The Crash of Hennington (19 page)

Peter got up and went straight to business in the kitchen, cooking the first food that came to hand and trying to come up with something, anything to say that would help. He finally set a bowl of pasta on the table.

—The whole reason I came here was to tell you that I’ve fallen in love with you, and I know it’ll never work for a million reasons, but how could I not tell you?

—I’m not sure that’s going to be enough.

—It will be. Trust me, it will.

42. Refuge for the Weary.

Under seven wool blankets and a space heater that made the small bedroom swelter, Jacki was freezing. She huddled herself into a ball, but there was really no use and she knew it. The cold was coming from inside her, from a vibrating steel column that stretched from her stomach to her brain, sending cold pathways out from the center of her body. She shook and shook and pulled the blankets around her tighter.

—Is there anything more I can do for you at all, Jacki?

Huddled in her blanket cocoon, Jacki struggled to shake her head. Davis had opened up her home as a place to hide, for make no mistake about it, they all knew that hiding was exactly what Jacki was doing. After she had explained some of her history to Davis and Joanie, they insisted that she not go back to work. She obeyed, reporting a vague, open-ended illness. They had then gone a step further, bundling Jacki into Davis’ home, into the vacated bedroom of a son who had left for college. Joanie had immediately called in a doctor, Dr Ketcham, an ancient Rumour who had been practicing medicine in the Rumour community for almost fifty years. He had spoken in a voice filled with sand.

—You don’t have to worry, Ms Strell, Joanie’s explained everything. No one will hear from me where you are.

—Thank you. How am I going to get through this without dying?

—Well, I won’t lie to you and tell you you have an easy path in front of you. Forum is hard to kick but not impossible. The Recatur will help to wean you off. I’ll show Davis how to give you the shots until you can do it yourself. You’re going to be going through some pretty horrible things, Ms Strell. Your body is going to punish you for not taking the Forum, but it can be done. Try to keep as warm as you can, and rest as much as you can, too. I’ll call every day, and I’ll stop by often. You take care of yourself. You’re going to make it. That man has ruined enough lives. He’s not going to get yours. Not if I can help it.

—You know Thomas Banyon?

—I know that he’s ravaged more than one young Rumour that’s passed through my care. Some of the things I’ve seen would turn your eyes back in your head. If I can save someone from his grasp, I consider it only justice.

—Wait a minute. Is this the Rumour Underground?

Dr Ketcham smiled.

—Of course not. That doesn’t exist, now does it?

Then he winked.

In no time, Jacki realized that taking Recatur was better than going cold turkey, but only just. It was like offering a communion wafer to a starving man: it served the minimal purpose but missed the point entirely. All Recatur did was satisfy the physiological demand that the liver developed for a certain chemical in Forum – and only half did that, because the point was to get rid of that dependency. It did nothing to satisfy the
brain’s
physiological craving for Forum because that allegedly wasn’t fatal, and of course, it didn’t even try to satisfy the emotional and psychological dependency, because that was the thing you were supposed to let go of. Death was still the hard option but only by the slimmest of margins.

Despite the difficulties, despite the impossibility of getting warm, after three days of Recatur and plain old withdrawal she was starting to notice a difference, if only slight, and that gave her some hope. She wasn’t shivering quite so badly this afternoon, and this morning she had almost eaten a whole banana. Her breasts were intensely sore, the milk from them having taken on a yellow sheen as it dribbled out in thoroughly unattractive spasms, but she was sure now that the withdrawal from Forum wasn’t going to kill her body. It was her mind that was giving her the most trouble.

She craved Forum every waking second, in spite of everything, in spite of all it had done, she
craved.
This was different from wanting. She didn’t want Forum, didn’t want to be anywhere near it. Davis and Joanie had brought the rest of her small stash from her office because they were afraid of her dying, but in an act of brutal, terrifying will, Jacki had told them to pour it out and to smash the hypos. Her voice
had been so desperate and scary that Joanie had obeyed without a pause and had even taken the remains to a public garbage can miles away just to be sure. Jacki regretted asking them even before she said it, but there seemed to be two Jackis now. The old one had lived for the drug, happily offering herself to Thomas’ services for the sweet metallic kiss of the needle. But, it seemed, a new Jacki had been born in that moment of clarity upon waking in the back seat of Joanie’s car, thinking she was dying and remembering how it all began. The battle was on. The new Jacki was fighting tooth and nail to keep herself alive.

Davis, sweet, tender Davis, stood shyly at the door, waiting to see if Jacki really didn’t need anything more.

—It’s okay, Davis. Come on in.

—I just wanted to tell you. Joanie stopped by your house to check on things, and there were flowers on the doorstep for you.

—Flowers? From who?

Davis licked her lips once and averted her eyes.

—I think you might be in some danger.

—Thomas.

—Yes. I only tell you because if he comes looking, we might have to set you on the move. I think you’re safe here for now, but he knows things, Mr Banyon does. He finds things out.

—Yes, Davis. I know. I don’t want to put you at risk.

—Don’t worry about me. You just concentrate on getting well, but I wanted you to know that he’s noticed you’re gone.

—I bring in a lot of money for him.

—Used to.

—Beg pardon?

—You
used to
bring in a lot of money for him.

Davis’ smile was small but heartfelt.

—Thanks, Davis. I hope that’s true. I really do.

43. Max Has The Same Conversation.

—You know I’m grateful for all the things you’ve done for me.

—Oh, shit, it’s a ‘no', isn’t it?

—Good God, Cora, don’t I even get a preamble?

—Is there any real point to one?

—Yes. I want you to know I’m not a complete ingrate.

—I already know that, Max. It’s in every bit of work you’ve ever done for me. You’ve been an invaluable friend and advisor. I’d have to be a monster to just forget all that at the first sign of disappointment.

—So you’re really not surprised then?

—In a way. I was hoping it wouldn’t be true, but I can’t say that I honestly didn’t expect it, especially after our conversation on Thursday.

—I am truly sorry to be doing this to you at the last minute.

—Better late than never, and looked at objectively, it’s not even something you’re rightfully doing to me. Ideally, you were running for Mayor and I was helping. In that case, I don’t have any right to expect consideration.

—But we both know that’s not true.

—To an extent. And I am disappointed, but I want to be clear on this. My disappointment is that I think Hennington is losing out on a great Mayor. I think you would have been terrific at the job. I think the city would have loved you, and I think you would have loved them back. Any other personal disappointment is pure hubris.

—Come on, Cora. This is all very reserved for you. I’d actually feel better if you yelled at me for a bit.

—What? And tell you that you dropping out is a huge
pain in my ass? It is. There’s a part of me that wants to box your ears. But I’m not your mother, and even if I were, well, this is just one of those things that happens. Life deals you something, you gotta play it.

—Yeah, I guess so.

—Oh, shit, Max, are you sure this is what you want to do?

—What happened to playing with what you’re dealt?

—It’s a metaphor and a stupid one. An opportunity like this doesn’t come along twice in a lifetime.

—I’m not turning away lightly, Cora. I really feel like it’s the right thing for me, the right thing for Talon, the right thing for us to have a good life together.

—Do you know what you want to do instead?

—I’ve got some ideas. I’ve got a law degree that I’ve never used. I could do some good with it. Maybe formalize a job protecting The Crash, like when we handled the wheat blight.

—All well and good, but nobility doesn’t always pay the bills.

—Neither does being Assistant Mayor, and there’s more to life than money anyway, which you know.

—But you’ve got your daughter to think of as well.

—Of course there are questions, but I’m still convinced it’s the right decision.

—Are you sure?

—Sure enough.

—Sure enough doesn’t cut it. Are you sure?

—I’m sure.

—Then hell, that’s all you really need. That and the bravery to go through with it.

—Yes, I guess so. I just need the flesh to agree with the spirit.

—I wish you luck then.

—I’d like to keep working here until I find another place, or at least until the next election.

—Of course, of course. Bloody
hell,
I’m going to miss the future you would have brought.

—Could
have brought. If I didn’t want the job, who knows what sort of mayor I’d have been?

—You would have been great, Max. Trust me on that. Despite all your doubts. You would have been magnificent.

44. The Crash and The Injured Calf.

Something was wrong with the thin creature that followed them. He – for, alone among the thin creatures, he was recognized as having a sex; they had seen it, pitifully small as it was, on the rare occasions when he shed his outer skin – he had taken on a new smell, a scent so powerful it was impossible
not
to notice if he was anywhere around. He had always been fragrant, especially to the sensitive noses of the herd, some of whom occasionally pushed him lightly to one side when he was getting in the way of their grazing. It was difficult to enjoy eating flanked by odors of old sweat, festering sores, and who knew what else. Lately though, this new, horrible, sour smell had found its way into the mix, strong enough for some of the herdmembers to react violently to it, snorting loudly at the thin creature to drive him back.

Nothing like this had ever happened before. He was a fixture of the herd and that was all, something to be ignored most of the time. She couldn’t recall another period when the animals had so actively avoided him. Most of the time, they didn’t even notice he was there. She usually kept an eye on him in a general way, but his new smell kept pushing in at the edges. Moreover, it didn’t seem to be a normal sort of
smell at all. Bad scents inhabited the world just like good ones. They provided information. Eat this, don’t eat that. That was all. The thin creature’s smell, on the other hand, seemed purely aggressive, as if it only existed to offend. It was unnatural and, in some respects, unsettling, too.

She suspected he was sick, and whatever it was that caused the smell was also beginning to affect his behavior. This morning, for the first time in the twenty-five seasons she had been alive, he had tried to climb on her back. She was grazing quietly, twisting her ears to the buzz of the heat, when her nose suddenly filled with the new smell and something touched her side. Instinctively, she whirled her massive body away, but as lightly as possible. She knew he was no threat and took care not to hurt him. He landed on the ground with an oomph and sat looking at her, panting wildly. He gurgled out a strangled sound, slowly pulled himself up, and walked towards her again. She moved to face him, keeping her horn between them and allowing herself a better look.

(—I’ll be damned. Did you see that?

—What?

—That smelly sod who follows The Crash just tried to climb up on one and it threw him off.

—And?

—No ‘and', just, I’d never seen that before.

—Do you know how hot it’s supposed to get today?

—Well, yeah—

—Then quit jabbering about animals and get back to work. The roof’s not going to fix itself.

—I was just—

—Shut it and work.

—Yes, sir.)

The smell made her want to back away as quickly as possible, but as leader she needed to always be alert to the unprecedented,
which this surely was. He continued his approach, waving his forelegs and emitting short, odd sounds. The stench was unbearable, and she instinctively began to step back. But no, she should not be the one who relented. This thin creature should recognize her greater size. He needed to be made to understand what his place was. He stepped forward and placed a hand on her horn. Holding her breath, she jerked her head sideways sharply, flinging his hand away and tapping him in the face. He fell backwards once again, and once again rose to his feet and stepped towards her.

She reared up her weight and made a short charge forward, bumping him full on with the flatter front of her horn. The force of the impact knocked him off his feet. He flew backwards, hitting the grass with a surprisingly hard thud. She watched him as he landed. For a full moment, he lay there, looking back up at her, in itself unusual since he never seemed to be looking directly at anything. He slowly drew himself back to his feet, holding his side with his foreleg. He seemed to take the hint and moved away, staring at her.

For the rest of the day, he kept his distance, until finally, as dusk was falling, he recovered a little, moving back into his usual muttering stance just beyond the edges of the herd. He sat leaning against a rock near where the field ended, making sounds to himself and touching his side over and over again. She walked slowly across the darkening grass towards where he sat, trying to see … what? There was no communicating with the thin creatures. Their calls were incomprehensible, and on the whole, they were intolerably frantic, loud, and bad-smelling. She had no idea how to gauge an injury on such a thing, yet still she walked, keeping her distance so as not to frighten him.