The Meek Page 3

  Chapter 3 – Celebratory Tombstones

  “Stop. Listen.”

  Shiv steps away from the contraption, and the device settles into the sand. I groan to think of the effort it’s going to take to get that sled moving forward again.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Sweet Tea.

  “I thought I heard something,” Shiv answers. “Something overhead.”

  All of us cringe. Crotch drops to his knees and covers his ugly face with his giant hands. I don’t blame him. None of us have ever seen or heard a buzz kill, but those stories the crones told us when we were children stick with us.

  Sweet Tea is the first to look into the sky. “There’s nothing up there, Shiv. No one’s spotted a buzzkill since my father was a little boy.”

  “Doesn’t mean there can’t be any now,” Shiv responds. “When was the last time any of us have been this far out in the wastes, away from the hovel? We might be stomping right into a swarm of them as we get closer to the tower.”

  Crotch trembles. “Would they see us in the dark?”

  “I don’t know,” replies Sweet Tea.

  I’m not enjoying the sensation of standing still in the open of so much waste, and I quickly return to the machine. We’re in no man’s land now, and it’s likely that we’ll reach the tower well before we might reach the hovel after turning around and retreating. Idly fretting about buzzkills isn’t going to help us.

  “If those buzzkills are machines like old Sparker claims, then maybe they’ve finally broken down with all the other devices of the old world,” I offer. “There’s little we can do but keep moving.”

  I grunt and feel my back buckle, but we get the sled moving forward again no matter how the sand continues to fight us. Old man Sparker’s contraption of bolts and levers is an ugly thing, which makes it an appropriate invention for our world. A wicked, twisting drill - several times the length of Crotch’s height - extends from the front of a steam box that pops and hisses while we push. The rest of it’s all dials, knobs and gauges. The thing’s as large as many of the shelters pieced together back in our hole, and it’s warm to the touch, so that sweat pours down our faces as we continue to stomp through the sand.

  I hope Sparker gave his girl Sweet Tea clear instructions about the machine’s operation, because all those buttons and dials make me dizzy. I do my best to ignore the grumblings that occasionally come from the machine, because thinking makes me doubt whether anything pieced together in the hovel can threaten the fatcats in their tower.

  We push on, everyone peeking up at the night sky, focusing our attention on that blinking, blue light. A few hours later and all of us, even Sweet Tea, have stepped away from the machine, certain for a second to have heard the sound of buzzkills patrolling overhead. But our fortune holds, and death does not claim us while we grunt and push onward.

  Crotch spots the tower first as his height gives him a view above the machine. I fear the sight disappoints the big oaf when I hear him sigh and feel the sled grow heavier as Crotch’s legs slow. Crotch’s heart is as soft as his face is ugly, and I suspect the giant’s hoping to find something magical out here in the flatland, something that’s glamorous and shiny, something that’s the opposite of the hovel, something to prove that silver and gold still exist somewhere in our world. Maybe living in such a miserable hole, with such a twisted face, would be easier for Crotch if he knew there was a balance between the ugly and the beautiful.

  We’re thankful when the ground hardens as we approach the tall, thin spire rising upon the horizon, making the sled much easier for our tired legs to push. I keep expecting more from the tower as we come nearer, but the thing doesn’t look to be anything more than scaffolding of iron. It looks nothing like the crystalline castle in which Mary Mary claimed the fatcats dreamed. A little later, and I’m further confused as I spot dozens of short stones standing on the cracked ground. I sense what they might be in the darkness, but I’m skeptical of what I’m seeing.

  “Are those tombstones?” Shiv’s question convinces me that I’m not imagining things.

  Sweet Tea squints at the stumpy shadows. “I suppose so.”

  “But what are they for?” I ask.

  “They mark where the dead are buried.”

  I sneer. “I know that, but why would the fatcats need graves if they found a way to live forever?”

  Crotch smiles. “They died and became angels.”

  “No, they did not,” Sweet Tea steps away from the machine and drifts between rows of tombstones. She pulls a flint from her jacket and produces a light that makes me flinch for fear it will attract a buzzkill. The air remains silent while she inspects the engravings.

  “What does it mean?” Shiv asks.

  “Did the buzzkills get to them too?” I wonder. “Maybe those buzzkills turned on their masters.”

  “Or maybe one of the diseases got to them,” Shiv ventures.

  Sweet Tea shakes her head. “All the stones share the same date of death. All the fatcats must’ve discarded their bodies on the same day after they no longer had any use for them.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” I snort.

 

  “The crones were right about one thing,” Sweet Tea continues. “The fatcats did find a way to live forever. It’s just like my father speculated. They installed their consciousness into counting machines, their memories into computers. Inside those machines, the fatcats possess anything they desire. Age and disease can never touch them.”

  “You’re old man must be getting senile,” Shiv shakes his head.

  “And we’re out in the waste pushing his machine,” I sigh.

  Sweet Tea smiles. “He was right. The fatcats had no more need of the world, and so they just let it go to waste. But just to make sure they remained safe, just to make sure that we didn’t touch them in their dreams, the fatcats unleashed their buzzkills on us. Their buzzkills put our cities to flame and hunted the survivors who cowered in our holes. The fatcats needed to wipe out everyone they left behind to make sure we never hurt the counting machines.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “So why aren’t we dead?”

  Sweet Tea’s eyes sparkle. “Because they’ve forgotten about us. They’ve lived for so long in their perfect worlds that they haven’t a care for all of us they left behind to burn in the sun and rot in our hovels. They’ve forgotten that they once had reason to be afraid of the world they discarded.”

  “You’re mad,” I force a laugh. “I can’t believe I followed you out into the waste to push Sparker’s crazy machine.”

  Shiv winks at me. “It doesn’t matter whether or not Sweet Tea and her father are crazy. I’ll still push. I’ll take any chance I can get to snuff out those fatcats while they sleep.”

  Sweet Tea and Shiv return to Sparker’s contraption, and I’m surprised at how quickly I too return to my place behind that machine. Crotch, however, hesitates, and I hold my breath. It’ll be impossible to nudge the sled without that giant. I hold up a hand to prevent Sweet Tea from saying anything as I see Crotch’s ugly face grimace as his brain churns through its limited set of gears. There’s doubt in that giant’s mind; there’s a battle taking place in that oaf’s heart, and anything the remaining three of us might say will likely tip Crotch away from that machine.

  Crotch grunts and returns to the contraption a moment later, led by whatever motivation swirls inside his head. I peek towards the giant after our legs give the sled a little momentum, and I see Crotch’s eyes are transfixed on that blue star winking above the growing tower.

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