A Different Alchemy (19 page)

A third man tried to jump on the tank as it passed. Maybe, as a spry young man he could have made the leap, but in his old age, hobbling just to get close to the tank, he managed only a slight stumble forward. The tank ran over his foot, crushing every bone in it. The man howled in pain.

Jeffrey drove the tank three blocks away, enough distance to be sure he was out of their elderly range. At a city park, he stopped and popped the hatch again. There was no trace of the crazed senior citizens. One of them was probably crying, another was likely still begging for Jeffrey to take him away. None of them could be heard, though.

The park he stopped at wasn’t unlike parks where he and Katherine and Galen had gone back home. Couples had likely come here, back before the end was signaled, had laughed together, their dogs chasing Frisbees. The harbor would be full of boats coming and going. All of that was gone now.

Another man appeared. This man was slightly younger than the others, wasn’t walking with a limp yet. His hand dangled by his side, a pistol held gingerly, no intent to use it. The sight of it made Jeffrey reseal the tank’s hatch, but on his way inside he thought he saw the man wave his arms as if to mock Jeffrey’s panic.

From inside the tank, Jeffrey yelled out, “Don’t shoot, I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s good to know, friend. I’m no match for a tank.”

But when Jeffrey peeked back out again, the man was still approaching, still carrying the gun.

“Don’t come any closer,” Jeffrey warned.

The man chuckled. “Why not? I only want to talk.”

“You have a gun.”

“My friend, you have a tank.”

“Put the gun down and we can talk.”

“Put the tank down and we can talk.”

When Jeffrey looked over the top of the hatch, he saw the other man had put the gun down on a wooden bench before starting toward him again. The man stopped ten feet from the tank. Without the threat of bullets, Jeffrey pulled himself out of the machine and lowered himself to the ground.

“What are you all doing here?” Jeffrey asked, even though it was this man who had sought him out.

“Someone had to stick around and see our fair city off.” The man looked around for effect. “The park is deserted. As is the harbor. Sadly, even the bars.” This last part made the old man give a pained smile, made him wipe away an invisible tear. “The name is Garth. Nice to meet you.”

“What about everyone back there, Garth?” Jeffrey said, motioning to the other side of the highway. “Are any of them seriously hurt?”

“We have all been seriously hurt, my friend,” the other man said. “At one time or another.”

“But are they hurt, now?”

“I won’t lie: probably they are. Even a minor injury is serious these days. We are old, and there are no doctors. A broken bone won’t get set. A cut will get infected. You know how it goes. But that’s life. C’est la vie. It’s not a sad thing, it’s just part of life. Speaking of which, what brings you here, my friend? You still haven’t introduced yourself.”

“I was just traveling through. Jeffrey. My name is Jeffrey.”

He took his eyes off Garth just long enough to make sure no one else was sneaking up from the other direction. This caused the man to smile.

Garth rubbed the edge of his grey beard with his palm, then motioned to the other side of the highway. “Those were actually the healthier ones over there. Don’t worry, no one is going to hijack your ride.” And then, when Jeffrey didn’t say anything, he added, “Are you really going to make me ask the question?”

“Why am I driving a tank?”

The man laughed. “No, friend. Why are you heading north instead of south?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want to go the same direction as everyone else.”

“Why are you driving a tank?”

“It gets me where I need to go.”

Garth laughed with childish delight.

Jeffrey asked why he had a gun.

“For my own sanity, my friend. No other reason. None of the other people here have their wits about them enough to cause me harm. That little piece of metal,” the man said, pointing to the tiny pistol on the bench, “makes me feel safe, much the same way I imagine your big piece of metal“—he motioned to the tank—“makes you feel safe.”

“You could have shot me when I had my head out.”

“My friend, if I was that good of a shot I would have done more exciting things in my life than attend board meetings and run marathons back when those things were still in vogue. How about you? What did you do in your life?”

“I was in the military.”

This made Garth laugh again. “You arrived in a tank. Of course you were in the military. But what did you do with your life?”

Jeffrey didn’t know how to answer this. He kept expecting to see the senior citizens hobbling across the street, begging for a ride out of the city. None of them appeared, however.

“So what are you doing next?” Garth said.

“I guess I’ll just keep going north.”

“Until you run out of land?”

“Something like that. How about yourself? What will you do next?”

“My friend, there is no next for us.” He motioned around at the once great city, known for its history, its personality, its pride—now void of all of those things, only barren and quiet. “We stayed here when the others left because this was our home. Some of us were probably scared of change. Some of us were too proud to leave the old life we held dear.”

“And how about you? Why do you still stay?”

The man smiled. He seemed a little more tired each time he gave his fake smile. “My friend, I could say it was because I hate New York, but it’s not. I could say it’s because I like the winters here, but it’s definitely not that either. I just didn’t want to spend the rest of my life picking up and heading south each time a city started to empty out too much. I was happy here, so I figured I might as well stay.”

Jeffrey expected the man to ask again why he was traveling north, but he didn’t. Instead, Garth said, “Do you know why everyone is heading south?”

“To be around other people.”

The man gave a wave of the hand. “Incorrect, my friend.”

“To be where it’s warm?”

The man did his impression of a buzzer going off. “That is also incorrect. They aren’t heading south because they need the comfort of being surrounded by others. And they aren’t afraid of some snow. They are heading south because they are trying to keep things how they used to be. Not the house, not even the city, has to be the same. Those things can change quite easily. What they are trying to keep consistent is the sense of how things were before all of this started. They want to feel like things are still normal for as long as they can. That’s what being around other people, seeing neighborhoods full of happy families, gives them. The sooner they can come to terms with the Great De-evolution, to understand it is out of their power, that they can only have the lives they have today, not the lives they had yesterday, that is when they will be OK with where they are. When they understand that, they probably won’t be so eager to make the next move south.”

Jeffrey didn’t think that was true. Everyone he saw in Philadelphia, Katherine included, really had wanted to be around as many other people as possible. After the blizzard that wiped out Boston, everyone really had wanted to be where it was warm.

Garth saw the look of skepticism on his face, saw the next question that was going to form and answered it before Jeffrey needed to speak. “If that were true, my friend,” he said, “then why are they burning their houses down before they leave? Why are they concerned with being surrounded by Blocks? It’s because they are afraid to have a new set of memories, but the old ones are also too painful to keep holding onto. Going south, trying to outrun the inevitable, lets them ignore how stuck they are. But when you can appreciate the old memories, while also creating new ones, then you are truly a rich man. Richer than if you could turn lead into gold, that’s for sure.”

“What about the people back there,” Jeffrey asked. “They’re still begging to get south.”

The man nodded. “Sadly, they haven’t come to accept this conclusion yet. When they do, if they ever do, they will likely realize getting south doesn’t give them anything that being here can’t provide.”

“Why don’t you explain it to them?”

“My friend, there are some things you have to learn for yourself. I have surely told each of those people back there what I’ve told you, but it’s up to them to accept it. They may never get to that point, but the nice thing is it only takes one day for it to happen, and each new day is a new chance for it to occur.”

Neither of them said anything as Jeffrey considered what had been said.

“Be safe,” Garth said finally, beginning to stand. “And on your way out of here, make sure you take the expressway or 93. Don’t bother taking the tunnels. Someone blew them up a couple of years ago.” And then he smiled once more, but a genuine smile this time.

It crossed Jeffrey’s mind that he should shake Garth’s hand, but he was already walking back to the bench where the gun was. With it in hand, he turned and waved goodbye, then disappeared around the corner to where the pile of broken men were probably still on the ground, each with fractured hips or backs.

The tank rumbled up Highway 1 because it kept Jeffrey close to the water. And when presented with the opportunity, he veered off the highway and took the local road running along the coast so he could see the waves and the sand. After being in the city, he needed to see the beach again. And as the sight and sound of the waves calmed him, he thought about all the things the man had said and if there could be any truth to it.

Chapter 14

Back when he enlisted in the army, he never thought there would be a day when he and the other few remaining officers would celebrate being the last men on base. Appropriately, the cake they were eating had sugary icing designed to look like an American flag draped across an empty battlefield. There were two trenches, some artillery, but no men on either side to continue fighting the war.

They also had donuts and cookies. Some of these had frosting to make them resemble grenades with the pins still in place. There was also beer. But the men didn’t call it beer, they called it
End of the Military Brew
. Halfway through the party a cork popped—a final gunshot—and champagne sprayed out.

The men were all laughing and clapping and hugging. Jeffrey seemed to be the only one who didn’t understand why they were cheering. They might as well be celebrating the end of the Super Bowl or the final Christmas. The men retold stories they had all told a hundred times before. They toasted to everything they could think of. Meanwhile, Jeffrey stood by the corner and watched them.

Yes, the boxes of paper were tedious. Yes, the routines and bureaucracy were smothering. But there was also history and tradition, and that meant a lot. He was perfectly fine with not having another annual performance review or printing off another series of monthly audits littered with arrow-shaped flags where his superiors had to provide their signature. But this going away party was a celebration that proved all the paperwork they filed was nothing more than a wasted forest. Wasted time. It was a party to announce that their weekly staff meetings were simply time away from their friends and families, nothing more.

Unlike the parties they had for promotions, no family members were around to take part in the festivities. The men with regular children would have felt bad bringing their sons and daughters to a party where the other men had their Block children sitting motionless in chairs around the table. It was for the better. He wouldn’t have to act like he hadn’t overheard such things as: “I hope they don’t make me sick,” or “Look at it. It can’t do anything for itself,” or “We’re going to have thousands of them to take with us to Washington,” or “My parents never used to be sick. Now they’re sick all the time.”

An ancient white-haired man, who no one recognized, sat at the conference room table and told everyone what it had been like to serve in the military forty years earlier, back when most of the men in the room were still pissing themselves. No one knew how he had heard about their celebration, but they toasted him all the same.

As much as the men tried to focus on the celebration at hand, some of them couldn’t help but talk about the upcoming migration south. These were the same men who couldn’t keep themselves from talking about work during holiday parties. One of them said it sounded like another rally was taking place near the stadium, but the rest of the room didn’t pay attention.

After an hour, Jeffrey couldn’t take any more and went back to his office. He closed the door so the noise coming down the hallway was blotted out. The only things he could think about were Galen’s body being dropped next to the telephone pole as if he was nothing more than an empty box or unwanted trash, his next-door neighbor’s burning house, and the drunken man’s threats toward the helpless dog. What chance did his boy have in a world where people did these things? What hope was there for him or for anyone else? The more he thought about the uncertainties of a declining population, the more he gave credence to Katherine’s constant worrying. He shouldn’t be so dismissive toward her.

His fingertips were covered with a layer of thick dust from where they had been touching his desk. He was here every day, yet his office looked like it thought he had been gone for ten years already. It was amazing how quickly the world could wipe something away. Already, there were reports that Great Falls looked like it had been abandoned since the gold rush, void of people, covered in a blanket of dirt, collapsed buildings. It was simply what happened once the city was vacated and nature returned. Parts were flooded while other parts resembled Death Valley.

He wished he could be the type of person who didn’t notice the dust on boxes, or could at least ignore it. The men down the hall in the conference room, laughing and partying as if there wasn’t a single worry in the world, were all able to ignore the dust. There were other fathers down the hall with Block children who were Galen’s age. They were eating vanilla cake with colorful icing while Jeffrey was alone in his office.

**

Every day he ran across a new place he had never heard of before, places like Swampscott and Marblehead. And every day he found places he had heard of but never been to, places like Salem and Gloucester. At each place, he stopped and looked for gas stations, grocery stores, and a library. The museums in Salem had been, ironically enough, burned to the ground years earlier. Sometimes he stayed in a town for a night or two, and sometimes he stayed for a month or an entire season. He kept track of time only by the color of the leaves and by the eventual appearance and disappearance of snow.

He went through a phase where he only read books that focused on history’s great leaders, reading varying accounts of the lives of Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, and Napoleon, before following those up with books about Roosevelt, Rabin, and Churchill. Book after book, he read about conquered lands, ends of dynasties, and men leading other men to achieve more than they thought themselves capable of. He noticed a theme of great leaders almost always suffering great loss.

At Ipswich, not even the tank would be able to pass through the line of fallen trees and sunken roads ahead of him, and he had to go northwest just long enough to get to 95 for a while. At Expressway 101 he could have gone west to see one of the many state parks or continued past them into the vastness of endless lands. At Highway 16 he had a chance to see the giant Lake Winnipesaukee and the White Mountain National Forest, but he stayed near the coast then too.

At Kennebunkport, he spent a day trying to find the place where the world’s leaders had once stayed. There was no sign that they had ever been there. Most of the buildings and homes were so dilapidated that there would soon be no sign that anyone had been there at all, let alone presidents and prime ministers.

Slowly, he began to forget these were all places where people had once lived. It happened for the first time in Portland. He had a quick thought that it was odd to be the only person to see this city before remembering thousands of other people had once called it their home. It began to seem normal that no one had ever been around these parts. By the time he got to Freeport, he spent the walk from the coffee shop to the library trying to imagine what it might have been like to have other people on the sidewalks, cars driving past, phones ringing. Later, it even became difficult to imagine Galen with him in these cities. They were completely new places in the history of his life, completely separate from anything he had previously known.

He stayed in Bangor for half a year, but being away from the water kept the thought in his mind that he should start moving again eventually. A few times a week he emailed his parents a little story of something he had seen during his travels. He never mentioned Katherine. Only occasionally did he mention Galen. The responses he got back always said something about how happy his mother and father were that he was seeing the world, even if it was the Great De-evolution’s version of the world he was touring. He knew what they meant: cafés with no one at the other tables, docks with no sailboats. They never asked when he was coming down to Florida. They never made him feel guilty for going away from the equator when everyone else raced toward it.

It was only when a group of four hikers, two men and two women, saw the smoke coming from his chimney, that he finally started thinking about moving on again.

Both couples were married to their high school sweethearts, and each of them had been lifelong friends. They were from a town just north of Quebec.

“We were the final ones,” one of the men said. “The winters weren’t any worse, but every year they
seemed
a little worse, you know.” The other three shook their heads in agreement. “So we finally decided to set off. We made it about twenty miles before our van wasn’t worth driving anymore. Since then, we’ve been walking. Some days we walk ten miles. Other days we only walk one. And some days we don’t go anywhere, you know.”

One of the women told Jeffrey he was the first person they had seen since their town emptied out to join Quebec. By the time they set off on foot, every other town had been deserted as well.

“There are some people living out on Cape Cod,” Jeffrey offered. As soon as he mentioned it, though, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut; there was no way these people would make it that far, and it wasn’t fair to get their hopes up when they had been happy making as much or as little progress as they saw fit.

When they asked where he was from, he pointed south. One of the women asked how much longer Jeffrey thought he was going to be living there.

He didn’t have a better answer than, “I’m really not sure. I guess when I finally get tired of this place, I’ll move on.” But he already knew, seeing the campers, that he would be gone soon.

The five of them stood in the middle of I-95, where cars had once faced fog and rush-hour traffic to get to work.

They shared a meal together, courtesy of Jeffrey’s food processor. While they ate, he didn’t say anything about himself, and because he didn’t, they didn’t offer more about themselves.

When he woke up the next morning, he saw smoke coming out of the chimney three houses down the street from him. The Canadians didn’t come back over that morning, or even at regular intervals, but they were constantly around. He went for fewer walks because when he did he inevitably ran into one of them. He went to the library less because they interrupted his reading. He heard one of the couples laughing as they passed by his house on a walk. When there was a knock on his front door while he was reading about the Dust Bowl, he thought about ignoring it. One of the women had come down to see if he would like to have dinner with them that evening. He lied and said he didn’t feel well.

He just wanted quiet. They were nice people, there was absolutely nothing wrong with them, but he just wanted quiet.

One day, one of the Canadians knocked on his door and asked if he would like to sit and chat for a while. But as soon as the Canadian hiker started talking, it was about things Jeffrey didn’t want to hear.

“You know, when the Great De-evolution first started, there was a popular reality TV show up in Canada called
Growing Up Block
. You ever heard of it?”

Jeffrey said he hadn’t.

“It focused on this couple that tried to have as many Blocks as possible. They found some doctor dumb enough to give them fertility treatments and the woman ended up having seven Blocks at once. What is that called, septuplets? And that was in addition to the two other Blocks she’d already given birth to. Anyway, this camera crew followed the couple and their Blocks all around Quebec. The producers even bought them a bigger home to make it easier for them to film the family. At the end of the first season, the finale revealed she was pregnant once again. With twins this time.”

Jeffrey groaned. “Christ, what’s wrong with people?”

“I know, but it gets worse. By the end of the second season the ratings were bad and the city was talking about relocating south, so they tried to think of what would make for the best TV. They could follow the family as they went south, but they didn’t like that idea. The parents were the ones that came up with the idea to take all of their Block kids to Niagara Falls. One-by-one, they sent each kid over the falls in a barrel. The kids who survived would go to Boston, the ones who didn’t, wouldn’t. In all the time they planned the finale, neither of the parents and no one involved with the show asked if there was something seriously wrong with what was going to happen. They just cared about their ratings and their fame. Five of the eleven kids survived the falls. But news got out about what happened before the show even aired and everyone involved was arrested. Except the parents. They vanished. Some people said they were murdered and buried. Other people reported having seen them in Miami where no one would know them.”

“Why are you telling me this? I don’t like hearing about this sort of thing.”

“I don’t know,” the Canadian hiker said. “When I heard what happened in Philadelphia, it made me think about that couple and what they did to their Blocks, and how everyone else around them just got caught up in it. I guess it’s human nature.”

“If it’s human nature, I’m glad I’m here instead of wherever they are.”

The Canadian only nodded in agreement.

Jeffrey found himself grumbling under his breath the rest of the day. Was that the man’s way of apologizing for what had happened amongst his northern neighbors, or was it the man distancing himself from it? Why even bring it up in the first place? And why say it was human nature? It wasn’t. Why was it so hard for people to remember what life had been like before the Great De-evolution began? There had been murder and rape and pain and suffering, but they hadn’t been the norm. And they hadn’t been apologized for, hadn’t been explained away as human nature. It was a travesty to say it had become part of our nature just because our final days were in sight. The Greeks and Romans, the French and British, everyone in between, hadn’t brought us to this point just to think there were understandable circumstances when you could ignore your friends and family, when you could let them sit in flames until their eyelids melted shut, or let them go into the Falls until their lungs were full of water. We were supposed to be better than that.