Part 7 (1/2)
The other man shakes his head. ”I ain't sure it's real talk at all. I think he's just makin' crazy noises.”
”Hand over the sack, man!”
”Hey, watch out for that pig-sticker he's got.”
”s.h.i.+t. I'm gonna hang that spear on my wall. You circle around on his a.s.s. First one with an open shot cuts out the f.u.c.ker's heart.”
Veil s.h.i.+fts his weight to his opposite foot and hefts his spear as the short man begins circling to his left. The Newyorkcities are leaving him no choice, he thinks. Their intentions are clear, and he wastes no further time in waiting. Suddenly he leaps forward, thrusting the spearhead through the taller man's throat.
Antic.i.p.ating a knife thrust from his left flank, Veil spins away from the expected direction of attack, freeing the spearhead from the dead man's neck with a flick of his wrist. He ends in a crouch, weight slightly forward on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, spear held ready to impale the other attacker.
But the second man makes no move of any kind. He stands very still, hands shaking at his sides as he stares in horror at the nearly decapitated body spouting blood over the stone path.
”s.h.i.+t, man, you killed him! You killed Mason!”
Veil takes two running-steps and thrusts with his spear. The man screeches and tries to twist away, but the spearhead slices into his shoulder. Veil pulls back the spear, and the man slumps to the ground. Veil leaps into position to make a kill-thrust, but the pitiful helplessness and strange behavior of the man cowering on the stone path makes him hesitate.
The Newyorkcity warrior is crying. His face is wet with tears.
”Holy s.h.i.+t. You gonna kill me too? Don't kill me, man. I'm really sorry.”
At first Veil is confused by the tears in the man's eyes, then he is disgusted; never before has he seen a warrior weep. ”I will not kill you,” Veil says contemptuously as he picks up the knife the man has dropped and puts it into his sling. ”Give thanks to the Nal-toon.”
Immediately dismissing the battle with the two Newyorkcities from his mind, Veil moves across the stone path and into a thin line of trees. There he crouches and peers over the top of the stone wall that separates Centralpark from the rest of Newyorkcity. The street, filled with cars when he first ran across it, is now almost empty.
Veil climbs over the wall and races across the street to a dark area between two buildings. He presses back against one of the buildings and waits, watching and listening. There are no shouts or wailing sounds, no sign that anyone has seen him.
He goes on, sprinting from one shadow-area to another, until he eventually finds his way blocked by a building unlike any he has seen before. It is not as tall as many of the others he has pa.s.sed, but it sprawls for a considerable distance to both the north and south, blocking his path. Newyorkcities in white clothes go in and out of its many openings.
He finds a way around the building, then turns east again. He walks across a stone field filled with empty cars, climbs over a metal barrier, and drops to the gra.s.sy earth on the other side. He crosses a very wide street, then crouches and stares in awe at the vast, swiftly moving body of water Reyna had called a river. He has never imagined there could be so much water in one place, water that seems to flow forever, with no beginning and no end.
In the middle of the river, directly in his path, is land with buildings on it. He must somehow reach that land, Veil thinks; the sky is beginning to glow, and he needs a place to go to ground during the day when the Newyorkcities come out.
He has no idea how deep this river is; the water is too murky to tell. However deep it is, it must be crossed. He will have to wade and trust in the Nal-toon to see him safely across. He is running out of time.
The river may well come up to his neck, Veil thinks, and he does not want the Nal-toon to get wet. He removes the sling from around his neck, wraps it tightly around the Nal-toon, the spear, and the knife. Holding the bundle above his head, he begins to walk down the steep incline leading to the river.
He has only gone a few steps when he slips on wet stones and plunges into the water. His mind screams in panic as foul-smelling water closes over his head, blinding him, filling his nose and mouth. He stretches his legs, frantically searching for a bottom that isn't there. Now he will die, Veil thinks; he will sink forever and be buried beneath this depthless Newyorkcity river.
However, despite his panic, Veil has never lost his grip on the Nal-toon. Now G.o.d slowly begins to carry him back to the surface.
Veil is choking, but he manages to control his cough reflex and hold his breath as he clings to the clothes in which he has wrapped the Nal-toon. After a few moments his head pops above the surface. Coughing and choking, swallowing water, he heaves his body across the Nal-toon, wraps his arms around G.o.d, and holds on. The choking spasms pa.s.s, and Veil frantically gulps air while he breathes a prayer of thanks to G.o.d, Who is now transporting him across the river on His back.
But then Veil realizes that a great effort on his part is still required; there is fantastic power in the movement of the river's great, wet body, and that movement is carrying him to the south. If he does not fight that power, Veil thinks, he will be carried past the land and helplessly swept down the middle of the river, where the Newyorkcities will easily kill him with their bang-sticks.
Ignoring the pain in his left arm, Veil uses it alone to grip the Nal-toon. He lashes out with his feet and beats at the water with his free hand, struggling with all his might against the force of the river. The muscles in his arms and legs begin to burn, but he struggles even harder; he closes his eyes and increases the tempo of his thras.h.i.+ng. When he opens his eyes and glances up, he finds he is only a short distance from the land.
Suddenly he is caught in a small tidal whirlpool and spun around. He reaches out with his handa”and his fingers catch in a crevice between two large rocks. With his last strength he pulls himself in to the land. He clambers up over rocks, then falls, gasping for breath, on dewy gra.s.s.
He is cold and thirsty. He does not want to drink any more of the foul-smelling water, for he fears that it may be poisoned. However, he feels that he has no choice but to slake his thirst now, while he has the chance, for he has not pa.s.sed a single spring and he has no idea where the Newyorkcities draw their water. Having caught his breath, he lies on his belly on the rocks and drinks; the water tastes terrible, but it dulls his thirst.
Veil rises, turns, and starts to walk toward the nearest building. He has gone only a few steps when he stops and tenses as a sleepy-looking Newyorkcity emerges from one of the buildings and begins walking almost directly toward him on one of the stone paths. Veil grips the shaft of his spear but does not draw the head from its wrapping of clothes.
The man barely glances at Veil. ”Good morning,” he says, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
Veil senses no threat in the man's tone or bearing, and he allows him to pa.s.s by. ”Go in peace,” he says softly.
It is growing lighter. Veil puts his bundle under his arm and moves toward a s.p.a.ce between two buildings.
”Hey, you! Where the h.e.l.l do you think you're going?”
This voice, coming from Veil's left, is definitely threatening. Veil quickly places his bundle on the ground, pulls the spear free, and wheels to find a Newyorkcity warrior, dressed in blue clothes and carrying a bang-stick, running toward him. Knowing that his spear is useless against a bang-stick, Veil picks up the bundle and sprints in the opposite direction, along the side of the building.
”Stop, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, or I'll shoot your black a.s.s!”
Veil rounds the building, races to the end, turns left, and runs down a lane of gra.s.s bounded by the river and the building. He sees a narrow opening, ducks into it. The pa.s.sageway reeks of rotting, unburied sc.r.a.ps of food, but there are piles of battered metal objects behind which he can hide. He crouches down behind three of the objects and waits, spear held ready, certain that he can kill his attacker at close range.
The enemy warrior appears at the entrance to the pa.s.sageway a few seconds later. The man's face is flushed, and Veil can hear the breath rasping in his lungs. The hand holding the bang-stick is shaking as the man moves slowly into the pa.s.sageway.
Veil is about to leap out and hurl his spear when the warrior suddenly stops. He wipes a glistening sheen of sweat from his face, then begins to back away.
”s.h.i.+t. I'm not about to risk my a.s.s on a part-time job. f.u.c.k him.”
Veil smiles grimly and allows himself to relax as the Newyorkcity disappears from sight. He rearranges his bundle into a sling that he can once again carry around his neck, then looks up and squints into the bright sunlight at the end of the pa.s.sageway. The light makes his head ache and his eyes burn. He is beginning to feel sick and dizzy, and he knows that he must quickly find a place to go to ground.
Directly above his head is a metal structure with small platforms that project from the side of the building. He might be able to go to ground on top of the building, he thinks. He leaps for the bottom of the metal structure, grips it, and is pleasantly surprised when a portion of the structure swings down, making it simple for him to climb; as he does so, the bottom portion of the structure swings back into its original position.
Veil lies down on the sticky, pebbled surface on top of the building and stares out over Newyorkcity. This land is so vast, he thinks, so strange. In all directions, buildings thrust toward the sky; countless cars speed along on countless streets, which crisscross and stretch into the distance as far as he can see. . . .
Suddenly, without warning, his entire body spews sweat, and he feels his insides begin to churn. Something is terribly wrong with him, Veil thinks, and he quickly removes his cloak and loincloth so as not to soil himself. Then he vomits, and he continues retching long after there is nothing left in his stomach. He collapses on his right side, gasping for breatha”and then the process begins all over again.
At last, exhausted and barely able to see, Veil drags himself away from the soiled area, then collapses in a pool of his own sweat and pa.s.ses out.
In Veil's dream, his Toby awakens groggy and disoriented. Then he remembers: The Newyorkcities are after him and he is sicka”probably from poisoned water. But he must go on.
Veil tries to stand but cannot. He loses track of time as he lies sprawled on the hot surface, only half conscious. His flesh burns, and he cannot remember ever being so thirsty; he is so thirsty, Veil thinks, that he would even drink more of the poisoned watera”if only he could get to it.
He must go on. If he remains where he is, the Newyorkcities will eventually find and kill him. He must go on. Suddenly it is night, although Veil's Toby does not remember sleeping. He does not know how much time has pa.s.sed since he climbed to the top of the building, and his fever-thirst is now so great that his swollen tongue fills the back of his throat, making it difficult for him to swallow and breathe.
He stinks of sickness.
”Give me strength, Nal-toon,” he murmurs.
He struggles to his knees, then laboriously rises to his feet. Sweat oozes in great drops from his pores, rolls and gathers into a s.h.i.+ning film; his flesh steams in the cool night air. He sways, but manages to remain standing, leaning on his spear for support, he hitches the sling over his shoulder and staggers across the top of the building to the metal structure. Slowly he descends, concentrating intently on each hand- and foothold.
On the ground he moves unsteadily off to his left, then crosses a narrow bridge that spans this arm of the river. The sight and sound of the water playing against his jagged thirst is almost overwhelming, but Veil now has second thoughts about drinking it; the Nal-toon will not reward him for stupidity or weakness, he thinks, and he must search for sweet water to cool his fever and purge his body. He manages to align himself with a chosen landmark, staggers on.