“Something’s happened at the monastery,” he’s shouting. “Get there. Now!”
The chaos is city-wide. We see soldiers everywhere as we ride, herding townspeople before them, forcing them into bucket-lines to help put out the smaller fires from the first three bombs of last night, the ones that did take out the power stayshun, the water plant and a food store, all still burning cuz New Prentisstown’s fire hoses are busy trying to put out the prisons.
“They won’t know what hit ’em,” Davy says as we ride, fast.
“Who won’t?”
“The Answer and any man who helps them.”
“There ain’t gonna be no one left.”
“There’ll be us,” Davy says, looking at me. “That’ll be a start.”
The road gets quieter as we get away from the city, till you can almost believe things are still normal, unless you look back and see the columns of smoke rising in the air. There ain’t no one on the roads down this far and it starts to get so quiet it’s like the world’s ended.
We ride past the hill where the tower rubble lies but don’t see no soldiers going up the path towards it. We turn the last corner and come round to the monastery.
And pull back hard on our reins.
“Holy shit,” Davy says.
The whole front wall of the monastery has been blown open. There ain’t any guards on the walls, just a gaping hole in the masonry where the gate used to be.
“Those bitches,” Davy says. “They set them free.”
I feel a weird smile in my stomach at the thought of it.
(is this what she did?)
“Now we’re gonna have to bloody fight them, too,” Davy whines.
But I’m hopping off Angharrad, my stomach all funny and light. Free, I think. They’re free.
(is this why she joined them?)
I feel so–
So relieved.
I pick up the pace as I near the opening, my hands gripping my rifle but I have a feeling I ain’t gonna need it.
(ah, Viola, I knew I could count–)
Then I reach the opening and stop.
Everything stops.
My stomach falls right thru my feet.
“They all gone?” Davy says, coming up beside me.
Then he sees what I see.
“What the–?” Davy says.
The Spackle ain’t all gone.
They’re still here.
Every single one.
All 1150 of them.
Dead.
“I don’t unnerstand this at all,” Davy says, looking round.
“Shut up,” I whisper.
The guide walls have all been knocked down till it’s just a field again and bodies are piled everywhere, thrown on top of each another and tumbled across the grass, too, like someone tossed ’em away, males and females and children and babies, tossed away like they were trash.
Something’s burning somewhere and white smoke twists thru the field, circling the piles, pushing at them with smoky fingers, finding nothing alive.
And the quiet.
No clicking, no shuffling, no breathing.
“I gotta tell Pa,” Davy says, already turning back. “I gotta tell Pa.”
And he’s off back out the front, hopping on Deadfall and riding back up the road.
I don’t follow.
My feet will only go forward, thru them all, my rifle dragging behind me.
The piles of bodies are higher than my head. I have to look up to see the dead faces flung back, the eyes still open, grassflies already picking at the bullet wounds in their heads. Looks like all of ’em were shot, most of ’em in the middle of their high foreheads, but some of the bodies look slashed, too, cut across the throat or the chest and I start to see ripped-off limbs and heads twisted all the way round and–
I drop my rifle to the grass. I barely even notice.
I keep walking, not blinking, mouth open, not believing what I’m seeing, not taking in the scale of it–
Cuz I have to step over bodies with arms flung out, arms with bands round ’em that I put there, twisted mouths that I fed, broken backs that I–
That I–
Oh, God.
Oh, God, no, I hated ’em–
I tried not to but I couldn’t help it–
(no, I could–)
I think of all the times I cursed ’em–
All the times I imagined ’em as sheep–
(a knife in my hand, plunging down–)
But I didn’t want this–
Never, I–
And I come round the biggest pile of bodies, stacked near the east wall–
And I see it.
And I fall to my knees in the frozen grass.
Written on the wall, tall as a man–
The A.
The A of the Answer.
Written in blue.
I lean my head forward slowly till it’s touching the ground, the cold sinking into my skull.
(no)
(no, it can’t be her)
(it can’t be)
My breath comes up around me as steam, melting a little spot of mud. I don’t move.
(have they done this to you?)
(have they changed you?)
(Viola?)
(Viola?)
The blackness starts to overwhelm me, starts to fall over me like a blanket, like water rising above my head, no Viola no, it can’t be you, it can’t be you (can it?) no no no it can’t–
No–
No–
And I sit up–
And I lean back–
And I strike myself in the face.
I punch myself hard.
Again.
And again.
Not feeling nothing as I hit.
As my lips crack open.
As my eyes swell.
No–
God no–
Please–
And I reach back to punch myself again–
But I switch off–
I feel it go cold inside me–
Deep down inside–
(where are you to save me?)
I switch off.
I go numb.
I look at the Spackle, dead, everywhere dead.
And Viola gone–
Gone in ways that I can’t even say–
(you did this?)
(you did this instead of finding me?)
And inside I just die.
And a body tumbles from the pile, knocking right into me.
I scoot back fast, rolling over other bodies, scrambling to my feet, wiping my hands on my trousers, wiping the dead away.
And then another body falls.
I look up at the pile.
1017 is working his way out.