Nowhere Land Page 3

  If the vast, salmon-colored animals had any other external feature, MoSteel had not seen it. No eyes, ears, tails, or arms.

  Here comes one, Jobs said. I think itll come close.

  MoSteel squinted. The sun was pretty bright now, at least by contrast with the last few days. And the copper sea reflected it in blinding flashes.

  I dont know, Duck. Im thinking hes too far to the right. But some of them have to come close.

  The Blimp herds size was hard to guess: They blocked one another from view. MoSteel had counted at least seven, but that might be all. Or there might be five hundred more coming right behind them.

  MoSteel had taken the boomerang and with Jobss help knotted and weaved together belts and shirtsleeves and underwear elastic to make a ten-foot rope of sorts. The boomerang was attached to the rope at one end, and the other end was looped around MoSteels left wrist. Ten feet wasnt much: The Blimp would have to come close.

  Twenty minutes passed till he was able to take his first shot. The boomerang hit, stuck, then tore loose, and the Blimp was past. Impossible to chase the creature in the water. The Blimps were moving at only about five miles per hour, but that was faster than even MoSteel could run through chest-high water.

  Then, just as he was about to make his second attempt, he was struck by an eel that glommed onto his knee and made him miss his chance.

  An hour passed. And another. And now it was clear that the herd was mostly gone. Just a handful of the behemoths were still on approach.

  MoSteel tried to ignore the rising chorus of complaints, advice, and bitter accusations that wafted toward him from the group. They were sick of standing helpless in the water. They were hungry although no one at least was thirsty after they broke down and decided to sample the copper-colored water.

  More than hungry and bored, the Remnants seemed to MoSteel to be dispirited. A fistfight actually broke out between Burroway and T.R., but the water kept them from doing too much damage to each other. A three-way shouting match involving Wylson, Yago, and 2Face came shortly thereafter.

  MoSteel made a disgusted noise.

  Were not an impressive bunch of people, are we? Jobs commented as they watched another Blimp float past, well out of reach.

  I dont know, migo, MoSteel said. I guess everyones pretty shook up, is all.

  This should be the cream of the crop. I mean, look who we have: a bunch of people who were either brilliant or successful or else the children of people who were brilliant or successful. Burroway and T.R. slapping each other? Jobs shook his head.

  MoSteel had to smile. Somehow anytime Jobs grew depressed or morbid it always shook MoSteel out of his own bad mood. Having a Ph.D. isnt quite the same as being a saint.

  No. I guess not. But, man, were it. Were all thats left of Homo sapiens . We have a responsibility not to be complete sphincters.

  MoSteel laughed. Sphincters?

  Hey, my butt hurts, all right? I got stabbed in the rear, remember? Who knows what this water is doing to it. Probably a thousand alien germs and viruses. So, sorry if my mind is on the butt area, in general.

  MoSteel squinted. Definitely a Blimp on track. Ten minutes away still. My mom says probably not. The germs, I mean. She is a biologist. So . . .

  Jobs shrugged. Yeah, probably not. This is Mothers default setting, but why would she stock the program with viruses? Let alone viruses that feed on humans? Come to think of it, were the virus in this environment.

  Its kind of pretty, though, isnt it? MoSteel said. I mean, if we werent standing in it, but we were on a boat just looking at it? The water and the weird shaky trees and the Blimps and all?

  Jobs gave him a sour look. Sometimes you just get on my nerves, you know that?

  But MoSteel knew hed pushed one of Jobss buttons: The boy was a sucker for beauty. A well-formed tree, a sunset, a suddenly revealed panorama, they could freeze Jobs in midword, make him forget what he was doing, leave him staring, silent, oblivious to anything else.

  And thats what he was doing right now. MoSteel heard the silence. Jobs was taking it all in, getting around the fact that he was in a mess and appreciating the beauty of the mess.

  MoSteel returned his own attention to the Blimp. It was coming straight on. Maybe a little left. Yeah, a little left.

  I think this is our bus, MoSteel said.

  Jobs gave a startled jerk, focused, nodded. Oh. Yeah. Looks good.

  MoSteel began drifting left. Then he started running, slo-mo steps through the water, thrashing and splashing as the Blimp closed in.

  Get it this time, get it! someone shouted.

  Go, Mo! Go, Mo!

  MoSteel shot anxious looks over his shoulder, ran, plunged into a hole, and went under. He came shooting right back up but now had to swim to catch the Blimp, and swimming with ten feet of rope and a boomerang was not easy.

  His feet touched down, and now the water was only thigh-deep. He ran in great, splashing bounds as the gigantic balloon loomed over him. It was huge, an impossibly vast volume, yet not frightening. MoSteel was a tick trying to hitch a ride on a passing Great Dane.

  He would get his shot, he realized. He would get his shot.

  He stopped, poised, took a steadying breath, and threw the boomerang.

  It hit and slid off.

  You idiot! someone shouted, probably Yago.

  Frantically MoSteel reeled in the rope, cut his hand on the boomerang, ignored the blood, felt an eel suddenly hit his calf, ignored it, ran straight at the wall of salmon flesh, and rather than throwing the boomerang, reached as high as he could and slammed it hard into the skin.

  The barbs of the boomerang blade held, the rope yanked in his hands, and all at once he was being dragged through the water.

  He coiled up, drew his feet forward, and extended them. Too slow for real water-skiing, but maybe he could gain a sort of foothold on the water itself.

  He wrapped the rope around one wrist again and dug his free hand into the flabby skin of the Blimp. It gave way, poked inward, almost without resistance.

  MoSteel pulled his hand back out, frowned, considered as he passed the others at jogging speed. He spread his fingers wide and kneaded the flesh, gathered it, and yes, was able to grab a handful.

  Ha, he said.

  He repeated the move with his other hand and now he had two flabby handfuls of the Blimp. He released and grabbed and pulled himself up. And again, released and grabbed and pulled himself up.

  He climbed slowly, slowly past where the boomerang stuck. Up till his feet were out of the water.

  The Blimp was turning ponderously away from the boomerang.

  MoSteel took a chance and yanked the boomerang out, holding on by nothing but a handful of loose skin. He reached up high and slammed the boomerang back in. Using the rope and the flab-grab technique, he pulled himself up till he was a dozen feet above the water.

  And now the physiology of the Blimp was working in his favor. The Blimps mass spread out at the bottom. This resulted in a bulge that was nearly vertical for about ten feet but that then began to slope gently inward.

  MoSteel actually felt himself sinking a little, like he was facedown on a soft bed. His whole body now formed a seal with the Blimp and he no longer worried much about sliding off.

  He rested, arms spread wide, breathed, and considered. He was on the Blimp. Now what? How to get the others up?

  The ropes end dangled just a foot or two above the water, but the Blimp was well past the marooned humans. Past, but coming slowly around. The boomerang was turning the Blimp, like a spur in a horse. The Blimp was trying to move away from the source of discomfort.

  You can be steered, huh? MoSteel asked the beast.

  Maybe. Maybe it could be steered. But it would be like trying to steer an oil tanker. The Blimp was not fast or nimble.

  MoSteel left the rope hanging and resumed his ascent. He would need to use something else to cause the massive beast some motivating pain. And he didnt have much to work with.

 
CHAPTER SEVEN MAYBE THEYRE BUFFALO.

  Is he biting it? Is he biting the Blimp? D-Caf asked.

  Jobs shielded his eyes and squinted. MoSteel could be seen quite clearly atop the Blimp as it circled slowly, slowly back. His friend was bent over, seemingly digging his face into the Blimps flesh and shaking it like a terrier with a rat.

  I think hes biting the Blimp, Jobs admitted. In the back of his mind was the suspicion that this was just some kind of weird rush for MoSteel. Though he was hard put to figure out why biting the animal if thats what it was would be much of a thrill.

  The Blimp was coming around slowly and Wylson had organized everyone to be ready. They were going in what she described as reverse life raft order: The strongest would go first to help the weaker coming behind.

  That had led to some disagreements and hurt feelings, but Tamara and the baby were first in line, followed by Anamull with T.R., and then Yago. The rest were parsed out in a long line with hundred-foot intervals. Jobs was at the tail end, playing tugboat to the floating Billy Weir. He was about a quarter mile from where Tamara waited, and he had absolutely no idea how he was ever going to get Billy up the side of the Blimp.

  The Blimp bounded closer now, definitely in line to intercept the Remnants. MoSteel was racing in big trampoline steps from one side of the creature to the other, pausing to stare, measure, then bend over and savagely bite the flanks of the behemoth.

  Hes steering it, 2Face said.

  Its funny, Edward said and laughed.

  The three of them, along with Violet and D-Caf, were the tail end of the line. They had moved a little closer for sociability. The Blimp was bouncing along in line now and MoSteel leaned out over the side and yelled something Jobs couldnt hear.

  Tamara slung the baby onto her back, snatched the rope, and all but ran up the side of the Blimp and then, ignoring everyone else, she used the altitude to take a good look around.

  Anamull grabbed the rope and pulled himself up quickly and easily. He then lay flat against the Blimp and stood by as T.R. grabbed and hauled.

  MoSteel, Anamull, and T.R. flattened themselves against the Blimp, each holding handfuls of skin, leaning in to create depressions. Yago joined them and now, as the subsequent passengers boarded, they were passed roughly up along this human chain.

  Burroway missed his grab. So did Wylson and Tate and Violet.

  2Face and Edward both succeeded in boarding.

  Jobs waited, poised, with Billy Weir floating like a log. He was in shallow water, so he could at least give Billy a good heave-ho.

  MoSteel slid down the rope, wrapped it around his arm, and extended a hand.

  Well have to come back around for you, Duck, he yelled.

  Yeah, I know. Just get Billy.

  On three. One. Two. Heave!

  Jobs raised one of Billys arms and shoved Billy Weir up and out of the water as hard as he could. MoSteels hand caught Billys stiff arm.

  All at once Billy was up and Jobs was watching them bounce away.

  Jobs sloshed toward where Wylson, Burroway, Violet, and Tate stood. It would be half an hour at least before MoSteel would be able to bring the Blimp back around.

  They were an uncomfortable little group. Burroway hated the world, as far as Jobs could tell. He was a bitter man, weak and petulant. Miss Blake and her mother were not cozy at the best of times, and now Violet could barely conceal her loathing of a woman who admitted to having supported human sacrifice to the hideous baby.

  As for Tate, Jobs had barely said a word to her. She was a nice-looking African-American girl with appraising eyes, a determined look, and a very cutting-edge hairstyle.

  Hi. Im Jobs, he said and awkwardly held out his hand.

  She shook it. Tate. Im from L.A.

  Monterey, Jobs said.

  They shared wry grins at the weirdness of it. The references to hometowns that no longer existed, that hadnt existed for five centuries.

  I hear you get a lot of fog up there, Tate said.

  Jobs nodded. Yeah, but only down by the water. Besides, fog can be nice. The way it kind of

  A metallic shriek of outrage killed the words.

  Riders, Jobs hissed. He stared hard toward the

  island where the two Riders had let them walk away alive.

  Tate nodded. Yeah. Thats a sound you dont need to hear twice.

  Maybe its nothing, Wylson said, though she didnt look as if she believed her own words.

  There! Burroway cried, pointing.

  The two Riders were in view, now atop their hoverboards, floating at the edge of the island. All their attention was on the Blimp as it came around.

  Again the sound of clashing steel gears and this time there came an almost instantaneous answering cry from an island a thousand yards off. An echo. Another. The cry was being taken up from all sides.

  Its because of the Blimps, Jobs said.

  Of course, Violet agreed. Maybe some kind of sacrilege.

  Or maybe its simpler than that, Tate said. Maybe theyre buffalo.

  It took Jobs a second to process that idea. Of course. The Blimps, they could be prey animals. They could be the Riders main source of food.

  One thing was clear from the concentrated stares of the Riders: They didnt much approve of humans riding on the Blimps.

  The two nearest Riders zoomed suddenly, leaning forward on their hoverboards.

  Jobs felt their wind as they blew past, oblivious to everything but the approaching Blimp. He ducked instinctively.

  The Riders flashed past and he could see them unlimbering their weapons.

  Theyre going to kill the Blimp! Tate yelled.

  Jobs knew it wasnt concern for the health of the Blimp. But if the Blimp was killed, the entire days effort was wasted and the Riders might go on to slaughtering the humans.

  There goes Tamara! Tate cried.

  Tamara had run to the front of the Blimp. She still carried two Rider spears. The Riders were on the attack, ready to throw their javelins into the Blimp, and then they noticed Tamara. The Riders shifted aim and threw. In the same instant Tamara threw her spear, dodged one spear, caught another attackers spear in midair, and laughed as one of the Riders was skewered through the neck of his eating head.

  Did you see that? Did you see her? Tate cried giddily.

  The speared Rider sheered away from the Blimp but his board wobbled and he fell forward. He crashed into the Blimp and the spear in his neck stuck fast in the Blimp, pinning him like a butterfly in a display case.

  The Blimp continued on toward Jobs and the others. But now Riders were vectoring in from other islands, racing to intercept.

  Hes veering off! Theyre going to leave us! Burroway yelled. Get us! Get us out of here! he cried.

  Hes coming. Spread out! Violet said. We have to spread out.

  Everyone back from me, Wylson yelled. She shoved past Burroway to try and seize the first spot. Burroway grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

  Violet tried to get between her mother and the enraged scientist, but Burroway had already disengaged, accepting the second spot in line.

  Come on, Ill take the end spot, Jobs snapped.

  Violet and Tate ran with him, ran directly away from the Blimp, hoping to spread out enough to allow each to be picked up. But the Riders were sure to foil the plan they skimmed inches off the water, spears ready.

  Tamara will get them, Tate gasped as she ran.

  Shes good, but shes not that good, Jobs grated. Too many of them.

  The Blimp was closing in on Wylson.

  Come on, Mom, Violet whispered. Come on, you can do it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT ACT AS IF ITS REAL.

  He had dreamed in the year 2011.

  He had dreamed of a great and terrible emptiness spanning eternity.

  And he had dreamed of a copper sea and of great, bouncing beasts as big as zeppelins.

  During the time of silence, while he floated in the chasm between a dead past and an unimaginable future, he had crossed the line o
f madness many times. He had long since lost the capacity to judge what was real and what was not, what was seen by his eyes and what his mind alone saw. What was reality? He was the least able of any human being to know the answer.

  But he remembered his dreams, even the ones he never really had. He remembered everything, and he remembered this one, this dream, from so long ago, from the past, from Earth, from a Billy Weir who was a child.

  The dream of the copper sea, and the great, bounding beasts like pink elephants, and the wild-eyed boy in the rigging of a tall ship.

  Yes, the circle was closing.

  Billy had touched the mind of the Blue Meanie called Four Sacred Streams, had passed Jobss words through himself and into the Meanies mind. Or thought he had. Maybe that was imagined, not real.

  He remembered drawing the life from his tortured father. Unless that, too, was merely a fragment of memory, a dream, a nightmare, his or some other persons.

  But this he remembered. The copper sea. The bouncing beasts. He remembered from so long ago.

  And now . . .

  And now . . .

  Billy felt himself picked up and hurled through the air. Rockets were strapped to his back and fired. He was a bullet blasted from the barrel of a gun.

  The world tore past him, a blur, colors all run together, sounds all just shrieks and buzzing, felt as if his skin might be torn from his face by the sudden acceleration.

  He wanted to scream. From dead stop to full speed in a flash. He had floated, slowed, slowed almost to death, floated apart, above the world, distant from it, feeling it through gauze, hearing it through thick walls, seeing it through a reversed telescope.

  Now he was a volcano eruption. An explosion. All distance shattered. The speed of the world matched by his own.

  The circle was closed. Billy was back in sync.

  He sat up.

  He was atop the Blimp. No one noticed him; their backs were all turned away, all of them watching the Riders approaching.