shrugged and handed her a notebook.
“
That
’
s your job, not mine. He had this with him.
”

She frowned at the book. Paper books were primitive, but cannibals were
not known for their literacy.
He must have found it in some ruins.
She tucked the book under her arm and stepped within reach of the prisoner. Mo gripped his gun tighter. Although he was huge for a cannibal, the captive remained incredibly docile. She spoke the Cannibal dialect, similar to, but simpler than Haldanian.
“
You hurt?
”

The man continued his singsong drone, looking at the ground and ignoring her.

“
He was with the mother?
”

“
Standing right over her. Didn
’
t put up one gram of resistance. Maybe you can convert a whole family,
”
Mo teased.

Tula pursed her lips in thought.
A whole family?
What a novel idea. She put a hand on the man
’
s shoulder. His
singsong
grew louder, the cadence familiar in a way that made her tremble. She dropped her hand and backed away. Swallowing to regain her composure, she turned to the tech.
“
When the mother comes out of labor, put her and the baby in the cell with him.
”

“
Doctor?
”

“
The baby can wait for conversion a few days. We don
’
t often have a chance to study cannibal family dynamics. If we can better understand them, we might lower the reversion ratio.
”