In the Deadlands (33 page)

                                             
for Carl
                                             
and for me too
                                             
and

                                       
Crawl.

                                       
Crawl.

                                       
Crawl.

CRAWL, YOU SHIVERING BASTARD

One hand.

Now the other...

One knee.

Now the other...

And whimper.

                                             
the deadlands
                                             
and the rocks
                                             
—especially the rocks—
                                             
the warm embracing
                                             
rocks.

Scraping

over jagged rocks,

flesh

is torn from flesh,

limb

is torn from limb,

entrails shattered

in a gutted belly.

                                             
we are fulfilled
                                             
and the warmth

                                             
floods through us
                                             
right up to the
                                             
top of our very being
                                             
and

BUT KEEP CRAWLING

Every living cell

screams

in white searing agony,

writhing

and burning

and turning

and twisting

and dissolving

into gobbets of terror...

Put one hand in front of you.

There, where you can see it.

Now, the other...

Now a knee,

a knee...

MOVE THAT KNEE

Look down.

Deep rasping breath.

And move that knee.

                                             
i scream in defiance
                                             
of all that is holy.

OH MY DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN

It is more than human flesh can stand.

i am rooted to the floor

                                       
and slowly

                                       
my cells must crystallize

                                       
and my limbs

                                       
must stiffen

                                       
and i must become

                                       
one of t h e l i v i n g

                                       
t o r t u r e d

 

One hundred and fifty knots.

And out.

                                                             
Is it somewhere
                                                             
something
                                                             
howls in defeat?

In the Deadlands

i lie here on the deadlands floor

gasping for breath.

                                       
We
are me again

                                       
with a cold bright clarity.

Nerve ends tingle

marvelling at unbroken flesh.

Clawed hands scratch futilely at the rock.

Unnecessarily,

for i am out.

                                       
We
become aware

                                       
of my body

                                       
here on the deadlands floor.

Deep rasping gasping breaths.

Sweet silence in the soul.

Only the sound of my lungs

sucking in air

and blowing it out again.

After a bit i raise my head.

i stagger to my feet

and

                                       
No.

                                       
Something is wrong.

                                       
We
are confused.

                                       
We
shake my head to clear it.

There.

That's better.

I am me again.

I am separate from them again.

I am unchanged.

It is time to go,

time to leave the deadlands.

I move out.

                                       
Step...

                                       
Step...

                                       
Step...

Every step sounds hollow.

And more than hollow.

Every step echoes.

I walk on,

leaving the deadlands.

                                       
The deadlands floor
                                       
is hot and wasted,
                                       
spattered with the color of
                                       
blood.

                                       
The deadlands sky
                                       
is empty and unfeeling.
                                       
The sun is implacable.

The deadlands floor is pitted and gouged and scarred.

It catches and grabs, but

I am walking out
of the deadlands.

                                       
Step...

                                       
Step...

                                       
Step...

                                       
The sun
                                       
is high and bright and cold.

                                       
And there is a presence,

                                             
silent,
                                             
dark,
                                             
tuneless and brooding.

                                       
It envelops
                                       
hotly.
                                       
It throbs
                                       
and pulses.

                                       
It radiates
                                       
a warm sense of...
                                       
belonging,
                                       
and touches.

                                             
a cold taste of lonely...
                                             
desire
                                             
for that hot throbbing
                                             
something.

                                       
I stare into the empty east.

                                       
Far beyond the horizon
                                       
is something

                                             
faint and faraway,
                                             
softly
                                             
crooning,

I wish I could remember what it is.

After a bit,

I turn.

I turn to the west.

I begin walking out.

               
Out.

               
Out.

               
Out of the deadlands.

               
Out.

               
I am coming out.

               
Out.

               
I am coming out of the deadlands.

               
Out.

                                             
And a distant chorus
                                             
Cries ...

Follow the crease in the deadlands floor.

And run

run

run

run
                
as hard as you can

run
                
as fast as you can

run
                
Get as far away as you can.

run

run

                           
From out of the deadlands

run
                                          
comes

                                                
a softly keening

run

                           
voice of something

run
                                          
faint and faraway

                                                 
something

run

                                                 
dark and brooding

run

                                                 
And run.

run

                                                 
Run.

run

run

run

run

run

run

run
                
One foot in front of the other.

run
                
That's all that's important.

run
                
Just keep putting one foot in front of the

                      
other.

run

                                                
The deadlands calls

run

run