Fractured: Tales of the Canadian Post-Apocalypse(58)

Halfway through the afternoon, Rose gets very tired. I have to pick her up and carry her for a stretch because I cannot stand to listen to her panting anymore. Her eyelids flick shut and her head jerks and I see that she is trying not to fall asleep in my arms.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and hope it is the Apothecary. But I turn around and look into the horrible, pink eyes of the Programmer. “RoseMother,” he says, “you are not strong enough. I will take the child.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Perhaps I can manage a little longer.” I turn away and march forward, holding Rose close. Up ahead, I see that the Apothecary has turned back to watch. Beside him, the Grandmother marches along. She carries over 60 years, more than any other Follower. And yet she is so strong, never fading from the climb. The Grandmother gives me hope.

? ?

For dinner we have my favourite, boiled salamander. The meat is fleshy and the taste is not too bad. Rose loves watching the salamanders in the CritterFarm, loves feeding them their daily guano. So she does not enjoy this meal. She cries and I have to go get her some more smoked bat. After eating the bat, she cries again. She drinks all of her water and most of mine and I want to ask for more but we can’t appear weak. Rose has not urinated all day.

The Apothecary starts a small fire. There are some matches and SustainaLogs left over from the Technological Know-How, but not many. We sit around the fire and the Grandmother reads to us from the Faithbook. She tells us about the Plains of Benevolence, how they were flooded when we descended into the ComfyBunker but now they will be full of surface life. There will be fruit and meat and drinkable water everywhere we turn. It will be like the Aquaforests of the North, without the gigantic carnivorous moose.

The entire time the Grandmother speaks, she is stroking the Mother Mother’s bulbous belly. She strokes calmly, calmly, and I feel the warmth of the future in the gesture. The Mother Mother sucks on a sweet stick, part of the hoard left over from the Technological Know-How. I watch her sucking on the sweet stick and I remember the flavour of it from when I was the Mother Mother. It was a strange flavour, a sweetness that burned. I did not particularly like it and yet I always wanted more. I also remember how the Grandmother used to stroke my belly when Rose was growing inside me. Her touch was sweet and warm, like a dose of Bottled Sunlight. Even as the Grandmother strokes the Mother Mother, the Programmer watches Rose. Watching, watching, a nasty twitch in his nose. Rose keeps her eyes on the ground, drawing shapes in the earth with a stick.

We fall asleep, as always, to the sound of the bats. They are nattering, nattering, and flapping all around us. We sleep in the open air because there is nowhere good to set up the tents. In the middle of the night there is a loud shriek, followed by a hushed voice. I know it is the Mother Mother and the Father Fathers. She is worried about the Future, about what might become of a helpless child on the Plains of Benevolence. We are all worried.

For breakfast we have blindfish and dried mushrooms. The Apothecary eats with Rose and me. He impersonates the Programmer’s voice and Rose laughs and laughs. But then the Programmer looks over and she seems afraid. Before he leaves, the Apothecary slips me his water ration. I give Rose the extra water and she drinks it all in a gulp. Right away she needs to pee, and I know that some of the water was wasted.

We climb and climb and climb, thighs burning, burning. We pass several stagnant pools. They are stinky, and full of guano. We also pass two large ponds and we can see some blindfish swimming through them. The Apothecary suggests that we stop here and catch more fish for our journey. The Programmer says no, but the Apothecary insists and the rest of the Followers agree.

The Programmer walks over to the Mother Mother, whispers in her ear. She whispers back, and the Programmer announces that we will stop and rest while the Apothecary catches more fish for the journey. The Mother Mother is pale, pale. Her belly is large, perhaps too large. We are all wondering what she might be carrying in there. I am sorry for her. It would have been better to wait until the child came, but we could not wait any longer.

Up here, it is very warm and very wet. Almost unbearable. I am desperately thirsty. The Apothecary rolls up the legs of his Mentholsuit and wades into the pool. He sets his net and waits for the blindfish to swim between his legs. I rest with my back against the cave wall, watching the Apothecary. The top of his Mentholsuit is pulled down, giving him greater flexibility. His torso is bare, except for the string of the sacred First Aid Kit he keeps around his neck. He stands still, arms poised, eyes flickering as he watches the swirling fish. I feel the moisture of the earth through the thin fabric of the Mentholsuit. Rose sits between my legs, resting her head on my chest. “Mother,” she says, “what is it like, to be dry?”

I chuckle. “I don’t know, my little salamander.”

“Salamander?” she says, laughing as she looks up at me.

“Yes.” I make a face and crawl my fingers up her arm. “Little Sally Salamander.”

Rose laughs, her eyes going wet. Then she starts to cough. I rub her back but she does not stop. She keeps coughing, coughing, her face turning red. A few of the Followers look at us, whispering to one another. Soon the Programmer comes over, handing Rose some water. She takes it and drinks. After a few sips she regains control of her breathing. The Programmer leans toward me. “RoseMother,” he says, “she is weak and so are you. I will take her from here.”

“No, please. I can manage.”