Immobility

“We know,” said Qanik.

“Besides, the message was not for us,” said Qatik. “The message is not meant to be heard for many, many years. It is a message for those who come after us.”

“So is it a message or a trap?” said Horkai. “It can’t be both. Who told you it was a trap?”

“It does not matter who told us,” said Qatik, and Horkai thought, Rasmus.

“But if it’s a trap, shouldn’t we turn around?”

“We can’t turn around,” said Qanik. “It’s our purpose.”

“So we’re walking into a trap, knowing it’s a trap?”

“Yes,” said Qatik. “But we have the advantage.”

“What advantage can we possibly have?”

“You. You are better than a trap.”

* * *

CRAZY, HE THOUGHT. He could still hear the voice ringing in his ears: Welcome! Welcome! Either it was a trap or it wasn’t; in either case, he couldn’t help but feel they were going about things all wrong.

They continued walking. No houses at all now, just the weathered and broken white stumps of dead, dry trees. There wasn’t as much dust here—either because of the altitude or because the canyon kept it out. WASATCH NATIONAL FOREST, a weathered sign read. As they came closer, it became clear that the lines that composed the letters had been touched up, filled in so they would be visible again. The remains of another road, Horkai noticed, was running beside them and a little above, a little higher up the slope. It veered off and came back again. The sound, not too distant, of a river. If he could see the water, he wondered, would it be as bloodred as the stream he had seen before? To one side, a dozen yards from the road, two piles of carefully cut timber, tree trunks stripped of their branches and bleached now, beginning to crack and separate and flinder away.

And then suddenly they turned a bend in the road and Qatik and Qanik stopped. Horkai looked to understand why, but saw nothing.

“What is it?” he asked. “What do you see?”

“Beautiful,” said Qanik, and Qatik answered, “Yes, it is.”

They stayed there stock-still. Horkai couldn’t see anything beyond the same broken road, the same cracked trees. And then Qanik and Qatik were moving again, slower this time, drifting to the side of the road.

And then he saw it: just past the asphalt of the road and the gravel of the shoulder, in the dirt: four small, scraggly plants, perhaps four inches tall. They were twisted and contorted in on themselves, their leaves pale and semitransparent, but they were alive: the only living plants that Horkai had seen since going outside.

As they came closer, it became clear not only that the plants were alive but that they had also been planted. They were arranged in a straight line despite the curve of the road itself, and were evenly spaced, perhaps eight inches apart.

Qatik got down on his knees and took a closer look, touching one very delicately, staring at them a long time. And then he got up and Horkai found Qanik lifting him off his shoulders, holding him down as well so that now he could see the individual veins in the leaves, the fine dusting of something not unlike hair on the stalk itself. They had been recently watered; the ground around them was still moist. What kind of plants are they? he found himself wondering. And then realized that mattered much less than the fact that they were alive, that they could live outside. And that since they could live, surely others would soon follow.

And then he was trundled onto Qatik’s shoulders while Qanik in turn bent down to have a look. He brought his head very close, almost touched them with his faceplate. He turned to Horkai.

“What is their smell?” he asked.

Horkai shook his head. “I don’t think they had a smell,” he said. “Not that I noticed.”

Qanik looked at him for a long moment then turned back to the plants. He stayed there motionless, on his knees, staring.

Finally Qanik got up and gathered the packs Qatik had dropped. Below Horkai, Qatik was coughing, ineffectually holding his hand against his faceplate as if to cover his mouth. Qanik was smiling. “It makes it worth it,” he said to Horkai. “Seeing that. Knowing that it can exist. Now I can die in peace.”

15

IT WAS NEAR SUNSET when they finally caught a glimpse of Granite Mountain. Perhaps a hundred yards from the road, they could see where the mountain had been cut back to reveal a long wall of grayish white stone. At the base, just visible, the stone had been shaped off and cut in an arch. The arch itself was blocked by some sort of metal grate. It was Qanik who noticed it first, stopping and pointing.

They broke from the road proper, took a steep climb up an unstable shale slope to reach it. As they climbed, Horkai, riding precariously on Qatik’s shoulders, watched the rest of the entrance come into view. He realized it was very tall, perhaps fifteen feet high. He could see down it, too, saw that it was a tunnel going back as far as he could see into the darkness. And there wasn’t just the one tunnel either, but several, four in all, next to one another, the others becoming visible as they climbed higher. On the outside, bolted to the inner curve of each arch, were a squarish electric light and a buzzing fan, connected by cables to something he couldn’t yet see.

They came out in the middle of a parking lot, which had been recently patched and maintained. When they moved close to the first of the tunnels, the light in the arch flicked on. The two mules, feeling overexposed, rushed to the second entrance, and when the light went on there as well rushed past it and toward the mountain itself, flattening themselves against the expanse of stone between the two middle entrances. They were both breathing heavily from the climb. Horkai saw the lights flick off. Motion sensors, he thought. The light and fan cables, he saw now, ran out into the parking lot, where they connected to a square box, which was, in turn, connected to a bank of solar panels that covered and blocked off the front half of the lot.

“What now?” asked Horkai.

“What now?” said Qatik. “For us nothing. Now is you.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“They will not admit us,” said Qatik.

“Why not?”

But Qatik didn’t respond.

“But what makes you think they’ll let me in?” asked Horkai.

Qanik smiled behind his faceplate. “They will let you in,” he said. “You will see.”

“After you get through the gate, that is,” said Qatik.

“But how do I get in without you?”

“You will have to crawl,” said Qanik. “Where is your gun? The Mambo?”

He felt for it, found nothing. “I don’t know,” he said. “Left it at the hospital, maybe.”

Qatik searched through the backpack, pulled out a small short knife. “Put this in your boot,” he said. “Just in case you need it.”

Qanik nodded. “Do not let them see it. If they see it, they will kill you. Which entrance do you choose?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Horkai. “How should I know?”

“You will have to choose one,” said Qanik. “You can only go through one entrance. Perhaps it does not matter which. Perhaps they all go to the same place.”

“How do I get past the gate?” Horkai asked.

“Choose an entrance,” said Qanik patiently. “If the gate is unlocked, we will lift it up for you. If locked, we will break it open.”

* * *

“DO YOU REMEMBER what it looks like?” asked Qatik. He was holding him in his arms now, Qanik already straining at the gate. “You remember what Rasmus told you?”

“Silver cylinder,” said Horkai. “Red letters on the side. Subzero environment.”

Qatik nodded.